032 High Marks for Malice (2 page)

“No!” Nancy said sharply. “Don’t move him!”

“What difference does it make? He’s dead, isn’t he?” Cassandra asked. “Oh, Line!”

Line’s mouth opened and a groan of pain escaped.

Cassandra gasped. “He’s alive!”

“Go get help,” Ned said, hoarse with relief. “Call an ambulance.”

“No!” Cassandra’s voice was shrill. “I don’t want to leave him.”

“You know where a phone is. We don’t,” Ned argued. “Go, Cassandra. Hurry.”

She hesitated for a second, then jumped up and disappeared into the darkness.

Nancy touched Line’s face gently. His skin was cool and clammy. “He’s in shock,” she said. “We should keep him warm.”

Ned shrugged out of his coat and spread it over his friend, tucking it gently around him. “I hope the ambulance gets here soon. What do you think happened, Nan? He’s scratched up—probably from the bushes—but I don’t see—”

“He has a fracture, for one thing,” Nancy said, shining the light along the length of his left leg. Its grotesque angle left no doubt she was right.

Something glittered near Line’s knee. Carefully Nancy reached over. “His keys,” she said, picking them up and handing them to Ned.

Suddenly Line groaned again, and Nancy moved the penlight to his face. His eyes, a remarkable blue, were open and he blinked against the glare.

“Line?” Ned said. “It’s me, buddy. Nickerson. Can you hear me?”

“Ned?” Line turned his head to see his friend.

“Don’t move. You’re going to be all right. Cassandra’s gone to call an ambulance.”

“Nancy,” Line whispered. “Where’s . . . Nancy?”

“Here, Line.” Nancy directed the light toward her face so he could see her.

His tongue darted across his lips, and he took a deep breath as if gathering strength. “Check—fish tank—Important.” He spoke so softly, it was difficult to understand him. “Man’s buried—fish tank.” Then his eyes glazed over and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

“What’s he talking about?” Nancy asked.

“Who knows? He’s delirious. Where is that ambulance?”

Cassandra came running out of the darkness. “They’re on the way. How is he?”

“In shock,” Ned answered, “but he came to for a minute. He recognized me and asked for Nancy. That’s a good sign.”

“He asked for
you?“
Cassandra’s head jerked around, and she glared at Nancy. “Why?”

“I’m not sure,” Nancy admitted. “Something about a man being buried in an aquarium.”

“An aquarium? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He was delirious,” Ned assured her. “He didn’t know what he was saying.”

“I should have been here!” Cassandra cried. “I knew I shouldn’t have left!”

The wail of an approaching siren cut her off. Cassandra ran through the surrounding grove of trees, shouting, “Here! Back here!”

Ned reached for his friend’s hand, his eyes full of concern.

“Don’t worry,” Nancy said. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.” But she wasn’t sure at all.

• • •

It was an agonizing hour and a quarter before the emergency room doctor, the nut brown skin of his forehead dewy with perspiration, came out into the waiting room. Seeing the three teenagers hovering anxiously, he hurried over to them. “Did you come with Mr. Sheffield?” he asked.

Ned cleared his throat. “Yes. How is he?”

“Well—”

“Dr. Garrison?” a cultured voice called from behind them. A tall, distinguished-looking man approached hurriedly.

“That’s our registrar, Mr. Chapin,” Cassandra whispered.

“I heard that one of our students had been admitted. Who is it and what’s the problem?”

“The boy’s name is Lincoln Sheffield,” Dr. Garrison said. “He’s in a coma. He has a few fractures—left leg and wrist, ribs—along with minor scratches and bruises. But—”

“Excuse me,” Chapin interrupted, eyeing Nancy, Ned, and Cassandra, “but could we discuss this in private?”

Ned opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Garrison cut him off. “These young people found my patient and acted quickly and responsibly. If they hadn’t, he’d be dead.”

“Line and I are old friends,” Ned explained. “Since his father’s in Hong Kong, I’m as close to family as he’s got.”

Dr. Garrison nodded, ignoring Chapin’s look of displeasure. “As I was saying, we won’t know more until we see his Xrays, but I suspect a head injury. His condition is critical, and—”

“But he’ll be all right?” Cassandra broke in.

The doctor hesitated. “I can’t say yet. A fall such as his usually—”

“He fell?” Ned asked.

“His injuries are consistent with a fall from a considerable height.”

It was precisely what Nancy had suspected. “The bell tower,” she said. “We found him at the base of the bell tower.”

Chapin sighed deeply. “This happens every year. Some young idiot tries to climb the carillon to remove the statue on top. They rarely make it high enough to hurt themselves when they fall.”

“I know Line wouldn’t pull a prank as stupid as that,” Cassandra said heatedly.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Chapin said gently. “Please, keep me posted on his condition, Dr. Garrison. Here’s my card.” With his left hand, he jotted a number down on the card, his elbow jutting out.

“Call me at any hour, at my home, if necessary,” Chapin continued, “at the number on the back. In the interim, we’ll try to get in touch with his father.” Nodding an abrupt farewell, he left.

Nancy watched him go, surprised by his interest and concern. Perhaps this was typical at a school the size of Basson. The administration probably knew all the students personally.

Cassandra glared after him. “Line would not climb that tower!” she said again.

“Well, it certainly appears he did,” Dr. Garrison said. “By the way, which one of you is Nancy?”

“I am,” Nancy said. “Why?”

“Mr. Sheffield came around long enough to say your name. I thought you’d like to know.”

Puzzled, Nancy said, “Thank you,” and turned to find a tight-lipped Cassandra staring at her. The redhead’s fists were clenched at her sides.

Ned gave the doctor the phone number at Line’s apartment. “He has an answering machine. If I’m not there, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“What are your visiting hours?” Nancy asked.

“Well . . .” Dr. Garrison paused. “You might as well know: your friend’s on his way to intensive care.”

“Oh.” Ned visibly sagged.

Nancy took his hand and squeezed it. “Does this mean he won’t be able to have visitors at all?” she asked.

“No. But only two at a time for no more than ten minutes, every four hours between eight
A.M.
and midnight. Normally the visitors are restricted to immediate members of the family—”

“But his father’s out of the country,” Ned reminded him.

The doctor nodded. “Under the circumstances, I’ll alert the nursing staff to allow you in. We will try to contact Mr. Sheffield, of course.”

“I really appreciate that, Dr. Garrison. His dad usually stays at the Loredo in Hong Kong,” Ned said. “Thanks for everything.”

“See you tomorrow,” Nancy added. The doctor smiled and returned to his patient.

Cassandra was silent as they returned to the car. When Ned unlocked the passenger side, she dug into the pocket of her coat. “Here’s the extra key to my room,” she said, shoving it at Nancy. “Two-twelve. Let yourself in. I—I’m going to walk back.” Before they could object, she was gone.

“Should we try to catch her and change her mind?” Ned asked. “It’s awfully dark.”

“Maybe she needs to be alone. And she probably wouldn’t consider walking unless it was safe.” Nancy closed the door on her side.

“You’re right,” Ned agreed as he slid behind the wheel. “If anything like this ever happened to you, I’d be—”

“Don’t say it.” Nancy pulled her collar up around her neck. “Cassandra has had a big shock. She must love Line as much as I love you.”

“No, I don’t think so. They’re only classmates and coworkers.”

“Line works?” Nancy asked, surprised. “Where?”

“In a computer lab on campus.” Ned started the engine. “To Line, that’s not work, that’s fun.” He pulled out and headed for the university.

As they neared the campus gates, Nancy said, “Ned, I’d rather not beat my hostess to her own room, at least not this first time.”

“Any ideas, then?” he said.

“It’s almost seven. What if we take some food back to Line’s? That’ll give Cassandra time to get to the dorm and have a little privacy before I barge in.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Ned said softly, smoothing her cheek. “And I’m one lucky guy.”

• • •

“I guess a lot of faculty members live here. Every other name begins with Professor or Doctor,” Nancy commented after they passed the mailboxes on their way to the second floor of Line’s apartment building. “Why doesn’t Line live in a dorm?”

“Too noisy, he said,” Ned explained, pausing on the landing to get a better grip on his duffel bag. “Lots of kids live off-campus. Half the time I wish I did, too. It would be a lot less distracting.”

When they reached the door of apartment 2J, Nancy said, “Don’t put the bags down. I’ll unlock it.”

“Thanks. Jacket pocket,” Ned said, and leaned forward so Nancy could get the keys.

Nancy stuck the key in the top lock, but before she could turn it, the door began to open. “It’s not locked!”

Ned chuckled. “That’s Line. Brilliant but absentminded.” Shouldering the door wider, he stepped inside. “Boy, it’s dark in here. Wait till I find the light switch. Don’t want you tripping over my—Hey! What—”

His sentence was interrupted by a thud, followed by the sounds of his bags hitting the floor.

Out in the hall, Nancy laughed. “Who was it you didn’t want to trip? Are you okay?” Silence. “Ned?”

Suddenly a black-gloved hand shot around the door. Incredibly strong fingers closed on her upper arm and gave a vicious yank. Nancy found herself being hurtled headfirst into the darkness beyond.

T
HE DOOR SLAMMED CLOSED
, and the blackness became impenetrable. Nancy reached for the gloved hand holding her prisoner and managed to grab the end of a sleeve. Her captor shook her off.

She struck out again, reaching higher this time. Her palm brushed against a head of short, silky hair. Lowering her aim, Nancy caught an ear. Hair of a different texture scraped the heel of her hand. A beard!

Releasing the ear, she pinched as much facial hair as she could and pulled hard. Her reward was a high-pitched squeal of pain as her attacker jerked away.

Immediately something soft and thick dropped over Nancy’s head and shoulders. It reeked of mothballs and made breathing difficult. She flailed at whatever it was, trying to snatch it off, but couldn’t find an edge.

The door opened, then slammed shut. Nancy knew that the mysterious attacker was gone.

Furious at herself for having let the man get away, she yanked at the suffocating material. It fell to the floor in a heap at her feet. She would have liked to go after her assailant but decided to check on Ned first.

“Ned? Are you okay?”

He moaned nearby. “Nancy?” he said groggily.

“Don’t move. My penlight’s.in my pocket.” She found it and flicked it on. Ned sat up on the floor not three feet away, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Panning the room with her light, Nancy located the wall switch and stepped past her boyfriend to turn it on. The room seemed to explode with light.

“Ow!” Ned said, shielding his eyes. He rubbed his chin, which was an angry red. “Something hit me and I hit the floor.”

“Some
body,”
Nancy corrected him, “medium height, wiry, and strong as an ox. He also had a beard.”

“Are you all right?” Ned struggled to his feet. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not really. He just threw this over my head.”

She showed him a king-size blanket, holding it at arm’s length. “The way it smells, it must have come out of a trunk.”

“It did.” Ned nodded toward a footlocker, its lid raised, the contents strewn in front of it. A second blanket was stretched over one of the windows.

At the other large window, a curtain rod dangled loosely from one end. “He must have been using the blanket he threw over you to cover that window,” Ned observed. “No wonder it was so dark in here.”

“But what was he doing?” Nancy asked, looking around at the large studio apartment.

There were few furnishings; a pair of love seats, two end tables, a stereo system, and a small television. A kitchenette spanned one wall, separated from the larger area by a waist-high counter.

A two-foot Christmas tree, silver with red ornaments, sat on the counter, the only reminder of the season. Poor Line, Nancy thought. The holiday must have been lonely for him this year.

Then she saw what they must have interrupted. “Look, Ned,” she said, pointing.

The wall opposite the kitchenette was Line’s study center. A computer and two printers sat center stage on a typing surface at least eight feet long. The floor around it supplied the answer to what the mysterious intruder had been doing.

Diskettes by the dozens were strewn all over.
Their empty clear plastic containers lay on the floor also. Printouts, unfolded and ripped apart, were heaped on top of this.