minutes? He’d said an hour. And he’d said he was starving, and would hurry.
Simon was never late.
She called his room.
No answer.
She waited fifteen minutes and then called again. It didn’t take Simon more than a few minutes to walk from Lester to Devereaux. It wouldn’t have taken fifteen minutes.
She called Danny at the frat house. He wasn’t there, either.
Then she called Simon’s room again.
All she heard was the sound of the telephone ringing in an empty room.
Quinn didn’t know what to do. Almost eight o’clock. Where was he?
Maybe he’d run into someone in the lobby or the elevator and was out in the hall caught up in a conversation. Probably political. Simon never could resist a heated political argument.
There was no one in the hall when Quinn opened the door of her room and peered out. The sixth floor was quiet. Everyone had gone to dinner.
Something crawled up Quinn’s spine. Who was she kidding? Simon wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t be this late without calling.
She hurried her steps, heading for the elevator.
Pushed the button, bouncing nervously from foot to foot as she waited for it to arrive.
At last it did.
The door slid open.
To reveal Simon, lying on his back on the floor of the cage, his eyes closed, a small but very red pool of blood puddling underneath his sandy hair.
Chapter 19
Q UINN STAYED WITH S IMON at the infirmary until, although he hadn’t regained consciousness, she was sure he was okay. It hurt to see him lying there, so still, a white bandage wrapped around his head like a turban.
“He was hit from behind,” one of two policemen who had been called to the scene told her in the tiny waiting room. “Stepped into the elevator, someone was waiting for him there, and wham! Must have been someone he knew, or he wouldn’t have turned his back on them, the way things have been going on this campus lately. Probably never knew what hit him.”
Quinn winced.
“Maybe he saw something, maybe not,” the policeman continued. “When he wakes up I’ll see what I can find out’.”
The infirmary physician wouldn’t let Quinn stay. “Simon will sleep all night,” she assured Quinn. “He’s going to be fine. Someone’s aim wasn’t too accurate. You go on home, get some rest. Call here in the morning and someone will tell you if he’s ready to be discharged.”
On her way out of the infirmary, Quinn spotted the policeman she’d talked to at the station. He was standing in the doorway, alone.
On an impulse, Quinn hurried over to him. “Officer,” she said, “did you ever find out the names of those people?”
He stared at her, a blank expression on his face. “What people?”
She felt like a fool. He didn’t even remember who she was.
“I’m Quinn Hadley. Remember, I talked to you this afternoon about the Peter Gallagher case? In Riverdale? You said the police thought that Gunther Brach’s girlfriend or some of his pals might have been in the car that night. You said the girl was in the courtroom every day. Did you call Riverdale and get those names?”
The big, beefy man thought for a minute. “Oh, yeah, I did call over there. Guy at the desk said he didn’t remember any of the names and was too busy to look it up. They’re having some kind of Founders’ Day celebration over there, said the place was a madhouse. But he thought the girlfriend’s name started with an S. Said it was an unusual name, that’s why he couldn’t remember it. Going to call me back, when he has time. You might want to check with me at the station later today or tomorrow.”
The only girl’s name beginning with an S that sprang into Quinn’s mind was Suze. Nothing unusual about the name Susan.
Did the names really matter, anyway? If you’d been involved in a criminal trial, wouldn’t you change your name? And what better time to change your name than when you went off to college? No one there would know what your real name was, unless you were unlucky enough to
Simon was never late.
She called his room.
No answer.
She waited fifteen minutes and then called again. It didn’t take Simon more than a few minutes to walk from Lester to Devereaux. It wouldn’t have taken fifteen minutes.
She called Danny at the frat house. He wasn’t there, either.
Then she called Simon’s room again.
All she heard was the sound of the telephone ringing in an empty room.
Quinn didn’t know what to do. Almost eight o’clock. Where was he?
Maybe he’d run into someone in the lobby or the elevator and was out in the hall caught up in a conversation. Probably political. Simon never could resist a heated political argument.
There was no one in the hall when Quinn opened the door of her room and peered out. The sixth floor was quiet. Everyone had gone to dinner.
Something crawled up Quinn’s spine. Who was she kidding? Simon wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t be this late without calling.
She hurried her steps, heading for the elevator.
Pushed the button, bouncing nervously from foot to foot as she waited for it to arrive.
At last it did.
The door slid open.
To reveal Simon, lying on his back on the floor of the cage, his eyes closed, a small but very red pool of blood puddling underneath his sandy hair.
Chapter 19
Q UINN STAYED WITH S IMON at the infirmary until, although he hadn’t regained consciousness, she was sure he was okay. It hurt to see him lying there, so still, a white bandage wrapped around his head like a turban.
“He was hit from behind,” one of two policemen who had been called to the scene told her in the tiny waiting room. “Stepped into the elevator, someone was waiting for him there, and wham! Must have been someone he knew, or he wouldn’t have turned his back on them, the way things have been going on this campus lately. Probably never knew what hit him.”
Quinn winced.
“Maybe he saw something, maybe not,” the policeman continued. “When he wakes up I’ll see what I can find out’.”
The infirmary physician wouldn’t let Quinn stay. “Simon will sleep all night,” she assured Quinn. “He’s going to be fine. Someone’s aim wasn’t too accurate. You go on home, get some rest. Call here in the morning and someone will tell you if he’s ready to be discharged.”
On her way out of the infirmary, Quinn spotted the policeman she’d talked to at the station. He was standing in the doorway, alone.
On an impulse, Quinn hurried over to him. “Officer,” she said, “did you ever find out the names of those people?”
He stared at her, a blank expression on his face. “What people?”
She felt like a fool. He didn’t even remember who she was.
“I’m Quinn Hadley. Remember, I talked to you this afternoon about the Peter Gallagher case? In Riverdale? You said the police thought that Gunther Brach’s girlfriend or some of his pals might have been in the car that night. You said the girl was in the courtroom every day. Did you call Riverdale and get those names?”
The big, beefy man thought for a minute. “Oh, yeah, I did call over there. Guy at the desk said he didn’t remember any of the names and was too busy to look it up. They’re having some kind of Founders’ Day celebration over there, said the place was a madhouse. But he thought the girlfriend’s name started with an S. Said it was an unusual name, that’s why he couldn’t remember it. Going to call me back, when he has time. You might want to check with me at the station later today or tomorrow.”
The only girl’s name beginning with an S that sprang into Quinn’s mind was Suze. Nothing unusual about the name Susan.
Did the names really matter, anyway? If you’d been involved in a criminal trial, wouldn’t you change your name? And what better time to change your name than when you went off to college? No one there would know what your real name was, unless you were unlucky enough to
Similar Books
