“Too long. She couldn’t have survived. I’d give it two days at the outside. Even that would be a stretch no matter how healthy the girl is.”
“Two days,” Oliver said reflectively.
“Right now she’s critical.”
Lieutenant Long came striding up. “They’re on their way. Held up by a three-car accident on the west side.” As he spoke they heard the ambulance siren. “Start checking the ground around here, Oliver. If any clue that might have been here hasn’t been wiped out by Mr. McCall and his boy Friday.”
“I’m not anybody’s boy Friday,” Graham Starret said. “In fact, lieutenant, I’m not anybody’s boy but my mama’s and papa’s.”
Long gave him a long look, then turned away. Oliver moved off, flash probing.
“Any idea what she was beaten with, doctor?”
“Hard to say, Mr. McCall. Might have been a piece of two-by-four.”
“You want me to stick around?” McCall asked Long.
“For a while,” Long said. “You can sit in your car.”
McCall started for his Ford. The black student fell into step with him. “Do you think I ought to stick around, too, Mr. McCall?”
“Judging from Lieutenant Long’s attitude, I think it might be wise. If he gives you a hard time, get word to me. Either through Dean Gunther or at the Red Harbor Inn, where I’m staying. I know it’s hard, but don’t hand him any lip, Graham. There’s no percentage in giving him an excuse to clap you in a cell.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. McCall,” young Starret said, grinning. “We’re experts at handling the man when we set our minds to it.” Then he said soberly, “I sure hope she lives.”
They had paused in the path, and McCall said, “Graham, do you have any notion who might have done this?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t understand it at all. I mean why anybody would want to beat up a girl like that. It’s way out, man.”
“Did you know Laura Thornton well?”
Starret shrugged. “I knew her, that’s about it. I wish I hadn’t found her. I wouldn’t put it past Long to try to mix me up in this.”
“I don’t think he’d try any raw stuff with the governor’s personal representative on the scene, Graham. If you had nothing to do with it, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
The student turned back, shrugging again, and McCall went on to his car. He slid under the wheel and sat there, hungering for a cigarette. Maybe if he took up pipe smoking...
The ambulance arrived and two white coats ran down the path with a stretcher. A police officer walked over to McCall and handed him his jacket. It was wet and muddy and he did not put it on.
Lieutenant Long was talking to Sergeant Oliver. Oliver seemed startled. Then he moved quickly over to where the Negro student was standing. They spoke for a moment and went toward one of the police cars.
And there was Long, at the Ford, sneering. “I’ll want a full statement from you, McCall, at headquarters. Meanwhile, we’re taking Starret in.”
“For what?”
Long winked. “For questioning. Wouldn’t surprise me if it turns out he’s our boy. So then you’ll be able to go on home, McCall, and tell the governor he can stop worrying about Tisquanto.”
“You think Starret did it?” McCall said incredulously. “You haven’t really questioned him! On what grounds, lieutenant?”
“My nose,” Long said. “I can smell ’em out a mile away.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“He knows too much. Found the girl too easy. We’ll break him down soon enough.”
“But he’s the one reported the discovery. Would he have done that if he’d had anything to do with this?”
“Who’d he report it to, tell me that? The police, like he ought to? No, he goes running to his pal Dean Gunther. If you hadn’t happened to be there we’d probably not know about it yet.”
“You’re a racist,” McCall said. “I’m not going to let you coldcock that student, Long.”
“Sure, Mr. McCall,” Long said with a smile. “I sure will remember. Racist, am I? Look, I know the facts of life, you’re one of those do-gooder liberals like our dear mushy gov who’s responsible for what’s going on these days. Give ’em a finger and they want everything.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, lieutenant. Just remember what I said.”
“He was after her,” Long snarled. “Niggers go for white meat, any hep white man knows that. She repulsed him and he lost his head — went after her with everything he had. I’m betting we find she’s been raped.”
“Maybe she was,” McCall said. “That’s a long way from proving that Graham Starret did the raping. You know what I think, lieutenant? I think that after you’ve questioned Starret and Chief Pearson gets a full report, you’re going to decide to let the kid go.” He started his engine; the ambulance was moving off. “One other thing. If I find out that so much as a finger’s been laid on Starret, you’ll wish you’d never become a cop.”
McCall shot across the clearing after the ambulance. He heard Long call out something in a vicious tone but he could not make out the words.
Tailing the ambulance into town, McCall considered the case of young Starret. The thought of the student’s possible guilt had crossed his mind at once. His argument to Lieutenant Long that Starret’s announcing his discovery of the girl’s body took him off the hook hardly held water. He could have panicked and abandoned her originally, expecting her to be found quickly, and when she was not found quickly, his fear that she might die could well have caused him to “find” her, with his date (who on investigation would no doubt back his story up) as a witness. But there was nothing — so far — to tie Starret in with Laura Thornton’s increasingly mysterious life. No, it was more complicated than Long wanted it to be. The lieutenant was looking for a quick and simple — racist — solution.
The Tisquanto Memorial Hospital was an old-fashioned-looking yellow brick structure built in the Twenties, four stories high. It sprawled over a considerable area. McCall parked his car near the emergency entrance and hurried over to the drawn-up ambulance.
They had already removed the girl. He went in. At the admitting desk he said, “Laura Thornton. The emergency case they just brought in. Where did they take her?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you that information,” the pretty girl in white said.
McCall dug out his credentials case. The girl’s eyes widened.
“The police said not to give out any information, Mr. McCall—”
“I’m working with the police.”
“Well, she’s in Emergency Room C. Dr. Edgewit is attending her.”
He found the girl under an oxygen tent, with two nurses busy over her. Dr. Edgewit, in a green surgical gown, looked absurdly young. He was examining Laura Thornton intently. Dr. Littleton stood by, watching his every move.
McCall introduced himself.
“No time,” the young doctor said without looking up.
“Will she pull through?”
“She’s in coma. Concussion, shock, you name it. She’s taken an unholy beating.”
“I’ll get out of your hair, doctor. Dr. Littleton?” He took the medical examiner aside. “Is Dr. Edgewit competent?”
“He’s the chief resident. Fine doctor.”
“Do you happen to know if the girl’s had a personal physician in town here? It would be better for all concerned if she were seen as quickly as possible by her own doctor.” He was thinking of Brett Thornton.
“I’ll find out, Mr. McCall.”
McCall hunted up a pay telephone and dialed the governor’s private number in the capital. Holland himself answered, as he often did.
“All right, Mike,” the governor said with open relief at McCall’s news. “You stick with it and report developments. I’ll notify Thornton right away. He’ll no doubt fly down there tonight — he has his own private plane. Dig into this hard, Mike. Find out who beat Laura. Whoever it was, I want him! And not just because Thornton’ll have my hide if we don’t turn him up. You understand?”