Free A Caduceus is for Killing by Diana Kirk

made a conquest? She wasn't exactly melting. In fact, she'd seemed to actually dislike him until they were interrupted by the Dean.
    It wasn't a date. They were just going to dinner to finish the discussion on Grafton. Well, maybe he would turn the investigation around to a little personal interrogation?
    Still, she hadn't seemed overly impressed with him. Besides, he was leery about any type of relationship, especially with someone involved in a case. And he knew how much cases took away from a personal life. What personal life? He had none--never had. And yet, there was something about this woman. It was a nice thought while it lasted, but for now the only thing he should concentrate on was murder, not women.
    That's what he'd do, forget it for now. After all, it was no crime to enjoy a simple dinner with a handsome woman, was it?

Chapter VI
     . . . AND TO TEACH THEM THIS ART IF THEY SHALL WISH TO LEARN, WITHOUT FEE OR STIPULATION. . . .

         With one-way and closed streets, it took Krastowitcz five minutes to drive from the hospital to the medical school. One of three in Nebraska, Dorlynd was situated on the banks of the Missouri River. It shimmered in the afternoon air while thin, spiraling fingers of mist reached upward, caressing the hazy Nebraska sky like a lover just awakening from an afternoon's embrace. The blue void responded by sucking the moisture upward until river and sky coupled as one.
    The campus was completely surrounded by gnarled maple trees that hovered over the benches and study nooks scattered around the stylish buildings. One of the newer buildings at Dorlynd, the medical school was a round bubble-like structure that looked like a fat beetle squatting next to the older, taller buildings. It was a prototype, built in 1978 from research funds. Instead of going up, the building went down, deep into Nebraska soil. Inspired by the Strategic Air Command, there were fifteen stories underground.
    Krastowitcz hoped the Dean's office wasn't on the bottom. Not that he was claustrophobic, he just didn't like being shut in, especially so far underground. A remnant of his time spent in Nam.
    He pulled the Charger into a spot right in front. Did Graf-ton's murder have anything to do with all the vacant parking stalls? Or did all doctors go home after two-thirty in the after-noon? Academics in the medical profession certainly didn't appear to work very hard. Krastowitcz entered and noticed the foyer lined in dark wood of some type. Why did universities think everything had to be dark? He shook his head, spotted a large sign telling him the Dean's office was on the ground floor ahead to his left. He exhaled in relief.
    What if this guy was the typical, academic snob, over- educated and lacking the patience to present himself pleasantly to the common man?
    Talking down to him.
    God, he hated that. These pencil-pushers--hell, in general--didn't most of the world think the police were beneath them? On the other hand, contacts with the criminal element tended to make officers suspicious of human nature and socially repulsive.
    Krastowitcz was proud to be a police officer. He'd focused his entire attention on the derelictions of mankind, and was, by nature, suspicious of everyone.
    He flashed his badge to the anxious secretary. "I'm Sergeant Krastowitcz. I've got a two-thirty appointment with Dr. Hardwyn."
    "Yes. Right this way, sir." She opened a heavily carved door and allowed him to pass.
    At least some people in this town gave him respect. Krastowitcz flashed his friendliest smile. "Thanks, Miss."
    Once in the Dean's office, he took an instant dislike to Hardwyn, a tall, slender man with the detested condescending attitude. To be civil to this slime-bag was, to Krastowitcz, an undeniable act of courageous public relations. The Dean's slim hand was lost in Krastowticz's large paw, and he squelched an