Double Homicide Part 14

"He was shot, but he died of a burst vessel, probably of the subclavian artery. I'm sure the kid had a preexisting aneurysm."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Green blurted out. "I never ever saw any aneurysm."

"That's because you didn't see an X-ray of Julius," Dorothy said.

Green was completely perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Dorothy looked at Change, who explained the situation.

Coach Ryan broke in: "What the h.e.l.l are you saying? That the whack to Julius's chest by that frickin' Duran is what caused his death?" He'd gone white and his face was sweat-drenched.

"Albert, sit down," Dr. Green told him.

"No, I'm fine! I want to know what's going on. Are you saying playing ball killed him?"

Change said, "Not exactly."

"Then what the h.e.l.l are you saying?"

"Albert," said McCallum.

Ryan drooped. "Sorry, sir. My nerves . . ."

McCallum patted his shoulder. "We're all shaken up." He turned to Change. "Can we have a comprehensive explanation, please?"

Change said, "Precisely what caused the artery to burst would be speculation. What is clear is that Julius should not have been playing any type of contact sport."

"I wouldn't have let him play," said Green, "if I'd seen a d.a.m.ned aneurysm on a d.a.m.ned X-ray."

"See what happens when you don't follow procedure!" Violet broke in.

Everyone glared at her. But in this case, she happened to be right. Even McCain had to admit that.

He said, "If the kid's been doing this since high school, subst.i.tuting one X-ray for another, it means he knew about his condition. So somewhere along the line, there's got to be an X-ray that showed an aneurysm."

"We can only go on what was given to us, people," McCallum stated. The relief in his voice was profound. "And these X-rays are clear. As far as we knew, the boy was healthy."

"They are clear and they are not of Julius."

Green said, "G.o.d, this is awful!"

"Detective McCain is right," Dorothy said. "There has to be an X-ray somewhere. The question is, how far back do we have to go?"

McCain said, "I bet his pediatrician has an X-ray from when he was a little kid."

"Which means he would have notified Julius's mother about it," Change said.

Dorothy said, "No mother in her right mind would let her son do something that would endanger his life. I'm positive Ellen didn't know about it."

"Is it standard procedure for a child to get a chest X-ray?" McCain asked.

Green said, "It isn't part of a routine childhood checkup. You don't want to expose kids to X-rays without reason. But with severe croup that doesn't resolve, a bad bronchitis, suspected pneumonia-sure, he could've taken a chest X-ray."

"Time to talk to Julius's pediatrician."

"We'd need Ellen's permission," Dorothy said. "I don't want to give her this kind of news right now. It's just too tragic." She looked at the team doctor. "Dr. Green, you said you spoke with the coach at Julius's high school and they had X-rays?"

Green nodded.

"Let's start there, compare their X-rays to these. At least we'll find out if he used the same subst.i.tute."

McCain said, "Where'd he go to high school?"

Coach Ryan said, "St. Paul's."

"St. Paul's in Newton?" Dorothy asked.

"Yes," President McCallum said. "Like most of our students, he was local."

McCain said, "Onward to Newton. Always liked the burbs in winter."

16.

St. Paul's graced seven acres of rolling, high-priced Newton hills. The inst.i.tution was basic New England prep. Episcopal school, but a sign on the colonial-era chapel said "Services are voluntary. Everyone is a child of G.o.d."

The head coach was Jim Winfield, another ex-NBA benchwarmer, nearly seven feet tall with a shaved head, a goatee, and the sculpted face of a Maori warrior.

Black is is beautiful, thought Dorothy. What would it be like to live with a man with that kind of presence? beautiful, thought Dorothy. What would it be like to live with a man with that kind of presence?

Like Ryan, Winfield seemed numbed by Julius's death. He told the detectives he did indeed remember a call from Boston Ferris inquiring about Julius Van Beest's chest X-rays.

"I don't remember if it was Dr. Green or Al Ryan. I know both of them quite well because over the past years, we've done lots of cross-referencing. So to speak."

They were sitting in his office, a generous, oak-paneled s.p.a.ce lined with trophy-stuffed display cases. The school had gone first place in football, basketball, baseball, soccer, hockey, tennis, swimming, polo, fencing, and lacrosse. St. Paul's took its athletics very seriously.

"And what did you talk about to whoever it was?" Dorothy asked.

"I don't remember the exact conversation, ma'am," Winfield said. "It was over three years ago. They wanted to know if Julius always brought in his own chest X-rays and I told him that all all of our kids playing sports brought in their own. We don't have X-ray facilities." of our kids playing sports brought in their own. We don't have X-ray facilities."

There was a knock at the door. A hulking teenage boy, attired in gray flannel slacks, a white shirt, blue blazer, and rep tie, came into the office, carrying several manila envelopes.

Nice threads, thought McCain. Better than he'd ever worn, including including at his own father's funeral. at his own father's funeral.

"Ah . . . here we go," Winfield said. "Thanks, Tom. How's the ankle doing?"

"Better and better each day, Coach."

"Good to hear."

Tom smiled and left.

Winfield shook his head. "The kid twisted his ankle before a big game and played through the injury. What started out as a sprain turned into a torn ligament."

"That's terrible," Dorothy said. "Where were the parents?"

"I don't think they knew. These kids drive themselves crazy. They're all after the same scholarships, and the compet.i.tion is fierce. It's terrible, but it's a fact of life." He handed the envelopes to Change. "Here you go, Doctor."

The ME said, "I'm surprised the school kept Julius's medical records this long."

"We keep everything for ten years, then it goes onto microfilm." Winfield smiled. "St. Paul's has a strong sense of history. A lot of alumni get famous, or at least well known."

Change pulled the radiographic image from Julius's senior year and held it to the window. The light wasn't perfect, but it was enough to illuminate the same bifid rib.

The detectives sighed in frustration.

"Are they all the same?" Dorothy asked.

"Let's find out," Change said. He took out another film.

"What are you looking for?" Winfield asked.

Change pointed to the supernumerary rib. "This is what we're looking for."

Winfield squinted. "Oh . . . I see. The bone is split. Does that mean anything?"

"It means that this isn't an X-ray of Julius Van Beest," Change said.

"What?" Winfield asked. "I'm confused. What's going on?"

"We wish we knew." McCain turned to Dorothy. "You tell him."

Winfield listened, his eyes widening in shock as Dorothy related the events of the last few days. When she was done, Winfield slapped his hand against his cheek. "Lord, I had no idea."

"Apparently, n.o.body did," Dorothy said. "Why would anyone a.s.sume the boy was trying to hide something?"

The third image was identical to the other two. McCain blew out air. "Looks like we're going to have to trace his medical history even further back." He looked at Winfield. "Any idea whose X-ray this is?"

"Not a clue."

Dorothy said, "Who did Julius hang with in high school?"

"He was a superstar," Winfield told them. "He had his fan club." The coach paused. "To tell you the truth, I was very pleased but also a little shocked when he chose college over the NBA. He was being scouted left and right. Everyone knew he had the stuff to make it in the pros. I always wondered why he didn't make the jump. Now I realize he must have known that pro sports would be a serious risk to his health. And he must have realized that his little charade wouldn't work in the majors. But even college sports . . . What was that poor boy thinking?"

"The boy was seriously misguided," McCain said. He paused a moment, then stared at the three radiographs. "Coach, is this a three-year or a four-year high school?"

"Four years."

Dorothy caught on. "Where's the fourth X-ray?"

"Julius transferred to St. Paul's in the middle of his freshman year."

"From where?" said McCain.

"I believe he was homeschooled for two months," Winfield said. "Before that he attended Lancaster Prep over in Brookline."

"Why'd he transfer?"

"We gave him a full scholarship, so I a.s.sumed that was the reason. Then I found out he had had a full scholarship at Lancaster, too, so the answer is I don't know. I always wondered what the story was, but . . . he did well here, and everyone was jazzed having him on board. We'd done well in every sport but b-ball. With Julius playing, that changed for the better."

Winfield sat back in his chair and sighed. "Maybe Lancaster knew, but I didn't." He shook his head. "This one hurts."

Lancaster Prep was a feeder for the Ivies. Its approach was old-fashioned, and its donors were old money. Episcopal, too, but here there was no opting out. The student population was well into its seventh generation of legacies, the exception being the athletes that Lancaster recruited hyperactively. Winning the yearly homecoming football game against Xavier was high-priority.

Yet another coach, yet another retired third-string basketball pro. Richard Farnsworth, a six-three guard who'd gone to fat, had played six seasons with eight different teams. By his own account, he was a workaholic, and it was unusual not to find him either in his office or on the court.

Farnsworth's office was compact and functional and also filled with trophies. He sat at his desk, ran his hand through shocks of curly gray hair, said, "Don't waste your time going through medical records. The school doesn't have them. When Julius left the school, his paperwork left with him."

"There was a problem," said Change.

Farnsworth scowled. "I was threatened with a huge civil lawsuit and dismissal if I spoke about it to anyone. Medical confidentiality and all that."

"The boy is dead, and this is a murder investigation," Dorothy said.

"What are you talking about?" said Farnsworth. "Julius was shot."

Change gave him the facts. Farnsworth looked ready to vomit. "Oh man-no, no, don't tell me that!" He pounded the table. "G.o.d, this is just sickening!"

McCain said, "What do you know about it, sir?"

Farnsworth grabbed a wad of tissues from a Kleenex box and slapped at his own face. "G.o.ddammit! As soon as I got the report, I called up the parents and told them there was no way that the school would permit him to play basketball."

"You spoke to Ellen Van Beest?" Dorothy asked.

"No, no," Farnsworth said, "I talked to the old man-Leon."

"Leo," Dorothy corrected.

"Yeah. Right. Leo knew his kid shouldn't play. Leo himself was in the game a few years before me." Farnsworth's eyes clouded, shot back somewhere into his past.

Dorothy said, "So you spoke to Leo."

"I told him we needed to talk. He said the mother was busy working, so he'd come in. I told him Julius needed to be looked at by a specialist. He said he'd take care of it right away. I had no reason to doubt him. After all, it was his son, right?"