The Campus Murders by Ellery Queen Read Free Book Online Page B

pealing. It stopped now, the overtones lingering on the campus. McCall turned and saw a picturesque stone building much weathered and covered with old vines. Immense trees flanked the building. A round bell tower dominated the roof. A small old man dressed in gray came around the building with a broom and began sweeping the walk.
    â€œWhat’s that?” McCall asked.
    â€œThe music building. It’s better known as the Bell Tower. That’s old Burell, the custodian. He’s a fixture around here.”
    They walked on. At the administration building McCall said, “I wish the campus were larger.”
    â€œSo do I,” Kathryn said mendaciously. “I hate being cooped up in an office.”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant.”
    She laughed. “I’m acting female, for God’s sake! Anyway, I thought you ought to know right away about Floyd’s clothes being stolen. It was probably some vagrant who took a chance, broke into the house looking for money, didn’t find any, and just grabbed something and ran.”
    â€œPossible.”
    â€œBut you don’t agree.”
    â€œFrankly, no. And what I don’t understand I don’t like. Thanks for taking the trouble to notify me.”
    Those extraordinary violet eyes held him again. “Well, I’d better get in to work or Ina will chew my head off.”
    â€œSee you.”
    She did not answer. Instead, she engulfed him with a tidal-wave smile and hurried into the administration building.
    McCall walked over to where he had parked his rented car. He found his feet dragging.
    He warned himself that he had better keep his mind on his work.

4
    McCall headed across town toward the Greenview Motel. The book of matches was probably meaningless, but at this stage of what seemed an increasingly baffling game any lead was worth following up.
    Driving through Tisquanto’s broad streets in the spring sunshine McCall found his thoughts, which should have been busy with Laura Thornton and student unrest, wandering to Katie Cohan. He reined them in sharply.
    Self-discipline played a big part in Micah McCall’s makeup. He had developed it as a boy on his home turf, Chicago’s South Side, where survival was an art. Whether it had been keyed into his genetic code, or arose as a defense against his environment, McCall’s ability to resist temptation had been toughened rather than weakened by his early life. Self-defense, of course, became a matter of necessity; he learned how to take care of himself in street fights, and when he decided that his general size and build put him at a disadvantage with the big boys, he learned judo. “The bigger they are,” his teacher told him, “the harder they fall. Remember that.” He never forgot it. When he was older he graduated to karate. He had seen too many broken heads and slashed faces to enjoy violence; but if circumstances forced him to fight, he was not going to be the one to wind up on his back.
    After the South Side and a rough-and-tumble high school, the Marine Corps seemed the logical next step. Four years later he was out and at Northwestern in Evanston, pursuing a sudden dream of power-through-knowledge. And then a law degree, and a decision against practicing; not enough action. He went to work for a national detective agency and did so well that three years later he opened his own agency. That was how he had met Sam Holland.
    A candidate for the state legislature had been murdered, and the police—under strong political pressure—sat on the case. The dead man’s widow hired McCall to get some action. One of McCall’s first contacts was Sam Holland, then a state senator and a friend of the murdered legislator. Between them they cracked the case, and in doing so developed a mutual respect and liking that soon became close friendship. So that when Holland ran for governor and won, one of his first acts was to offer McCall a job as his