The Campus Murders by Ellery Queen

malevolent detachment, keeping an ear on things. Long insisted on going over the same ground half a dozen times.
    â€œYou still haven’t given me a good reason why, when this black boy came running into Gunther’s house with his yarn about finding Laura, you didn’t notify us on the spot,” the lieutenant said. “That was police business, Mr. McCall, and you damn well know it! No, instead you go shooting off down to the river on your own. I want to know why!”
    â€œBecause the girl might have been alive—as it turned out she was—and every minute counted,” McCall said patiently again. “At the back of my mind, I suppose, I was expecting Gunther or Mrs. Gunther to notify the police. I’ve told you all this, lieutenant.”
    â€œI don’t buy it,” Long said nastily. “It sounds fishy to me.”
    â€œI don’t give a damn how it sounds to you,” McCall said. “Look, I know you and Pearson dislike my charging in here on your turf, but I’m tired of being treated like a suspect in a lineup. You keep up these tactics, lieutenant, I’m going to phone the attorney general.”
    Finally Long let him go. He returned to the Red Harbor Inn, changed to a fresh jacket, and headed for the hospital.
    McCall found Brett Thornton outside a private room in the V.I.P. pavilion on the third floor, pacing. It was past evening visiting hours by now, and the shining corridors were deserted except for an occasional hurrying white uniform.
    Laura’s father was one of those bantam-sized men who make up for their lack of physical impressiveness by sheer glowering will. He had a bony, almost skeletal, face, all ridges and wales, with a blade of a nose and jet eyes as unwinking as a snake’s. His mouth was a wound, and words shot out of it like pus.
    â€œHow is she, Mr. Thornton?” McCall asked quietly.
    â€œDon’t you know?” Thornton spat. “I thought this was what Holland sent you down here for.”
    â€œIt’s been a busy evening, sir. The last report I had, your daughter was in a coma.”
    â€œShe still is. She’s in terrible shape. Dying, for all I can tell! They don’t know anything in this one-horse excuse of a hospital! I’m waiting for my own doctor now. What have you found out? Who attacked her?”
    â€œWe can’t guarantee instant solutions, Mr. Thornton,” McCall said. “We’re doing the best we can. It’s not going to help getting angry.”
    â€œI’ll get anything I damn please! It’s Holland whose policies have generated the atmosphere that allows a thing like this to happen. And I’ll have his hide for it.”
    â€œDo you hold him responsible for what’s going on in California, New York, Paris, Tokyo? This student unrest is worldwide, Mr. Thornton. You know that. Naturally you’re upset. Anybody would be. Is Mrs. Thornton with you?”
    â€œShe’s home under a doctor’s care. Everything’s gone to hell. Christ, my baby girl.”
    â€œI’m sorry, sir.”
    Thornton ignored him. He sprang to the door of Laura’s room, opened it a crack, peered inside. Immediately he was back in the hall.
    â€œThe same. She’ll die, McCall. I feel it in my bones.” He began striding about, taking his frustration out on the inlaid linoleum. “It’s these damned students! I warned Holland they were getting out of hand. But did he do anything?—kick the troublemaking Communists out of the college, for instance, as I suggested? Why, some of them are here on scholarships, for God’s sake!” Thornton seized McCall’s lapel. “Well, I tell you here and now, McCall, you’d damn well better pull this off. Or I’ll make things so hot in this state for your governor that Antarctica won’t cool him off!”
    â€œI’ll do my best,” McCall said.
    Thornton glared. But there was no irony in