Cold Case by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online Page B

had accomplished. At Frank’s enquiring look, she said, “Nothing, nowhere. I got as high as an assistant to an assistant to the administrator of patient affairs, and that pipsqueak quoted rules explaining why he couldn’t tell me anything beyond what was reported in the media. Etheridge is out of surgery and in intensive care, critical condition. His parents have been notified and are on their way. I did get him to accept my card and a message for them that I’ve been retained as Etheridge’s attorney, and I welcome a call from them. He may or may not remember to pass the word.”
    The police had been as fruitless. Assault, attempted murder. Investigating. Period.
    â€œI can’t do a thing about it,” she said. “We didn’t get to a contract, so officially I’m not even his attorney in the eyes of the law.”
    There were times when Frank would have been justified in saying I told you so, but he had refrained in the past, and he did so again when she lapsed into a moody silence. “Well, you tried the aboveboard approach, let’s see if Bailey has any better luck at the back door,” he said.
    While she was on her own search for information, Frank had called Bailey Novell, their investigator, who had a reliable contact at city hall. Getting a tip would depend on whether the man was working that Saturday or, if not, if Bailey had an in with someone else who was.
    After Barbara left, Frank picked up the thoughts he had been entertaining upon her arrival. The show David Etheridge had put on the night before had been impressive.
    When he came onstage, a large screen at one side of a podium had been lit to display a map of the world with the North American continent centered. He used graphics to show the rise and growth of a great nation. With devastating exactitude he had discussed the landing of the first ships from Europe, the first colonies and then the expansion, with acquisitions purchased or taken by force. He talked about the native inhabitants, bought, conquered, vanquished, resettled. He called it ethnic cleansing.
    The expansion extended far beyond the shores, out into the Pacific Ocean.
    It was show-and-tell, Frank thought, but effective show-and-tell in a way that words on a page didn’t convey. As David talked, dates had appeared in a column down the side of the big map, and on the other side, a chart with a line tipped with an arrow, indicating an inexorable upward path, pointing toward what appeared to be a Roman emperor draped in an American flag instead of the familiar white toga and cape. The point of the arrow had come disturbingly close to the figure.
    Frank was distracted from his recall by his house phone ringing. Bailey was checking in.
    â€œThey say it was a hate crime,” he said. “Some kind of club or loaded pipe was used. Fractured skull, broken ribs, punctured lung, other injuries. A paper with the word Antichrist was under him. It’s touch and go if he’ll make it. My pal said the word is that if he kicks, the McCrutchen case will be closed.” He added what little detail he had been able to learn, and said he’d be around until dinnertime if needed.
    After passing the report on to Barbara, Frank sat on the back porch and thought about the events following the presentation the night before. Earlier in the evening he had glimpsed an old friend, Kirby Herlihew, and he had seen him again as the audience began to leave. Kirby had waved him over to the side of the stream of people on the way out.
    â€œDon’t go out that way,” he had said, motioning toward the main exits. “Come on, a bunch of us are leaving by a side door. They’ll use it for Etheridge in a little while. He walks over so there’s no car to destroy.”
    Kirby taught European history, a round little man with a startling mop of white hair that forever looked windblown. He hurried, and he and Frank joined several others near the stage.