left the caverns when I couldn’t deal with my thirst and claustrophobia any longer.”
Rain pattered on the window, blurring the wind-tossed trees and the black-bellied clouds.
“Jesus,” Mrs. Baker said, her face ashen. “You poor kid.”
“They were put on trial?” McGee asked.
“Yes. The district attorney didn’t think he could win if he charged them with first- or second-degree murder. Too many extenuating circumstances, including the whiskey and the fact that Jerry had actually struck the first blow when he’d busted Harch’s lip. Anyway, Harch was convicted of manslaughter and got a five-year term in the state penitentiary.”
“Just five years?” Mrs. Baker asked.
“I thought he should have been put away forever,” Susan said, as bitter now as she had been the day she’d heard the judge hand down the sentence.
“What about the other three?” McGee asked.
“They were convicted of assault and of being accomplices to Harch, but because they’d had no previous run-ins with the law and were from good families, and because none of them actually struck the killing blows, they were all given suspended sentences and put on probation.”
“Outrageous!” Mrs. Baker said.
McGee continued to hold Susan’s hand, and she was glad that he did.
“Of course,” she said, “all four of them were immediately expelled from Briarstead. And in a strange way, fate took a hand in punishing Parker and Jellicoe. They were taking the pre-med course at Briarstead, and they managed to finish their last year at another university, but after that they quickly discovered that no top-of-the-line medical school would accept students with serious criminal records. They hustled for another year, submitting applications everywhere, and they finally managed to squeeze into the medical program at a distinctly second-rate university. The night they were notified of their acceptance, they went drinking to celebrate, got stinking drunk, and were both killed when Parker lost control of the car and rolled it over twice. Maybe I should be ashamed to say this, but I was relieved and grateful when I heard what had happened to them.”
“Of course you were,” Mrs. Baker said. “That’s only natural. Nothing to be ashamed of at all.”
“What about Randy Lee Quince?” McGee asked.
“I never heard what happened to him,” Susan said. “And I don’t care ... just as long as he suffered.”
Two closely spaced explosions of lightning and thunder shook the world outside, and for a moment Susan and McGee and Mrs. Baker stared at the window, where the rain struck with greater force than before.
Then Mrs. Baker said, “It’s a horrible story, just horrible. But I’m not sure I understand exactly what it has to do with your fainting spell in the hall a while ago.”
Before Susan could respond, McGee said, “Apparently, the man who stepped out of the elevator, in front of Susan’s wheelchair, was one of those fraternity brothers from Briarstead.”
“Yes,” Susan said.
“Either Harch or Quince.”
“Ernest Harch,” Susan said.
“An incredible coincidence,” McGee said, giving her hand one last, gentle squeeze before letting go of it. “Thirteen years after the fact—and a whole continent away from where the two of you last saw each other.”
Mrs. Baker frowned. “But you must be mistaken.”
“Oh, no,” Susan said, shaking her head vigorously. “I’ll never forget that face. Never.”
“But his name’s not Harch,” Mrs. Baker said.
“Yes, it is.”
“No. It’s Richmond. Bill Richmond.”
“Then he’s changed his name since I knew him.”
“I wouldn’t think a convicted criminal would be allowed to change his name,” Mrs. Baker said.
“I didn’t mean he changed it legally, in court, or anything like that,” Susan said, frustrated by the nurse’s reluctance to accept the
Rain pattered on the window, blurring the wind-tossed trees and the black-bellied clouds.
“Jesus,” Mrs. Baker said, her face ashen. “You poor kid.”
“They were put on trial?” McGee asked.
“Yes. The district attorney didn’t think he could win if he charged them with first- or second-degree murder. Too many extenuating circumstances, including the whiskey and the fact that Jerry had actually struck the first blow when he’d busted Harch’s lip. Anyway, Harch was convicted of manslaughter and got a five-year term in the state penitentiary.”
“Just five years?” Mrs. Baker asked.
“I thought he should have been put away forever,” Susan said, as bitter now as she had been the day she’d heard the judge hand down the sentence.
“What about the other three?” McGee asked.
“They were convicted of assault and of being accomplices to Harch, but because they’d had no previous run-ins with the law and were from good families, and because none of them actually struck the killing blows, they were all given suspended sentences and put on probation.”
“Outrageous!” Mrs. Baker said.
McGee continued to hold Susan’s hand, and she was glad that he did.
“Of course,” she said, “all four of them were immediately expelled from Briarstead. And in a strange way, fate took a hand in punishing Parker and Jellicoe. They were taking the pre-med course at Briarstead, and they managed to finish their last year at another university, but after that they quickly discovered that no top-of-the-line medical school would accept students with serious criminal records. They hustled for another year, submitting applications everywhere, and they finally managed to squeeze into the medical program at a distinctly second-rate university. The night they were notified of their acceptance, they went drinking to celebrate, got stinking drunk, and were both killed when Parker lost control of the car and rolled it over twice. Maybe I should be ashamed to say this, but I was relieved and grateful when I heard what had happened to them.”
“Of course you were,” Mrs. Baker said. “That’s only natural. Nothing to be ashamed of at all.”
“What about Randy Lee Quince?” McGee asked.
“I never heard what happened to him,” Susan said. “And I don’t care ... just as long as he suffered.”
Two closely spaced explosions of lightning and thunder shook the world outside, and for a moment Susan and McGee and Mrs. Baker stared at the window, where the rain struck with greater force than before.
Then Mrs. Baker said, “It’s a horrible story, just horrible. But I’m not sure I understand exactly what it has to do with your fainting spell in the hall a while ago.”
Before Susan could respond, McGee said, “Apparently, the man who stepped out of the elevator, in front of Susan’s wheelchair, was one of those fraternity brothers from Briarstead.”
“Yes,” Susan said.
“Either Harch or Quince.”
“Ernest Harch,” Susan said.
“An incredible coincidence,” McGee said, giving her hand one last, gentle squeeze before letting go of it. “Thirteen years after the fact—and a whole continent away from where the two of you last saw each other.”
Mrs. Baker frowned. “But you must be mistaken.”
“Oh, no,” Susan said, shaking her head vigorously. “I’ll never forget that face. Never.”
“But his name’s not Harch,” Mrs. Baker said.
“Yes, it is.”
“No. It’s Richmond. Bill Richmond.”
“Then he’s changed his name since I knew him.”
“I wouldn’t think a convicted criminal would be allowed to change his name,” Mrs. Baker said.
“I didn’t mean he changed it legally, in court, or anything like that,” Susan said, frustrated by the nurse’s reluctance to accept the
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