Got Your Number

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.
    The understatement of the century, she thought, utterly weak with relief that Carl's murderer had been caught and Melissa Cape had been let off the hook—the woman would probably be relieved when she discovered her ex-husband was dead.
    But deep down, Roxann harbored a selfish little flame—the secret she and Angora had maintained for years hadn't come to light after all. It had been a fluke that Cape had chosen a blond wig to attach to the dashboard of her van. She had simply overreacted, reading more into the deed than was warranted. She was safe from everything but herself.
    "About the hotel room," Capistrano said, putting the truck into gear.
    "Don't worry—I'm too tired and too cold to argue."
    He didn't argue with her not arguing, but the drive to the hotel took a long time since he had to watch for icy spots. "What was it like going to school here?" he asked.
    "It was heaven," she said. "I loved every minute of it. The campus is so beautiful, and the atmosphere...I can't explain it—everyone was so hungry to learn and experience things. I'd never known intellectual freedom like that before. I know it's a