Brain Child by John Saul Read Free Book Online Page B

was right—if the smashup itself hadn’t killed the driver, he must have bled to death by now. Still, he had his job to do, and clenching his teeth, Jackson began helping his partner cut through the seat belt that held the inert body into what was left of the car.
    “Don’t move him,” one of the emergency technicians warned a moment later. He and his partner began unfolding a stretcher as the two cops finished cutting away the seat belt.
    “You think we haven’t done this before?” Finnerty rasped. “Anyway, I don’t think it’ll make much difference with this one.”
    “We’ll decide that,” the EMT replied, moving forwardand edging Jackson aside. “Anybody know who he is?”
    “Not yet,” Jackson told him. “We’ll run a make on the plate as soon as we get him up to the road.”
    The two EMT’s slowly and carefully began working Alex’s body out of the wreckage, and, what seemed to Jackson to be an eternity later, eased him onto the stretcher.
    “He’s not dead yet,” one of the EMT’s muttered. “But he will be if we don’t get him out of here fast. Come on.”
    With a man at each corner of the stretcher, the two EMT’s and the two cops began making their way up the hill.
    The crowd of teenagers on the road stood silently watching as the stretcher was borne upward. In the midst of them, Lisa Cochran leaned heavily on Kate Lewis, who did her best to keep Lisa from looking at the bloodied shape of Alex Lonsdale.
    “He must still be alive,” Bob Carey whispered. “They’ve got something wrapped around his head, but his face isn’t covered.”
    Then the medics were on the road, sliding the stretcher into the ambulance. A second later, its lights flashing and its siren screaming, it roared off into the night.
    In the emergency room of the Medical Center, a bell shattered the tense silence, and a scratchy voice emanated from a speaker on the wall.
    “This is Unit One. We’ve got a white male, teenage, with multiple lacerations of the face, a broken arm, damage to the rib cage, and head injuries. Also extensive bleeding.”
    Marshall Lonsdale reached across the desk and pressed the transmission key himself. “Any identification yet?”
    “Negative. We’re too busy keeping him alive to check his I.D.”
    “Will he make it?”
    There was a slight hesitation; then: “We’ll know in two minutes. We’re at the bottom of Hacienda, turning into La Paloma Drive.”
    Thomas Jefferson Jackson sat in the passenger seat of the patrol car, waiting for the identification of the car that lay at the bottom of the ravine. He glanced out the window and saw Roscoe Finnerty talking to the group of kids whose party had just ended in tragedy. He was glad he didn’t have to talk to them—he doubted whether he would have been able to control the rage that seethed in him. Why couldn’t they have just had a dance and let it go at that? Why did they have to get drunk and start wrecking cars? He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand what motivated them. All he’d do was go on getting sick when they piled themselves up.
    “It was Alex Lonsdale,” Bob Carey said, unable to meet Sergeant Finnerty’s eyes.
    “Dr. Lonsdale’s kid?”
    “Yes.”
    “You sure he was driving it?”
    “Lisa Cochran saw it happen.”
    “Who’s she?”
    “Alex’s girlfriend. She’s over there.”
    Finnerty followed Bob’s eyes and saw a pretty blond in a dirt-smeared green formal sobbing in the arms of another girl. He knew he should go over and talk to her, but decided it could wait—from what he could see, she didn’t look too coherent.
    “You know where she lives?” he asked Bob Carey. Numbly Bob recited Lisa’s address, which Finnerty wrote in his notebook. “Wait here a minute.” He strode to the car just as Jackson was opening the door.
    “Got a make on the car,” Jackson said. “Belongs to Alexander Lonsdale. That’s Dr. Lonsdale’s son, isn’t it?”
    Finnerty nodded grimly. “That’s what the kids say,