Bare Bones (25 page)

“Maybe he was interrupted.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe someone else took the file.”

“Who?” Slidel ’s voice dripped skepticism.

“I don’t know.”

“Who even knew the damn thing existed?”

“Cagle’s graduate student,” I snapped. Slidel ’s attitude was making me churlish. “He read parts to Cagle over the phone.”

“Maybe Cagle took the stuff to a home computer.”

“Maybe.”

“But he never sent you the report.”

Good, Skinny. State the obvious.

“Or the photos.”

“Nothing.”

Slidel hitched his belt. It slid back into the groove below his spare tire.

“So where the hel are they?”

“An astute question.”

“And where the hel is the good professor?”

“And another.”

I was starting to get a bad feeling about Cagle’s safety.

My gaze fel on the computer and its flatbed scanner. The setup looked like it might have been purchased when the Monkees were big.

Slidel watched me walk over and press the “on” button. As the CPU dragged through a boot, the Texas deb receptionist appeared in the doorway.

“What is it you think you’re doing?”

“I located Dr. Cagle’s case files, but the one in question is missing.”

“So you think you’re going to use his computer?”

“It might tel us if the photos were ever scanned.”

As if on cue, the CPU beeped and the monitor flashed a password request.

“Do you have it?” I asked the deb.

“I could never give out a password.” She sounded as though I’d asked for her bank card PIN. “Besides, I don’t know it.”

“Does anyone else use this computer?”

“Gene Rudin.”

“Dr. Cagle’s graduate student?”

The deb nodded. Not a hair moved.

“Gene’s off to Florida until the start of fal term. Left Friday.”

A long, lacquered finger pointed at the computer.

“But that scanner won’t run. I’ve had a work order in to computer services for at least two weeks now.” Slidel and I exchanged glances. Now what?

“Did Dr. Cagle ask you to send any faxes last week?” I asked.

The lacquered hands vanished in an arm fold across her chest, a hip shifted, and one sandaled foot came forward. The toes were the same bril iant red as the fingers.

“I’ve already told you, I didn’t see Dr. Cagle last week. And besides, do you know how many faculty I’m responsible for? Or how many grads and undergrads and booksel ers and visitors and whatever trail through my office?” I guessed Slidel and I fel under the “whatever” heading. “Hel s bel s, I do half the student advising around here.”

“That can’t be easy,” I said.

“Faculty faxing isnotin my job description.”

“You must get a lot of visitors.”

“We get our share.”

“Did Dr. Cagle have any unusual cal ers last week?”

“That would not be for me to say.”

What the hel did that mean?

“Did Dr. Cagle haveanyvisitors last week?”

There was a long pause as she chose her words.

“I may not agree with Dr. Cagle’s alternative lifestyle”—she pronounced it as two words: “alter native”—“but he’s a fine man, and I don’t question his associations.”

“Someone came to see Cagle?” Slidel asked gruffly.

One deb eyebrow shot up. “There’s no need to be a grumpy pants, Detective.”

Slidel opened his mouth. I cut him off.

“You were unfamiliar with Dr. Cagle’s visitor?”

The deb nodded.

“What did he want?”

“The man asked for Dr. Cagle. I informed him the professor was out of town.” The deb shrugged one freckled shoulder. “He left.”

“Can you describe the guy?” Slidel .

“Short. Had black hair. Lots of it. Real shiny and thick.”

“Age?”

“Wasn’t no spring chicken, I’l tel you that.”

“Glasses? Facial hair?” Slidel ’s tone was sharp.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Detective.”

The deb unfolded her arms and flicked at a nonexistent speck on her skirt, her way of al owing Slidel to cool his interrogatory heels.

“No mustache or beard, nothing like that.”

“Can you remember anything else about the man?” I asked.

“He wore funny sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes.”

“Whatdidyou see when you looked at his face?” Slidel glared at her.

“Myself.” The deb slapped a key on the desktop. “That’s for the wal cupboards. Check with me when you leave the building.” Slidel and I spent the next forty minutes searching every remaining cabinet, drawer, and shelf in the place. We found nothing related to the Lancaster case, and nothing to indicate where Cagle had gone.

Frustrated, I returned to the desk and idly ran my fingertips under the blotter’s plastic edging.

Nothing.

I lifted a corner and peeked underneath.

A single card lay on the desktop under the blotter. I picked it up.

The logo resembled a police badge. I was about to read the printed information when the deb receptionist reappeared in the door, breathless from running up the stairs.

“I just talked with Dr. Cagle’s housemate.”

An agitated hand fanned the air in front of her face.

“Dr. Cagle’s in intensive care on life support.”

Laying both hands on her chest, the deb looked from me to Slidel and back, mascara-rimmed eyes wide with alarm.

“Sweet Lord Jesus. The doctors don’t think he’l last out the day.”

CAGLE LIVED IN A SMALL BRICK BUNGALOW IN A NEIGHBORHOODof smal brick bungalows a short drive from Hamilton Col ege. The trim was lilac, and four straight-backed lilac rockers sat in perfect alignment on the broad front porch. The lawn was mown, every border edged with military precision.

An ancient live oak shaded the right half of the property, its roots crawling below the earth’s surface like giant, serpentine fingers clinging for support.

Jumbles of brightly colored annuals elbowed for room in beds along the walkway and porch foundation. As we approached the house, the odor of petunias, marigolds, and fresh paint sweetened the hot, humid air.

Climbing the steps, Slidel jabbed a thumb at a green metal holder attached to the house. Someone had coiled the garden hose in perfectly matched loops.

“Guess we got the right place.”

The bel was answered within seconds. The man was younger than I expected, with black hair that had been gel ed, spiked, and gathered from his forehead with an elastic headband. I guessed his age as mid-thirties, his weight at 140.

“You are the officers from Charlotte?”

Not bothering to correct him, Slidel merely held up his badge.

“Lawrence Looper.” Looper stepped back. “Come in.”

We entered a smal foyer with a covered radiator to the left, sliding wooden doors straight ahead, and an open archway to the right. Looper led us through the archway into a living room with throw rugs on a polished oak floor and Pottery Barn furnishings. A wood-bladed fan turned lazily overhead.

“Please.” Looper extended a manicured hand. “Do sit. Can I get either of you a cool beverage?” Declining, Slidel and I seated ourselves on opposite ends of the sofa. The room smel ed of artificial floral deodorizer from a plug-in-the-socket dispenser.

Looper lifted a footstool, placed it against the wal , considered the arrangement, repositioned the stool.

Beside me I heard Slidel puff air through his lips. I gave him a warning look. He rol ed both eyes and his head.

Feng shui restored, Looper returned and took the chair opposite us.

“Wow. Dolores is real y cross with me. I suppose she has a right to be.”

“That’d be Miss Southern Charm over at the university.” Slidel .

“Hmm. I should have cal ed her after Wal y’s col apse, but…” Looper flexed an ankle, causing his flip-flop to make smal popping sounds “…I didn’t.”

“And why is that?” Slidel ’s voice had that edge.

“I don’t like Dolores.”

“And why is that?”

Looper looked Slidel straight in the eye. “She doesn’t like me.”

The ankle flicked several times.

“And Wal y never wants anyone to know when he isn’t feeling wel . He has…” Looper hesitated “…complaints.”Pop. Pop. Pop.“The man likes to keep the state of his health private, so I didn’t broadcast that he’d taken il . I thought he’d prefer it that way.” Pop. Pop.

“But when you two showed up, and Dolores cal ed, wel , I couldn’t lie about it.” Looper put three extraI’s in the word “lie.” “That would have been pointless.”

“Please tel us what happened,” I said.

“There isn’t much to tel . I came home Thursday night and found Wal y curled up on the bathroom floor.” A hand came up, and a finger pointed through a second archway at right angles to the one through which we’d entered the living room.

“In there. He was having trouble breathing, and his face was flushed, and he could hardly speak, but I did get out of him that he felt tightness in his chest.

That scared me to death. And I could see that he’d thrown up.”

The hand fluttered to Looper’s chest.

“I got him into the car, which, let me tel you, wasn’t easy with his legs al shaky and him moaning that he was going to die.” I wondered why Looper hadn’t cal ed for an ambulance, but I didn’t ask him.

“When we got to the ER, he just stopped breathing.”

We waited for Looper to go on. He didn’t.

“They placed him on a respirator?” I prompted.

“Hmm. Wal y started breathing on his own, but he wouldn’t wake up. Stil won’t.”

“Was it a heart attack?” I asked softly.

“I suppose so. The doctors don’t real y want to tel me much.”Pop. Pop.“I’m not family, you know.” Overhead, the fan hummed softly. The artificial bouquet was beginning to cloy.

“Wal y and I have been together a long time. I real y hope he’s going to pul through.” Looper’s eyes had reddened around the rims.

“I hope so, too. He’s a fine man.”

Bril iant, Brennan.

Looper laced his fingers, and one thumb began picking at the other.

“I suppose I should phone his sister, but they aren’t close. And I keep thinking that any minute he’s going to wake up and ask for his pipe and everything wil be fine.”

Looper recrossed his legs, and gave the flip-flop a few flicks.

“Why is it you’re here?”

“I spoke to Dr. Cagle by phone on Thursday,” I said. “He promised to send me a case report and photos. I never received them, and Detective Slidel and I wondered if perhaps he’d brought the materials home, intending to work here.”

“He did sometimes work here on his laptop. But I haven’t noticed anything in the house.”

“A folder? An envelope?”

Looper shook his head.

“A briefcase?”

“Wal y does usual y carry a briefcase. That and his precious laptop.”Pop. Pop.“He doesn’t keep a desktop computer here.” Looper rose. “I’l look around his room.”

Slidel lumbered to his feet and held out a hand.

“How ’bout I have a peek at the prof ’s wheels while you two check out his crib.”

“Whatever.” Suit-yourself shrug.

Looper produced a set of keys, then turned and walked toward the back of the house. I fol owed. Slidel exited through the front door.

Cagle’s bedroom was ICU clean and OCD neat. Big surprise.

The search took five minutes. I saw no sign of a file or photos in Cagle’s dresser or desk drawers, closet, or under his bed. There was nowhere else to look. Frustrated, I trailed Looper back to the living room.

“Let me understand this,” Looper said, tucking one foot under him as he resumed his seat. “You spoke to Wal y on Thursday?”

“Yes,” I replied. “He was in Beaufort.”

“Was he driving up just to send you this report thing?”

“He said he was heading home anyway.”

“Hmmm.”

Slidel rejoined us, shaking his head.

“Does that surprise you, Mr. Looper?” I asked.

“During the summer, Wal y never returned to Columbia on Thursday. He always stayed at the dig until Friday. That’s why I was so surprised to find him here.”

“You have no idea why he might have been coming back early?”

Looper pul ed the foot out, crossed his legs, and popped the flip-flop several times, the ankle-flexing more agitated than before.

“I was out of town al week, myself.”

“Why was that?” Slidel .

“I’m in sales.”

“What is it you sel , Mr. Looper?”

“Pumps. The hydraulic kind, not the ones you wear on your feet.”

If this was an attempt at humor, Looper’s delivery was beyond dry.

“I wasn’t supposed to get back until Friday, but my appointments wrapped up earlier than I’d expected.”

“Landed the big one?” Slidel .

“Actual y, no.”

“Do you have any guess as to why Wal y might have cut short his workweek in Beaufort?” I asked.

Though one shoulder rose in a nonchalant shrug, Looper’s face tensed visibly.

“We’re here in regard to a murder investigation, Mr. Looper,” I prompted.

Deep sigh.

“Wal y may have been planning a rendezvous.”

Deeper sigh.

“A tryst.” Shoulder. “Behind my back.”

There was a long silence. Even Slidel was shrewd enough not to break it.

“Wal y met with someone. They didn’t know I saw them together, but I did. In a coffee shop near campus two Fridays ago.”

“And?” Slidel .

“There are certain things you justknow.”Looper inspected his bare toes.

“Know?” Slidel ’s voice was like razor wire.

Looper’s gaze came up and locked on Slidel ’s.

“It didn’t look like a business meeting.”

“Were the two of them holdin—”

“Can you describe the man?” I cut Slidel off.

Looper sniffed, and his brows arced upward.

“Pretty.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Hunky build, salon tan.”

“Tal ?”

“No.”

“Glasses? Facial hair? Tattoos?”

Continuous head shake.

“Hair?”

“Hugh Grant with a black dye job.” Sniff. “Looked like he was done up for aGQshoot.” Looper gave an eye rol that made Katy look like a tenderfoot, recrossed his legs, and went back to picking at his thumb.