McCallum tapped his foot. Empty, the room reverberated like a cathedral.
Dr. Green said, “Julius insisted on getting his X-ray off campus. He was terrified of the procedure and wanted his own physician to do it.”
“Afraid of X-rays?” said McCain.
“Apparently, his grandfather died of cancer due to excess radiation exposure. He didn’t trust the school’s machinery. Too much leakage or some such nonsense.”
“Total nonsense!” Violet agreed.
“What kind of radiation exposure did this grandfather experience?” McCallum asked.
“Apparently, he worked as an assistant in a university lab.” Green shrugged. “I never got the full story, and the little Julius did tell me seemed strange. But the upshot was Julius was anxious, and he’d already made plans to have his own lab take the X-rays. I saw no reason to argue with him.”
“That’s not procedure!” Violet chimed in.
“No, it is not,” Green said. “But I didn’t see the harm in it. He’d been doing it this way since high school. I actually called up the coach there, and at least that part of the story was true. Like most superathletes, Julius was super-particular. He had his superstitions, his rituals and routines, and I figured this was just another on a long list. Besides, as long as his chest X-ray was clean, what did it matter where it was taken?”
Change said, “So you examined the film.”
“Of course. He handed it to me personally and we went over it together.” Green’s eyes darkened. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Do you know how Julius died?” Change asked.
“He was shot.”
“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 hell 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 hell 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 damned aneurysm on a damned 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, substituting 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, “God, 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 substitute.”
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 institution was basic New England prep. Episcopal school, but a sign on the colonial-era chapel said “Services are voluntary. Everyone is a child of God.”
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 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 space 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 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 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 competition 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.”