“We were there,” Dorothy said. “It looked to me like he got hit in the neck.”

Change said, “A long arm fouling him like that probably impacted his neck, face, and chest. Must’ve been a severe blow to knock such a large man down. I hear he was out on the floor for quite a while.”

“He came back and played the game of his life,” Dorothy said.

“That doesn’t mean damage wasn’t done. Perhaps the fouling did exacerbate an arterial tear. Combine that with chest compressions…” Change threw up his hands.

McCain said, “Defense this, defense that. How about giving us something to work with?”

“I just want to tell you what you could be up against- what the DA will consider when you plead your case. On attempted murder, Detectives, you’ve got a cakewalk. But I couldn’t say beyond a reasonable doubt that the aneurysm burst because of anything the shooter did.”

“That’s crazy,” McCain said.

“Attempted murder is still jail time,” Change said.

“It’s not the same as premeditated murder,” McCain said. “That would be life without parole, and that’s what the asshole deserves-shooting up a club like that.”

“Can I go back to something?” Dorothy said. “You said you thought it was a preexisting condition.”

“Almost certainly. If it was an aneurysm.”

“If?”

“Theoretically,” said Change, “it could have been a stress tear. But I’d consider that highly unlikely, and I’d have to say so on the stand.”

“Still,” said Dorothy, “it’s not impossible, right? And couldn’t a stress tear have resulted from a bad fall onto the table after he got shot? Which would put us right back to the shooting as the main cause.”

“I don’t think a fall on the table would do it.”

“But how about if it wasn’t a preexisting condition?”

Change said, “But how would you know that unless you had prior X-rays of the region?”

Dorothy smiled. “At Boston Ferris, all athletes are required to have yearly checkups, including chest X-rays. I know that from my own baby. Since Julius was on the team going on his fourth year, that means four X-rays. This aneurysm, it would show up on a chest X-ray, right?”

Change nodded. “If it was large enough, yes.”

“And the doctor seeing this… they certainly wouldn’t have let him play with it, right?”

Again, Change nodded. “If it was big enough and if someone saw it. The artery runs behind the clavicle. The aneurysm could’ve been hidden by bone.”

“But maybe it wasn’t. And they let him play. And he played for four years with no problem.”

Change shrugged.

“I think Dorothy’s onto something,” McCain joined in. “It’s worth taking a look at the X-rays. ”Cause if it didn’t show up, maybe it was hidden by bone, sure. But maybe it just wasn’t ever there in the first place. Meaning that maybe falling on the table caused the artery to burst, Doc.“

“Detective, arteries don’t just explode.”

“But you can’t tell me what did happen at a hundred percent certainty, right?”

“I can tell you that a bullet hole didn’t cause the artery to burst,” Change said. “There was no puncture wound from any external cause. Nor were there any bone fragments that could have pushed through. Ergo, the cause has to be idiopathic-something internal, unique to Mr. Van Beest.”

“See, Doc,” McCain said, “I’m thinking that if no one saw anything on all the chest X-rays that Julius took for four years, this aneurysm musta been pretty tiny. Then maybe we can make a solid case for his heart going haywire during the shooting.”

Dorothy said, “I still like the fall on the table. His blood pressure, like you said, nosedived and his heart stopped.”

“Exactly,” McCain said.

Dorothy moved closer to Change’s desk. “He was a goner even before the paramedics got to him.”

Change listened to their routine and smiled faintly. “I couldn’t state any of that as definitive, Detectives.”

“But you couldn’t state that it didn’t happen that way,” said Dorothy. “And with nothing showing up on any X-ray…”

“First you’ve got to get the DA to buy it.”

“You take care of the medical angle,” McCain said. “We’ll worry about the DA.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be able to say what you want.”

“Doc, you do your job and we’ll do ours. I’m sick of letting these thugs get away with a slap on the wrist!”

“Attempted murder isn’t a slap on the wrist,” Change said.

“If we charge premeditated and it’s pled down to attempted murder, I’ll be okay with it,” McCain said. “Otherwise you know what we got? We got attempted murder that’ll be pled down to a misdemeanor discharging a firearm in a public place and inciting panic. Which carries jail time but not what this bastard deserves.”

“That seems a bit pessimistic,” Change said. “The victim was shot.”

“And the bastard will say he didn’t mean to shoot him, he was just horsing around, had a couple drinks too many. I know how it works with thugs, Doc. Especially athletic thugs. The lawyers stack the jury with fans. We need the maximum charge and work down from there.”

Change sat back in his chair. “It’s your call.”

“Damn right!” McCain was working himself up.

Dorothy broke in. “If I get you a recent X-ray, Doc, you’ll read it, right?”

“Of course,” Change said. “Actually, now you’ve got me curious.” He paused. “Getting an X-ray-that’s clever.”

“She’s a clever woman,” McCain said. “That’s why they call her detective and you doctor.”

11

The product of a merger between Boston Electronic and Technical and Ferris Fine Arts Academy, the college was a solution that had pleased both financially strapped institutions back in the fifties. Pooling dual resources, the new BF board bought a defunct prep school and modeled its hybrid after New York ’s Cooper Union: an Athenian meld of fine arts, practical arts, and science.

But with a twist. Boston Ferris had been chartered to serve the town portion of Boston ’s town and gown dichotomy. The college admissions committee went out of its way to select its own. The academy with a heart.

Athletics hadn’t even been part of the curriculum until the board discovered that many locals, brought up in the streets, clocked beaucoup hours shooting hoops. Soon afterward, Boston Ferris began to actively solicit athletes, and its enrollment ballooned. The school built a state-of-the-art gymnasium, workout room, and pool and sauna and began offering sweetheart majors like Applied Electronics and Practical Waterway Services-a fancy name for plumbing. The subtle switchover didn’t concern Micky McCain and Dorothy Breton. What did matter was that the college’s Human Health Services hadn’t been updated since the merger.

That was never as in never ever.

The place was a morass of bureaucracy rivaled only by the Boston Police Department, and like BPD, every request had to be made in writing. The dogmatic stupidity was driving McCain over a wall. Dorothy wasn’t doing too much better.

“This is a homicide investigation,” she said. “We can’t get the patient’s permission because he’s dead!”

They were talking to Violet Smaltz, a sixty-three-year-old crone with a perpetual scowl and a face like a paper bag. She narrowed her eyes and snorted.

“I know the boy is dead, Detective. And it wouldn’t make a difference if he were alive. If the medical examiner’s office wants the medical records, then let the medical examiner’s office put in a request of transfer for the medical records and send it in with the correct paperwork. Medical documents are transferred from physician to physician.”

“This is bullshit!” McCain blurted.

Violet glared at him. “No need for foul language, Detective McCain.”

“I could get a subpoena-”

“Then get one!” Violet folded her hands across her chest. She was wearing a long gray skirt and a gray cardigan sweater that hung on her bony frame. She looked like a faded scarecrow.