Night Call

In St. Louis, candles watched over a woman's cadaver; her son sobbed angrily. Dr. August H. Sante had refused to make a night call on the dying woman. He, 61, had for years been trying to reduce the numbers of such night calls. They were arduous; really, few people got sick without warning; this woman would be all right until morning; an excited, clamorous family. . . . Shortly after midnight of the wake, the son, mumbling now, arose with purpose. Two men friends went with him out of the room. Forty-five minutes later they returned in silent righteousness. Wake talk grew warily discursive. Next morning Dr. Sante's body was found huddled in his office, ripped by 14 bullets.