Dead Past

finger to her forehead and tapped as if jiggling her thoughts. “But he said something about a book. Did she have a book. Something like that.”
    “A book?” said Garnett. He looked briefly at Diane. “Did he say what kind?”
    “No, not that I heard.” She paused. “Then Joana said, ‘Do I know you?’ and I didn’t hear his answer, just mumbling.” She shook her head. “There was something in his voice that worried me. I can’t really put my finger on it. But there was something in his tone that I didn’t like. I’m one to act on my instincts, so I called the police. I know they thought I was crazy—reporting a perfectly normal conversation and asking them to investigate. I thought, well, the worst they can think of me is that I’m a crazy woman, but if something is wrong, they can prevent it.” She shook her head again. “I told them it didn’t sound right to me. They said they would send someone, but it took over an hour.”
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bowden,” said Garnett. “I’ll look into that delay.”
    “Can you tell us what he looked like?” asked Diane.
    “I looked out the window before I called the police. He was a large man in a black coat. Like a ski coat—made of that kind of material. He had on blue jeans and brown work boots and a baseball-like cap, but it was padded and sort of matched his coat. I saw some of his hair sticking out the back of his cap. It was black with a few gray streaks through it. He wasn’t a young man, but he wasn’t old, either. If I had to guess, I’d say early fifties, maybe a little younger. His head came to just under the fixture for her porch light.”
    “That’s a very good description,” said Garnett.
    “I want to help. When I looked out the window, I made note of what he looked like. As I said, his voice didn’t sound right to me.”
    “Could you recognize an accent?” asked Diane.
    Jere thought for a moment. “His voice wasn’t that clear. I had the impression he wasn’t from the South, but I could be completely wrong on that.”
    “Did you hear anything that happened in the apartment?” asked Diane.
    “No. When I came back from calling the police he wasn’t at her door anymore, and it was closed. I listened, but I couldn’t hear anything. But as I said, these apartments are really very soundproof once the doors are closed.” She sighed and her eyes watered up again. “I should have gone over and knocked.”
    “No, Mrs. Bowden,” said Garnett, “you should not have. You did the right thing. I’m just sorry it took so long for the police to get here.”
    “I’ll keep trying to remember anything else,” she said. “However, I have to tell you that she also has an ex-husband who was trying to get back with her. He’s loud, but I don’t think he’s ever been violent with her. But you don’t really know what goes on behind closed doors. It wasn’t him that was at the door today, I do know that.”
    “What’s his name?” asked Garnett.
    “Gil Cipriano. He’s in the History Department at Bartram. He’s a student there getting his Ph.D.”
    Garnett handed her a card. “Call us, please, if you remember anything else.”
    She looked at the card. “I will.”
    Diane and Garnett left and walked back to the crime scene. The body was being removed just as they got there.
    “Everyone’s been working on this meth lab explosion, trying to find out if there’s anyone behind it besides whatever unlucky bastard was doing the cooking. I suppose that’s why they didn’t take her call as urgent. You take the conversation on its face, it didn’t sound urgent.”
    It seemed to Diane that Garnett was making excuses for the policeman who delayed sending out officers to check on Joana Cipriano—especially when it was clear that their presence might have saved her.
    Diane slipped on fresh head and shoe coverings and walked inside. David was still working the living room. She went to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, surveying the room. The walls were a dusty rose color. The comforter was white with roses that matched the color of the wall. There was a bench at the foot of the bed with a rose-colored throw draped over it. The furniture and the carpet were white. It was a pretty feminine room and in perfect order except for the books thrown around. What is he looking for? she wondered.
    Diane began at the door and examined the carpet first, making herself a path around the room. She found nothing but books on the carpet.