Dead Past

Later when she finished she would vacuum and see if that picked up anything her eyes failed to see.
    Diane dusted all the surfaces as well as the books for fingerprints. She found many. Most would probably be Joana’s, but they might get lucky. The key was in the books, she felt, but what was it about the books? Most of those in the bedroom were bestsellers from the book-of-the-month club. None seemed to hold any secrets.
    “What kind of books are in the living room?” Diane called to David.
    “Music history, biographies, poetry . . . ,” he called back.
    It seemed like a normal selection for a faculty member in music history. What they needed to know was, what books were missing?
    Diane’s thoughts were interrupted by a commotion at the front door.

Chapter 22

    “What’s going on? Where’s my wife? What’s happened?”
    It must be Gil Cipriano, thought Diane. She walked into the living room and stood beside David, who was dusting a CD player for prints. A young man was at the door trying to come in and was being blocked by Garnett and two policemen.
    “Just calm down,” said Garnett.
    “Calm down. If you come home and find this, are you going to be calm?” he said.
    “I was under the impression you and Mrs. Cipriano were divorced,” said Garnett.
    “Yes, we were . . . we are, but we’re getting back together.”
    Diane scrutinized him. Gil Cipriano had dark good looks—jet black hair, black eyes, olive skin. He looked to be in his late twenties and of Italian descent. He also looked distressed, but looks can fool you. However, at this distance, she didn’t see any marks on his knuckles.
    “Where is Joana?” he said. “Has something happened?” He caught sight of the blood pooled on the floor where Joana’s head had lain. “Oh, God, is that from her? Damn it, where is she?” He pushed on Garnett, and the two policemen restrained him.
    “Calm down, Mr. Cipriano,” said Garnett.
    “You keep saying calm down, but you won’t tell me anything and I find this in my living room. Tell me what happened to Joana, damn it.”
    “Where have you been all day?” asked Garnett.
    “At school. I’m working on my dissertation.” He stopped. “I’ve been in the library all day. People know me there. Now tell me what happened. Is Joana all right? Is she in the hospital?”
    “No, son, she isn’t in the hospital,” said Garnett. “She has been murdered.”
    Cipriano stared at him.
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” Garnett added.
    “Sorry for my loss? Are you trying to say that Joana’s dead? She can’t be dead. We’re getting back together. She has a recital in two days. We have plans.” He looked at Diane and David as if just noticing them. “Who are you? What happened with Joana’s books? She doesn’t like people messing with her things.”
    Diane picked her way though a safe path toward the door. As she passed near David she asked him, “Is there a clear area where we can question him?”
    David nodded over his shoulder. “The breakfast nook has been cleared.”
    “Why don’t we bring him inside,” Diane said to Garnett. “Bring him this way.”
    Garnett nodded. He escorted Cipriano to a small alcove opposite the kitchen where he sat down at an oak breakfast table and put his head down on his arms.
    “We need to find out if he has any way of knowing if any of her books are missing,” said Diane, as she and Garnett sat opposite Cipriano.
    “Gil, can I call you Gil?” asked Garnett.
    “It’s my name.” He raised his head. “How did she . . . die? Did she suffer?”
    Probably, thought Diane, remembering her face. But right now, they couldn’t tell him that. Garnett just said there was a struggle and she apparently fell and hit her head on the coffee table, which was right.
    He was silent for a moment. “What’s she saying about books?” he asked, nodding toward Diane.
    “Would you be able to tell me if any of hers are missing?”
    He stared at the two of them. “You’re kidding, right? Who keeps a list of the books they have?”
    “Are there any special books she had, any rare books, any books that were actually safes?” asked Diane.
    “Rare? No. Joana reads mainly those book-of-the-month things. And poetry. She likes that. We both do. What do you mean, books that are safes?”
    “You know,” said Garnett. “It looks like a book, but inside it’s really a box to keep money and jewels in.”
    “Jewels? Joana doesn’t have jewels. If she did, she’d keep them