Some Like It Hawk(23)

“We’re working on it,” Randall said.

“Moving the crime scene upstairs?” I asked.

“Getting your father appointed as a local medical examiner,” Randall said. “In the meantime, is there anything we can do?”

“I’ve already pronounced her dead,” Dad said. “It would be nice, of course, to have your medical examiner inspect the crime scene, but Horace and I have done so.”

“Looks a blessed sight better in court if your ME can bring himself to show up at the crime scene,” the chief said. “Of course, it also looks a blessed sight better if your ME’s not a complete nincompoop.”

Everyone looked uncomfortable. But I noticed that no one spoke up to say, “Oh, Smoot’s not so bad.”

“You’re going down to the hospital with the body, I assume,” the chief said to Dad.

Dad nodded.

“Can’t you find a way to take him with you?”

“Dr. Smoot?” Dad asked. “Why?”

“Surely he’s certifiable,” the chief said. “If he’s locked up in a psych ward somewhere I won’t have to explain his absence.”

“Yes, but it could call into question all of his recent findings,” Dad said. “Cause the state medical examiner a lot of extra work. And these days the bar for involuntary commitment is a lot higher than you’d think.”

“Heat exhaustion,” I said.

They turned to me with puzzled looks on their faces.

“You could admit Dr. Smoot to the hospital for heat exhaustion,” I said. “Even if he followed orders and left his cape home, you know he’s probably dressed in all black. And then running up the courthouse steps in the sun? An invitation to heatstroke.”

The chief and Dad looked at each other.

“I could give it a try.” Dad sounded dubious.

“I’ll help you.” I started for the stairs. “We’ll tell him he can either come down the stairs or pretend to have heat exhaustion.”

Once we reached the courthouse lobby, I saw Dr. Smoot cowering against the wall opposite the stairs. He was dressed in black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, making him probably the only person in the county dressed even less suitably than the guards for heat in the high nineties. I revised my plan of action. Ordering him to do anything was probably fruitless.

“Dr. Smoot, are you all right?” I asked.

“I’ll just wait up here,” he said. “You can bring the body up here.”

“I’ve already certified her death,” Dad said. “Why don’t you just come along with me, and we’ll examine her together down at the hospital?”

“You’re trying to trick me!” Dr. Smoot shouted. He was scrabbling against the wall behind him as if looking for a doorknob. “You’re going to lead me down into that tunnel!”

“It’s not you we’re trying to trick.” I glanced around ostentatiously, as if making sure no one could overhear, and then dropped my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s the chief. He’s insisting you come down. But Dad and I have a plan.”

“I’m going to admit you to the hospital with possible heat exhaustion,” Dad whispered.

Smoot didn’t say anything, but he cocked his head to one side and stopped clawing at the wall.

“Help us out a bit with a few symptoms,” I said. “That way we can keep you out of harm’s way until all this crawling through tunnels is over with, and nobody will be the wiser.”

“You’re experiencing weakness, profuse sweating, muscle cramps, headache, and nausea,” Dad prompted. “I think we can skip the actual vomiting. If you can faint plausibly, that would add a lovely note of authenticity.”

“But don’t do it unless you can carry it off properly,” I said. “Nothing worse than an obviously fake faint.”

Dr. Smoot was nodding furiously.

“Here comes the chief!” Dad hissed.

The chief popped out of the stairway door. Recognizing his cue, Dr. Smoot collapsed against the wall, clutching his head with one hand and his stomach with the other, and uttered several sepulchral groans.

“Good heavens,” the chief exclaimed. “What the dickens is wrong with the man now?”

“Heat exhaustion.” Dad patted Dr. Smoot on the shoulder, and Dr. Smoot sagged against him as if all his bones had suddenly turned to jelly. Dad staggered slightly under the weight. “I’m taking him down to the hospital ASAP,” Dad puffed.

“Vern, help Dr. Langslow,” the chief said. “Dr. Smoot, you just take all the time you need to get well.”

One of the deputies hurried to support Dr. Smoot’s other side, and the three of them lurched out the courthouse door.