Free Death Claims by Joseph Hansen Page B

don't know what kind of news it is. It may not be news at all. Captain Campos will fill you in." 
    She went with him down a hall that was a tunnel of echoes. The dying moan of a siren from outside. Jangle of a telephone nobody wanted to answer. A woman's voice, arguing, insistent. Chatter of teletype machines. Sudden male laughter. Campos waited outside the shut door of the small room. In one delicate hand he held the typed and fingerprinted sheet and the brown envelope. The other hand was on the doorknob. He gave April a smile too tired to last. 
    "Sorry to keep you waiting so long. I want you to look at somebody for me. He's in this room. When I open the door, don't say anything, please. All I want is for you to get a good look at him. Then we'll go to my office and talk about it. All right? Ready?" 
    April started to say something. About melodrama? She changed her mind and nodded. Campos twisted the knob, swung the door inward. The boy had put on the green coverall. It was too big for him. He stood, rubbing his arm again, staring out a window whose heavy steel mesh was clotted with years of repainting. At the sound of the door latch he turned. He saw April and his head gave a sick twist away. 
    Campos shut the door and shouted, "Johnson!" It brought a young officer with hair cut so short his pink scalp showed. He was large and solid and he came at a jog that jarred the floor. Campos jerked his head at the door. "Sit in there with him. Don't give him cigarettes. Don't give him water. Don't give him anything." 
    He moved off down the hall and into a tan room of tan file cabinets where a tan steel desk held two telephones, a shuffle of manila folders, coffee-stained Styrofoam cups, a choked glass ashtray. Back of the desk a tan metal swivel chair was upholstered in fake leather. He dropped into it and nodded at straight chairs that matched it, waited for April and Dave to sit, then asked her, "Have you seen him before?" 
    "Of course," she said. "At the hospital. He mopped, he pushed those big metal wagons they take away the patients' dirty dishes in, he brought bed linens, took patients in and out in wheelchairs, stretchers. He was on at night. Sometimes I'd find him there visiting with John. He'd always slide out as soon as he saw me." She gave a little shiver. "He reminded me of a snake. I couldn't see how John could stand him. I supposed he was lonely. I couldn't be there all the time." 
    "Did he ever give Mr. Oats hypodermic injections?" 
    "Why, no. Only a registered nurse — " She stopped and stared. "Oh. It's about the morphine, isn't it? That he wasn't supposed to have." 
    "That's what it's about," Campos said. 
    Dave said, "You told me no one came to see him at your place. No one but Dr. De Kalb and Jay McPhail. You want to change that now?'' 
    "You said friends. I didn't think of him. I guess I wanted to forget him and I did. Yes, he came. John hadn't been out of the hospital two days when he showed up. In an old wreck of a Volkswagen. I was supposed to think it was kind and thoughtful of him. I couldn't. I know it's not fair, but he makes my flesh crawl. I told him John wasn't there, but John came out of the bedroom to see who I was talking to and invited him in. I brought them coffee. But I couldn't stay in the same room. I went back to the kitchen. And when I heard him going I followed him outside. I felt guilty, but it was my house and I didn't want him in it. And I did admit it to John afterward. I told the boy not to come back." 
    "He came back," Dave said. "Did you see him?" 
    She shook her head. "Once or twice I thought I heard that rattly motor. After dark, while John was having his swim. I went out on the deck to look, but I couldn't see. And since he didn't come to the door, I didn't worry about it again," Her mouth took a little sorry twist. "I should have worried, shouldn't I?" 
    "You didn't hear that car the night he died?" Campos asked. "No. . . you weren't home. I remember." He sighed,