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"That's
a long time ago. I'm not exactly sure what we'd have that could help you."

"I
just need some background information. Mr. Camarena is mentioned in a story I'm
working on, and I'm trying to find out as much as I can about him. I already
have the basic stuff but would like to find something to make it more personal.
Would there be anyone here who might have gone to school with Mr. Camarena, or
perhaps a teacher who would remember him?"

"After
twenty years, it would have to be a very old teacher. Just a minute," she
finally said, getting up from her desk. She walked down a short hallway and
into an office. A few minutes later she stuck her head out of the doorway and
motioned for me to join her outside the office.

"You
can try talking to Professor Evans. He's been here longer than anyone I know.
He might remember something, but his mind isn't always as sharp as it used to be.
You know how it is," she whispered.

"Yes,
I do," I whispered back even though I didn't have a clue how it was.

As I
followed her into the office, I saw a distinguished-looking man in his eighties
sitting behind a huge walnut desk sucking on an unlit pipe.

"Professor
Evans? This is the woman who wanted information about one of our
graduates." Turning to me she said, "I'm sorry, but I didn't get your
name."

"Joanna
Carlisle."

She
turned back to the old man. "This is Ms. Carlisle."

The
old man pushed himself halfway out of his chair and extended a liver-spotted
hand. I was afraid to grasp it too tightly for fear of crushing what remained
of the bones beneath the skin.

"Thank
you, Sarah," he said in a pleasant voice as he sat down again. He took the
pipe from his mouth and smiled at me. It was more of a half smile as only one
side of his mouth had moved, leading me to suspect that he might have had a
stroke at some point.

"I
appreciate you taking time to speak to me, Professor Evans," I began.

"There
aren't a lot of demands on my time anymore, young lady. They only give me this
office so I'll feel useful, but they don't think I know that," he said
with a twinkle in his milky blue eyes.

I
liked him immediately. If he knew anything I was certain he would tell me. He
was too old to keep secrets or to care who found out about them.

"Who
was it you wanted to know about?"

"Felix
Camarena. He graduated from the law school in nineteen eighty-one."

"Not
long before I quit teaching full time. Do you have a picture?"

"No,
I'm sorry, I don't."

"No
matter," he said swiveling around in his chair. He pushed a button on the
intercom and waited until a voice responded. "This is Cedric Evans. Would
you bring a copy of the nineteen eighty-one law school annual to my office,
please?"

He
released the button and leaned back in his chair, still sucking on the pipe.

"Would
you like a light for that, Professor?" I asked.

"Yes,
I would, but the law says no smoking in public buildings."

"At
your age, do you really care?" I smiled.

He
laughed. "Not really, but the law is the law, and since I've spent a
lifetime dedicated to teaching the glories of the law, I don't believe I'll
start breaking them now. What is it you do for a living, Ms. Carlisle?"

"I'm
a photojournalist. Or I was. I'm sort of retired now."

"And
yet you're working on a story."

"Just
helping out a younger reporter with less experience."

"Ah!
So you're a teacher, too," he said with another smile. "You know, no
one wants to teach anymore. No monetary reward in it, really. But what most
people today don't realize is that as we get older, we all teach everyday. The
young have a lot to learn if they only remember to listen."

"Some
people are better at it than others."

"Even
a thug on the street teaches. No one is born a thug. They learn it as they grow
up —from older thugs."

A
knock at the door interrupted our conversation. A young woman entered the
office and handed a volume to Evans. He thanked her and flipped through the
pages until he found what he was looking for, his eyebrows knitting into a
frown as he closed the book.

"What
do you want to know?" he asked.

"Do
you remember him?"

"Very
well. There are some students you never forget."

"What
made him so memorable?"

"He
was an extremely poor student. Had to repeat my course in torts, as a matter of
fact."

"But
he did manage to graduate."

"Yes,
eventually. I don't know what he's doing today, but I can't imagine that he'd
be more than a mediocre attorney at best."

"He's
a legal counsel for American Beef and Pork."

He
raised his eyebrows slightly. "I'm surprised to hear that."

"Do
you know anything about him that might have taken place outside the
classroom?"

"Well,
I know he didn't have any money. At least not at first. I believe he worked for
one of the fraternities. Doing cleanup, that sort of thing. In fact, I seem to
remember seeing him at a couple of parties where faculty were invited."

"He
didn't belong to the fraternity?"

"No.
And I doubt they would have let him in even if he could have afforded it.
During that time period, they wouldn't have pledged a Hispanic student. He was
abrasive and always seemed out of place. As a matter of fact, after he failed
my class, I checked his admissions papers thinking there had been a mistake
made in admitting him."

"But
there wasn't?"

He
shook his head. "He made the lowest acceptable score on his entrance exam,
so I'm sure he was an affirmative action admission. I love the law, Ms.
Carlisle, but I had to disagree with the courts on that one."

"Is
there anything else you can think of about him?"

"Not
really. At least not anything that I know for a fact. There were some rumors
after that girl died though."

"What
girl?"

"I
don't remember her name, but I think she dated a member of one of the
fraternities. When she was murdered, the police questioned everyone at the
fraternity party she had attended as well as the hired help. I believe Felix
worked that party, so he must have been questioned about it."

"Do
you remember the year it happened?"

"Lord,
no. Probably in the late seventies or early eighties though."

"Did
the police arrest anyone?"

"They
finally chalked it up as a random killing."

"Was
she killed at the fraternity house?"

"I
believe they found her downtown someplace, but I really can't remember the
details."

"Did
the police suspect someone at the fraternity house?" I asked, becoming
intrigued by the story even though it wasn't what I was looking for.

"I'm
afraid you'd have to ask the police about that."

"I
appreciate your time, Professor Evans. You've been very helpful," I said
as I stood up.

Evans
seemed to be in a trance of some kind.

"Professor
Evans? Are you all right?"

"What?
Yes, I'm fine. You know, something a little unusual did happen involving Mr.
Camarena. I didn't remember it until a few minutes ago, but it was around that
same time that he began receiving financial assistance to complete
school."

"What
kind of assistance?"

"A
private grant of some kind. I presumed it was from a Hispanic organization
eager to support minority students."

"Is
there any place that would have a record of the grant?"

"I'm
not sure, but I'd be glad to see what I can find out if you think it's
important. It would give me something to do today besides sit here and suck on
this damn pipe."

When
I shook his hand before leaving, his grip felt stronger. I made a mental note
to keep busy until I croaked.

Chapter
Twenty

BY
THE TIME I reached my car, it was ten forty-five. If I didn't get lost again, I
still had time to swing by the American-Statesman. I would contact Pauli later
to see what he could find out about a murder that was more than twenty years
old by now. Mentally I figured it must have happened around the same time I met
Cate or while I was out of the country, because it didn't ring any bells. Of
course, I had been totally absorbed by Cate then and wouldn't have been paying
much attention to anything else when we were together.

After
twenty-plus years, there weren't any active files on old unsolved murders, but
the clerk in the newspaper morgue handed me five or six spools of microfilm
covering 1978 through 1982 and pointed me to a machine to look for stories
covering the case. I was midway through 1980 before I looked at my watch.
Twelve fifteen. I hoped Cate would be able to take a late lunch. I hadn't
called to tell her I was in town, so she had no reason to expect me even though
I was anxious to see her again.

Microfilm
for late 1980 ran past my eyes as I quickly scanned the headlines on each page.
There was no way to tell how important the newspaper had thought a dead coed
was, so the story could have been anywhere, except possibly the society or
sports pages. My eyes were getting tired, and I was near the end of the spool
when a thirty-six-point headline sped past me. I rewound the film and read
quickly over the story. The body of a UT coed, Julianne McCaffrey, had been
found by someone taking a shortcut through an alleyway near Sixth Street early
on the morning of November 9, 1980. She had been raped and strangled. Police
believed her body had been dumped in the alley. Julianne McCaffey was a member
of the Tri-Delta sorority, and the evening before her body was found, she had
attended a bash at the Kappa Alpha house, according to her roommate. A picture
accompanying the article showed a beautiful blonde young woman of around
twenty. From the stories I had heard, every Tri-Delt was beauty queen material,
and she seemed to fit that image. The police had no suspects in the case but
were questioning the members of the Kappa Alpha fraternity.

A
small obituary the following day listed her parents as Mr. and Mrs. Albert
McCaffrey of Houston. I made a copy of the article and the obituary, paid the
clerk, and made a dash for my car again. Noontime traffic was horrendous, as
usual, but I was becoming accustomed to it by this point. The only advantage I
had on this trip was that I had already been to Cate's office once before and
wasn't totally lost. Then God must have decided to smile on me because I found
a parking space in front of the Travis Professional Building.
Twelve-forty-five. Not bad timing.

Peggy
was sitting behind the reception desk as I burst through the glass doors of
Bradley and Hammond. The look on her face indicated that she remembered me.

"Ms.
Hammond, please," I said as pleasantly as possible.

Without
speaking to me, she punched buttons on the phone.

"Ms.
Hammond. Ms. Carlisle is at the reception desk. Do you have a few
minutes?" She listened and hung up. "Ms. Hammond will meet you in the
conference room. It's down this hall, last door on the left."

I
thanked Peggy and tried to straighten my clothes as I walked down the hall. The
thought of seeing Cate again brought a smile to my face, which was quickly
erased when I opened the conference room door. She wasn't alone. The woman who
had stuck her head into Cate's office during our argument a few weeks before
was sitting at a large oak library table, with short stacks of law books in a
semicircle in front of her. Cate was leaning over her shoulder, her hand
resting easily on the woman's shoulder, and they appeared to be reading a
passage from one of the books.

Cate
looked up and smiled when she saw me in the doorway. "Come in, Jo. We'll
be through here in just a second." Turning back to the woman, she said,
"The statute is fairly ambiguous, Susan. You should be able to bend it far
enough to satisfy your client."

"I
know, but I'd like to find something a little stronger."

"You
should have hired that law clerk we interviewed a couple of weeks ago,"
Cate said. "It would have saved you a lot of hours looking all this up
yourself."

The
woman smiled up at her. "But they're all billable hours."

The
smile remained stuck on her face as she looked in my direction. Cate must have
realized that we hadn't been formally introduced.

"Susan,
this is Joanna Carlisle. Jo, Susan Bradley, senior partner."

I
crossed the room toward her, and we shook hands. So this was my adversary for
Cate's affections. She certainly had me outdressed. There didn't appear to be a
wrinkle in her long-sleeve silk designer blouse, and every hair on her head was
in the right place.

"Why
don't we go into my office?" Cate asked. "Please excuse us,
Susan."