The Campus Murders

20

McCall spotted Sam Holland the moment he turned the corner of the third floor corridor at Tisquanto Memorial Hospital. The governor was deep in conversation with Brett Thornton.

“Mike.” The governor was looking pleased. “How did you know I was here?”

“I’d heard you were on the wing, and I figured this would be your first stop.” McCall turned to Laura’s father. “How is she, Mr. Thornton?”

“In my own way,” Thornton said, “I’ve been thanking God. She’s out of the coma, McCall. She’s going to be all right.” He looked years younger.

“I’ve just heard about this student Sullivan,” Governor Holland said.

“Already?” McCall exclaimed. “It just happened. What did they tell you?”

“Only that you brought him in and told the police that he’s been responsible for the attack on Laura and the two subsequent killings. How firm is this, Mike?”

“Firm, sir. But no case. It’s going to take Miss Thornton’s testimony. You haven’t been to the campus yet?”

The governor’s face darkened. “No, I’m going over there now.”

“All hell’s broken loose, Governor—”

“Mr. Thornton?” It was a nurse, in the doorway to Laura Thornton’s room. “Dr. Madigan and Dr. Stroud say it’s all right to come in now.”

Brett Thornton ran. Governor Holland put his hand on McCall’s arm. “Give him a couple of minutes, Mike.” Two minutes later Thornton appeared in the doorway. He was wiping his eyes. “Thank you, Governor. You can see her now, McCall.”

As they came in Dr. Edgewit held up two fingers, smiling. Two minutes.

She was well swathed and almost invisible, but the eyes were alive and her bloodless hand groped for her father’s with considerable hunger.

“Laura, dear,” Governor Holland said. “I’m so glad.”

“It was Dennis Sullivan,” she whispered. “He did it to me. He tied me up—”

“You can tell us all about it when you’re a little stronger, Miss Thornton,” McCall said.

He was at peace.

Chinky-chink showed.

A few minutes later, back in the corridor, Thornton’s mouth was the old trap.

“I’m grateful for the way things have turned out, Governor,” he said. “For sending McCall here and clearing this up you’ll get nothing but praise from me. But in all fairness I have to tell you—”

“I know, Brett,” the governor said with a smile, “in all fairness you have to tell me that politically nothing’s changed. You’re still going after the gubernatorial nomination, and you’re going to fight me for it tooth and nail.”

“Right.”

“Well, at least it won’t involve a personal attack.”

“No,” Thornton said, “that I can promise you.”

“That’s all I ask. Good luck, Brett.”

“I’m not that generous in spirit, governor. But I’ll shake your hand.”

When Thornton returned to his daughter’s room, the governor and McCall went downstairs. An aide reported the situation on campus. The immediate riot was over; there had been numerous arrests, especially of the invaders who had occupied the campus building.

Listening to the reports of casualties and property damage — with some uncensored details of the filth deposited in wastebaskets and liberties taken with files of private correspondence — Governor Holland’s considerable jaw grew larger.

“It’s Columbia all over again,” he said grimly. “Well, I’m all for freedom of expression, but there’s a big difference between free speech and taking over the campus!”

“There’s a meeting called at McNiel Hall, governor,” the aide said, “by a student group. President Wade wants to ban it.”

“Which students? Are they the ones who smeared that building with filth and obscenities and broke up all that property?”

“No, sir. It’s been called by a student named Damon Wilde—”

“Then I would certainly get Wade to allow it,” McCall said. “I think you ought to hear what this boy has to say, Governor.”

Governor Holland looked at him. Then he nodded. “All right.” He turned to the aide. “I want to talk to President Wade. I’ll see you at the meeting, Mike.”

He found Kathryn Cohan in her office, nipping at a bottle Dean Vance had just passed to her as McCall barged in.

“Shut that door, for God’s sake, Mr. McCall,” the Dean said. “Katie and I are restoring ourselves. We’ve had a wild time here. Do you drink?”

“Only when I have to,” McCall grinned. “Katie. I thought I’d find you in hysterics.”

“You should have seen me three quarters of an hour ago.”

“You can kiss her,” Dean Vance said, rising. “Give me my bottle, Miss Cohan. I have to put it back under lock and key. Wait till I’m off the premises, McCall, will you?”

They waited. When she was gone, Katie clung to him. “Oh, Mike, I practically prayed you’d come! Where were you?” He told her, and her violet eyes widened. “Dennis Sullivan! He sounds as if he’s gone psycho.”

“It’s the drugs. I don’t know what he’s been on but whatever it was it fuddled his brain and shattered his value system. Look, Katie, I promised the governor I’d go to McNiel Hall — a meeting’s been called by Damon Wilde—”

Kathryn shuddered. “Not another one!”

“I think this is going to be different. You want to come along?”

“No, but I’m not letting you out of my sight again. Lead on, McCall.”

Darkness was falling as they crunched across the broken glass and discarded placards on the campus. The lawns looked like something out of a photographic history of the Civil War. Students were hurrying toward McNiel Hall. Some bore hastily lettered posters:

This last one he spotted as a lingering whiff of tear gas made his eyes water.

The stream of students thickened as they converged on the meeting hall. Many had flashlights, which they shone on their signs as they walked. It resembled a convocation of fireflies. There was impressively little noise; for the most part it was a solemn procession.

The auditorium was full. They managed to find seats in the rear, at the extreme right. McCall saw Governor Holland sitting on the platform beside President Wade.

“Look at the big bad Wolfe,” Kathryn whispered. “He’s mad as all get-out.”

“Sam Holland is a powerful persuader,” McCall said dryly.

Damon Wilde was at the lectern, gripping the microphone. His skin was pale against his black sweater. He rapped for order, and to McCall’s surprise he got it almost at once.

“It’s been a rough day,” young Wilde said suddenly.

There were cheers.

“Mute the effort,” he said, and the silence fell again. “One of our number is in the clink tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Whether he’s guilty or not will be determined in the usual manner at the appropriate time. But one thing is a fact. A conscienceless, sadistic killer was let loose on this campus in the past week. The question is: To what extent did the indiscriminate use of drugs and the general unrest at ’Squanto contribute to the climate that made the events of this week possible?

“I don’t have the answer to that question.

“Do you?

“Is this the kind of campus we’re fighting for?

“Is this the kind of education we claim we want?

“To these last two questions I have a personal answer. It isn’t. It’s not what I want. It’s not what I’ve been fighting for. There are some on this campus whose purposes recent events suit exactly. I’m not one of them. I don’t believe that the Establishment is so bad it has to be leveled to the foundation — and below — before it can be rebuilt to the specifications of this generation.” He turned squarely to Governor Holland. “Our tactics may sometimes seem violent, Governor, but our strategy is to work out a peace at the conference table. We have been fighting because no one would sit down with us and listen to our complaints. Would you be here tonight, on this platform, under less hairy circumstances?”

Governor Holland was coming forward.

“If I may say a few words?” he said, stooping to the microphone.

Damon Wilde raised it to the governor’s level. “As many as you like, governor,” he said, and stepped aside.

“I want certain things understood,” Governor Holland said. “I am not here tonight to undercut the authority of the administrative officers of this college or the other duly constituted authorities of the state regents system. On the other hand, it’s obvious to me that there has been an almost total rupture of communications here, and if the governor of the state, at whose ultimate pleasure these authorities serve, can’t tender his good offices in a situation like this, he ought to resign the governorship.”

The audience laughed.

“I’m very happy to have heard Mr. Wilde’s opening statement. I think his ultimate aims and mine are identical. If that’s the case, we should have no trouble, as reasonable people, listening to each other’s grievances and statements of principle and arriving at an accommodation.

“One thing more before I sit down and start listening with both hairy ears. I would like to point out in self-confession that we, who have been entrusted by the people with the task of regulating a just, orderly, and prosperous society, have certainly failed to keep pace with the times in our institutions of higher learning.” President Wade was seen to go very pale indeed, and his lips became so highly compressed that they all but disappeared. “There are certain colleges where the problems being battled over here today were anticipated and solutions sought years ago, before our campuses erupted. Antioch College in Ohio, for instance, instituted a highly progressive program of curriculum, campus living, and student participation in administrative decisions when all was traditional sleepiness elsewhere, and it is significant that, while there are beefs at Antioch still, there have been no serious disorders on that campus, no riots, no seizures and destruction of property. My aim is to achieve such an adult meeting of student and administrative and faculty minds here at ’Squanto and other state colleges. But I tell you people now: I will not tolerate, and I will not permit the people authorized to administer this institution to tolerate, hoodlumism, vandalism, destruction of property, and all the other illegal and antisocial activities that have turned this campus into a shambles. If you people genuinely want a dialogue, my people and I are going to be here to engage in it with you. If you want bargaining, we’ll bargain. Reason will be met with reason, just as force will be met with force. The choice is yours, not mine. Now I’ll shut up and sit down while you tell me what’s on your minds.”

In the uproar that shook McNiel Hall, McCall slipped out of the auditorium with Kathryn.

“They’ll be eating out of old Sam’s hand before the night’s over.”

“But it seems so simple,” Kathryn protested as they hit the fresh spring night air. “Why couldn’t Wolfe Wade and Floyd Gunther achieve the same result? All they’d have had to do was use the same tactics.”

“You weren’t paying attention, Katie,” McCall said. “Tactics derive from strategy. Strategy comes from the whole man — his background, his experience, his social outlook, his philosophy of life. The Wades and Gunthers are traditionalists. They’re slaves to the past, business as usual, do-it-my-way-because-it’s-always-been-done-that-way. Sam Holland is a modern man. He sees things with an unclouded eye, and he doesn’t allow what built-in prejudices he has to befog his judgment or, or least, his willingness to listen. That’s why he’s a successful politician, and that’s why Wolfe Wade is going to find himself retired on a pension. End of speech. What are we going to do now, Katie?”

“How about going over to my place and I’ll fix us a dinner? I’ll even feed you by candlelight.”

He left her at her car, and he hurried for his rented Ford to follow her home.

He liked the promise of peace rising from the smell of growing new things on the campus, and from what he had just heard in McNiel Hall.

But that was peace — possibly — for Tisquanto State.

There would be no peace for him, Katie Cohan notwithstanding. Tomorrow he would fly back to the capital and sooner or later Sam Holland would have something new for him to step into.

Something urgent.

Something troublesome.

For trouble was his thing.

McCall grinned and shot away from the curb.