Got Your Number (33 page)

The other drawers revealed nothing of import—files of class grades and minutes of faculty meetings. She closed the last drawer with a sigh. "Nothing here."

"Nothing here yet, either," he said from the bookshelf. "Why don't you start on the other end?"

She did, experiencing a pang of sadness that Carl's carefully collected volumes would have to be moved to a new home—probably the university library.

"He had some nice editions," Capistrano murmured.

Roxann lifted an eyebrow at his broad back. So his reading repertoire extended beyond commercial thrillers. The man had layers.

Systematically, she removed each book and flipped through pages to see if Carl had hidden anything inside. For thirty minutes they flipped and shook and reshelved. Then she reached a collection of Shakespeare with spectacular navy spines. She pulled out the first volume and stopped. "Detective. I think I've found something."

He joined her. "False books?"

She held the book-inside-the-book she'd removed up to the light. "It's a journal—1980 to 1985."

"More than one," he said, removing another falsie. "Nineteen eighty-six to 1990."

She thumbed through the pages, scanning entries, and realized quickly that some of Carl's literary efforts were bent toward erotica. She skipped the body-part words to look for names—would he be so bold? Apparently so.

Janeese L... Carlo B... Marie A.

"Are there any for 1992 and up?"

He pulled out the last two volumes. "Yeah. Let's take these with us."

"Isn't that stealing?"

"Technically, it's called burglary. Let's go."

They returned the false books, extinguished the lamp, then opened the shutters and doors. Replacing tape where necessary, they retraced their steps to the front door. He locked the door from the inside, then pulled it shut with a click.

"Wait," she said, wincing. "I left my hat."

To his credit, Capistrano only sighed. "Stay here, I'll get it." He handed her the journals, then broke in for the second time and disappeared inside.

The bitter cold reminded her why she lived in the south. She shivered and moved from foot to foot to keep the blood flowing.

She smelled him before she saw him. Then the motion-detector light came on, revealing Frank Cape, his menacing face framed by a black knit cap. Her pepper spray, she realized miserably, was safely tucked in her purse inside the Dooley.

"
Capis—"

Cape clapped his hand over her mouth, then stuffed a cloth in her mouth. "This is good," he said, jerking her forward and down the steps. "Thought I was going to have to shoot that guard of yours and leave another body here for the police to find."

Her eyes flew wide.

"Oh, yeah, I killed the teacher man—lot of good it did me. Nobody keeps their word these days."

She grunted and fought to release one hand, kicking at his knees with as much leverage as she could gain on the icy ground. "Be still," he hissed, then slapped her hard. "We're going to see my wife."

Stars burst in her head, and tears streamed down her cheek from repeatedly gagging on the foul-tasting cloth. Her next strategy was to go totally limp, which wasn't exactly brilliant because then she was easier to drag. She lost a shoe and was fairly certain her shoulder had been dislocated. Though disoriented, she grasped that they were approaching a car with its engine running. He yanked her upright and released one arm long enough for her to pull out the gag and scream, although it came out a weak gurgle. She elbowed him in the nose, and he emitted a gratifying grunt. But then he cursed and pulled out an automatic handgun. "You just don't learn, do you?"

For one terrifying second, she thought he was going to shoot her, but he raised it over her head for a knockout blow.

Then Cape flew sideways, as if he'd been hit by a locomotive. Capistrano landed on top of him, and Roxann figured that would pretty much kill anyone. But Cape lived and had even managed to hold on to his gun. Capistrano grabbed the man's wrist and aimed the gun in the air. Cape fired twice.

"Roxann, get in the car!" Capistrano bellowed.

Never one to follow orders, she looked for anything she might use as a weapon. Behind Cape's car seat she found a tire tool. Another shot rang out and she flinched when it ricocheted off the open car door. Okay, she was scared to freaking death, but if she allowed Capistrano to be injured defending her, she'd feel obligated to... take him home or something. So she crept closer and waited for an opportunity to lend a hand.

The men were pounding away at each other, rolling in the rain. She hacked at Cape's legs with the tire iron, but it was so hard to see, she might have hit the detective a few times in the process. The next thing she knew, Cape was on top with his gun pressed against the detective's head. Roxann lifted the tire tool and swung, delivering a striking blow to Cape's back. He roared in pain, and the detective pushed him off. Frank rolled, but still had the wherewithal to raise his gun. Her heart vaulted to her throat. A shot rang out. She screamed and covered her face with her hands.

When she spread her fingers for a peek, Capistrano was kneeling over Cape, feeling for a pulse.

"Is he... ?"

"Yeah, he's dead." He pushed himself to his feet, then limped over to her and yanked the tire tool away. "I thought I told you to
get in the car."

"I was trying to help."

He tossed her weapon to the ground. "Well, you damn near crippled me, and you could have gotten us both killed."

To her complete mortification, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked furiously. Her face was so cold, her cheeks ached.

He cupped her face in his hands and sighed. Water dripped off his nose and chin. "Are you okay?"

She sniffed. "I guess so. Nothing broken."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "He hit you?"

She nodded.

"I should shoot him again."

"He told me he killed Dr. Seger."

He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. "Well, let's hope he left some physical evidence at the crime scene, because I doubt if the police will take our word."

In the distance, a siren wailed. Capistrano lifted his head. "Speaking of which. Want to bet we're the most popular 911 call tonight?" He looked back to her. "You let me do all the talking when they get here. Pretend you lost your voice."

She frowned.

"I mean it, Roxann.
Don't say a word."
Two police cars came screeching into the neighborhood. "Hold up your hands and don't move."

Roxann raised her arms and stood shivering, wondering if things had just gotten better... or worse.

Chapter 30

"I could have your badge for this," Jaffey said to Capistrano. "Breaking and entering. Compromising a crime scene." He gestured to the journals, swollen, the ink runny and illegible. "Tampering with evidence."

"It was my idea," she started, then pressed her lips together.

Jaffey looked at her. "Well, Ms. Beadleman, I'm glad to see your voice has returned." Then he looked back to Capistrano. "And on top of everything else, a dead man—
another
dead man. Do you know what this kind of thing does for tourism? For the university's image?"

Capistrano drummed his fingers on the table. "Look, tell the press that the man who killed Dr. Seger was killed by a cop. Little kids can play outside again, the police are heroes, everybody's happy."

Robert Mason, looking none too pleased to have been dragged down to the police station late at night, scoffed. "Oh, yeah, especially Ms. Beadleman and Ms. Ryder—they get to pin Dr. Seger's murder on a dead man."

"Did you find Cape's prints on the scene?" Capistrano demanded.

Jaffey pulled on his chin, then looked to Mason and back. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "We matched three partial prints lifted from the library to Cape. But that doesn't mean he killed Seger. In fact, Officer, I think it's pretty coincidental that you happened to kill the man who's accused of shooting your partner."

"I wanted Cape punished," Capistrano said flatly, "not dead. If you check the butt of Cape's gun to the wound on the back of Seger's head, I think you'll get a match."

Jaffey's expression told him they'd already done just that—and it had matched. "Why wouldn't he just shoot Seger?" he asked, playing devil's advocate.

Capistrano shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want to alert the neighbors, maybe that cheap gun jammed on him—we'll never know."

"Because you shot him," Jaffey said.

"In self-defense. He admitted to Roxann that he killed Seger."

Jaffey turned to her. "He killed Seger to scare you into revealing the whereabouts of his wife and daughter?"

"That's my understanding."

"Will you take a polygraph test?"

"Yes. I offered to take one before. Detective Jaffey, if you don't believe us and you don't think that Cape did it, fine." She pointed to the ruined books. "The journals prove that my cousin was telling the truth about what Dr. Seger was doing to and with his students."

"Thanks to you and Detective Capistrano," Jaffey said, "these journals will tell us very little."

"But there are others," Roxann said, then looked at Mason. "And I read enough of those pages to know that you suddenly have dozens, maybe hundreds of suspects, old students and new, any of whom might have been in town for Homecoming. So, I can understand why you'd suddenly have doubts that Frank Cape committed the murder—there are so many other possibilities."

Mason rubbed his eyes as if when he opened them, they might all be gone. Then he blinked bleary eyes and nodded to Jaffey. "Can we have a word outside?"

The men left, and Roxann pulled the blanket she'd been given tighter around her shoulders. She didn't think she'd ever be warm again. "What do you think?"

Capistrano sighed. "I think they don't want to believe us, but they don't have a choice. The DA and Jaffey's boss just want this mess to go away."

She gave him a rueful smile. "That makes all of us." She sipped the coffee sitting in front of her. "Detective, I'm sorry."

He seemed surprised. "For?"

"For dragging you into this tonight. I got this crazy idea in my head and went off half-cocked."

"But you were right."

"And you had to kill a man because of me."

He leaned forward. "I had to kill a man because of the
man.
Which never feels good, but at least I know Cape was guilty of some pretty crummy things. End of story."

Roxann glanced to the window—both men had their backs turned, their heads close in discussion. She reached for the journal that covered 1996 and flipped through the distorted pages.

"What are you doing?"

"Just let me know when they're coming back."

Depending on what kind of pen he'd used, the words were sometimes blurred, sometimes merged, sometimes gone. She recalled that, unfortunately, Carl had preferred to use a fountain pen, which ran easily. The entry on the date Angora had given her—April 21, 1996—was blurred, but she was able to make out the shadows of some pertinent words:
blonde... theology class... office... fellatio... shoes.
Bile backed up in her mouth—he hadn't even mentioned Angora's name. He probably hadn't even known her name, or hadn't bothered to remember it.

"Bastard," she muttered.

"Was that meant for me?" he asked wryly.

"No, keep watching."

Another volume covered 1992. Thanks to the date on their life lists, she knew the date of Tammy Paulen's memorial service. The girl had died two days prior, so Roxann quickly found the relevant pages, but they were a soggy mess. She thought she made out the capital letter
T
on a couple of pages, but she couldn't be sure.

"Better wrap it up," Capistrano said. "I think they're finished."

A few seconds later, Mason and Jaffey returned, neither one of them looking fulfilled.

"I'll drop the charges pending against you and your cousin," Mason said, "but
only
if you two pass polygraphs, and I mean with flying colors."

The best news she'd heard in what seemed like years. She swallowed and nodded gratefully.

"You and Ms. Ryder be in my office Monday afternoon, prepared to tell the truth."

She nodded again.

"As for you," Detective Jaffey said to Capistrano. "Since you were in South Bend on police business, we're going to
pretend
that you were actually invited to help us on this case while you were here. As far as the public is concerned, you were acting on behalf of our police department when you shot Cape. When you return to Biloxi, you'll be placed on desk duty for the minimum time required by
our
department after a shooting, which is forty-five days."

Capistrano nodded and rose to shake Jaffey's hand. "Sounds fair."

"It's a goddamn gift," the man said, returning a brief shake. "I also want you to get the hell out of my town first thing in the morning."

"Agreed."

"All right, both of you, get out of here before we change our minds."

Roxann bolted to her feet and headed for the door. Capistrano thanked the men again and led the way out of the station. They didn't speak until they were in the Dooley, shivering and waiting for the engine to warm up and the windshield to de-ice. "That was close," he said.