Dorothy gave up. “Well, could you at least get us the correct paperwork?”

Violet didn’t budge. She continued to glare at McCain.

“Please?” Dorothy begged.

Another snort. “One minute.”

As soon as she was gone, Dorothy said, “Getting nasty won’t work, Micky.”

“Yeah, it works. It works for me.”

Smaltz came back a few minutes later. “There are three copies here. Be sure all three are filled out legibly.”

McCain snatched the papers from Violet’s grasp. “I bet I wouldn’t have to go through this rigmarole if I was President McCallum.”

“Well, you’re not President McCallum, are you, now?”

Outside, Dorothy snaked her scarf around her neck. “Very smooth, Micky. As soon as she gets the request, she’ll throw it in the circular file.”

“Not her. That wouldn’t be following accepted procedure. I wish there was some way to stick it to that bitch.”

“She’s probably the only one in Health Services who knows where everything is.”

“Everyone has to die sometime.”

“What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna congratulate me,” McCain said. “I gave myself an idea. As in President McCallum. How ‘bout we go find him? Maybe he can streamline things.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to us?”

“Well, we won’t know unless we try.”

Trying took forty-five minutes of badge flashing and passing from one security point to another. Finally, they were escorted up to a suite of penthouse offices atop the five-story Administration Center. President McCallum didn’t have just a secretary, he had a staff. Dorothy counted at least fifteen cubicles, most of them manned by college kids. Probably work-study.

McCain was surprised by the size of the president’s office-much smaller than he had expected. Still, it had all the amenities: glossy walnut-paneled walls, a well-stocked wet bar, carved bookshelves, and a gleaming rosewood desk. And McCallum’s own Christmas tree, high and green in a windowed corner. The view beyond was a New England winter picture postcard.

McCallum was a beefy man with white hair, a complexion more florid than a sea captain’s, a veined potato nose, and watery blue eyes. His sagging face and rumpled suit suggested he hadn’t had much sleep in the last twenty-four hours.

Join the club, McCain thought. He and Dorothy sat opposite the man, with the fancy desk between them. The room was hot as blazes. Dorothy was sweating because she still had her coat on. She took it off, and McCallum motioned to a hardwood hall tree where a black cashmere overcoat hung.

“How are you, Detectives?”

“I’m fine, sir,” McCain answered.

“Well, I’m not,” McCallum said. “It’s been a horrible day, and I’m afraid I’m a bit off my mark. Make yourselves comfortable. I pride myself on being more in tune with working stiffs than with the nabobs of academia. I grew up in this city. My father was a dockworker and my mother slaved in the mills. I went to Boston Ferris myself.”

“Local boy made good,” McCain said.

Sarcasm in his voice, but McCallum missed or chose to ignore it. “I call it giving back to a community that believed in me.”

“Good for you, sir,” said McCain.

Dorothy kicked him in the shins.

McCallum said, “What can you tell me about the status of the investigation? Have you arrested that animal?”

“What animal?” McCain asked.

“You know as well as I know. The boy is a thug. He deserves to be behind bars for what he did.”

“Who are you talking about?” McCain said.

“We’re not trying to be… evasive,” Dorothy said. “We just want to know if we’re all on the same page.”

“Like maybe you know something that we don’t know?” Micky added.

McCallum’s eyes turned hard. He folded his hands, set them on his shiny desktop, and leaned forward. “The school is in mourning over a terrible loss. As a matter of fact, the entire city is in crisis. Have you read the morning newspapers?”

“I’ll go you one better,” McCain said. “I talked to the stringers last night.”

“Then you understand the mayhem I’ve been dealing with. I’ve been on the phone with Ellen Van Beest all morning, and in between I’ve been fielding calls from the chief of police, the mayor, and the governor. From what I understand, the legislature’s preparing to order a special session investigating athletes and violence. That’s especially irritating because it’s all a crock!”

“Violence is a crock?” Dorothy asked.

“Of course not. But the canard linking sports to aggression, the nonsense about nightclubs being battlefields, is simply overblown rubbish! A tragedy occurs, and in typical fashion the media blow it way out of proportion. Then the officials start quaking, worrying that parents will stop sending their kids to Boston. All because of a once-in-a-blue-moon aberration.”

“Once in a blue moon?” McCain asked.

“When was the last time you heard of an athlete shot at a club?”

“Paul Pierce getting knifed don’t count?”

“That was five years ago,” said McCallum. “Last I heard, the man recovered fully. He’s an all-star, for God’s sake. So let’s not be diverted by yesterday’s news.” His jaw clenched. “My scheduling is very tight. Is there anything specific I can do for you?”

“As a matter of fact…” Dorothy handed McCallum the triplicate paperwork given to her by Violet Smaltz. “We need Julius Van Beest’s medical records and would like you to facilitate that.”

“What is this?” McCallum asked.

“Red tape,” McCain said. “From your health center.”

McCallum scanned the documents and made a face. “Why do you need Julius’s medical records?”

“Just being thorough, sir,” Dorothy said.

“Who wants to see them?” McCallum asked.

“The medical examiner.”

“For what purpose?”

“Being thorough,” Dorothy repeated.

McCallum shook his head. “It’s not my call, Detective. If the ME wants to see the records, let him make a formal request. That’s standard procedure.”

“Yeah, we know that,” McCain said. “But being as this is a homicide investigation and everyone is anxious for it to be settled up quickly, we were just wondering if you could help us out.”

Dorothy said, “You know how it is, sir. The newspapers are hungry for information, and we’d love to tell them Boston Ferris is cooperating thoroughly in every aspect of the investigation.”

“We are cooperating thoroughly,” said McCallum. “Put in the proper paperwork and you’ll have the records.”

Neither detective moved.

McCallum sighed disgustedly. “All right. All right. I’ll make a phone call.” He patted the paperwork. “Even though this is not appropriate procedure.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Dorothy said. “We really appreciate it.”

“It benefits everyone,” McCain added.

“Yeah, yeah.” McCallum picked up the phone. “You don’t know what a favor I’m doing for you. To add to my current misery, I now have to deal with Violet Smaltz!”