Straight Jacket. Adrian Deans

at all … how strange I’ve never thought about that before!’

      I thought about writing that down but I just wrote: Yes, and underlined it for good measure, subtly emphasising my Centaurian potential and exploitability.

       OPTIONAL SECTION

       The following questions are demographic and are needed to help us establish the patterns of Centaurian settlement across the planet, but as they are of a personal nature, we understand if you would prefer not to answer.

       By way of explanation, our studies have clearly shown two constant factors:

      • that true Centaurians tend to be in the higher income groups; and

      • that true Centaurians from the lower income groups tend to move quickly into the higher income groups as soon as they become aware of themselves as Centaurians.

       We can’t explain why this is so, but income remains our best indicator of true Centaurian status. We are NOT interested in your money — we just want to know whether you might be Centaurian.

       Question 4: What is your occupation?

       Question 5: What were your annual earnings for each of the last three years?

      Now they’re getting serious. I was tempted to write Investigative Journalist for Question 4, but settled for Writer (most wackos think they’re writers), and after some thought, I put $600k per annum (approx) for Question 5. (In fact, I’d made substantially more than that, but it should be enough to get me on the Centaurian callback list.)

       Question 6: Would you be interested in learning more about the Centaurian Society of Interstellar Beings (Earth Chapter)?

      If yes, there was a place for your name and contact details. I put my name down as Cosmo Solanis, but gave Xeno’s address and phone number. I was grinning to myself at the thought of Xeno answering the door to the Centaurians, when the Searcher entered the inner sanctum with an expression of profound, sepulchral awe. She listened earnestly to Maia’s Colgate colleague and gave the questionnaire her total attention, but suddenly the lights dimmed, and a sighing sirenic music swelled. The movie, Homo Tarot, commenced, with the Searcher watching avidly — as I watched her.

      •

      On the train back to Hornsby to collect my car, I picked up a copy of the local North Shore rag, which someone had stuffed down the side of the seat. The front few pages were all dedicated to the sensational developments in Galston Gorge, and even featured a letter to the editor which, purportedly, had been written by the killer. Very amusing but certainly a hoax, I would have said.

      I folded the paper and reflected on my successful day. I was no longer trailing the Searcher. I knew where she lived.

      After the movie, we’d been obliged to hand in our questionnaires, and I had timed my move to make sure that I was directly behind the Searcher, and was thus able to see her name and address in the moment before I placed my own form on top of hers. She was Melanie Arthur of 42 Dent Street, Hornsby Heights. She didn’t know it yet, but her life was about to get much more interesting.

      I picked up my car at Hornsby station and considered driving over to have a look at her house, but decided there was no point in the dark. Besides, I didn’t want to spoil the anticipation.

      Twenty minutes later, as I pulled into my driveway, the headlights played over a figure in black sitting on the stairs. The garage door opened automatically and I shot through into the light, hitting the button to lower the door before I’d come to a halt, but there had still been ample time for the figure in black to stroll into my fortress.

      ‘How’s it goin’, Morgen?’

      ‘Not bad, Xeno,’ I said, fighting off the bourgeois butterflies — I didn’t like him coming into my world unannounced.

      ‘What’ve you got for me?

      Xeno held out a large brown paper parcel, from which the most heavenly scent was rising. ‘I’ll say one thing for Beljean coffee,’ he grinned, ‘it’s a lot harder to get than heroin.’