Closing my eyes, I chose lyrics in my head. The Eagles. “Take It Easy.”
We drove out of Columbia, four o’clock sun flickering through the trees like light off a pinwheel. I felt so hostile toward Slidell I didn’t speak the entire way to Charlotte. When he lit up, I merely lowered my window, continued processing the events of the day in my mind.
Why had I thrown out that reference to Palmer Cousins? Was it merely a knee-jerk reaction to Slidell’s wheedling, or was my subconscious seeing something that I was missing?
Did I distrust Palmer Cousins? Honest reply: yes.
Why? Because he was dating my daughter? Because of his seeming lack of knowledge of his own profession? Because he was handsome and lived in Columbia?
Who had Cagle met in the coffee shop? Who had visited the anthropology department? Was either man involved in the disappearance of Cagle’s report? Was either responsible for Cagle’s collapse? Were Looper and Dolores describing the same man?
Always, I came back to the same question.
Where was that report?
I vowed to find out.
My vow paid off sooner than I’d expected.
26
IT WAS FIVE-THIRTY WHEN SLIDELL DROPPED ME AT THE MCME. Tim Larabee was on his way out.
“What’s the word on Ricky Don?” I asked.
“No signs of trauma. Looks like an overdose, but we’ll have to wait for the tox report.”
“Find signs of chronic use?”
“Yes. Course, that doesn’t mean someone didn’t nudge him over last Friday.”
I summarized my trip to Columbia with Slidell.
“Where’d you say this Cagle lives?”
I told him.
“Looper took him to Richland Hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“Odd, since Baptist is right there at Sumter and Taylor.”
“Richland isn’t the closest hospital?”
“No.”
“Maybe Looper didn’t know that.”
“Maybe.” Larabee wagged his head. “Folks is dropping like flies, ma dear.”
“I’m going to phone Lancaster County, see if I can shake something loose on Cagle’s report.”
“Go, girl.” Larabee pushed open the glass door and was gone.
Seated at my desk, I looked up the number and dialed.
“Lancaster County Sheriff ’s Department.”
After introducing myself, I asked for the person in charge.
“Chief Deputy Roe is unavailable at the moment.”
I gave a two-sentence synopsis of the potential Foote farm privy–Lancaster County skeletal connection, and of my problems in obtaining a copy of the anthropology report, and asked if anyone else could help me.
“Let me see if one of the investigating officers is in.”
Pause. Several clicks, then a female voice.
“Terry Woolsey.”
I repeated my spiel.
“The guy that caught that one has moved on. You’ll have to talk with Chief Deputy Roe.”
“Are you familiar with the case?”
“I remember it. Headless skeleton, turned up over at the state park about three years back.”
“I understand there was a different sheriff then.”
“Hal Cobber. Lost the election, retired to Florida.”
“The coroner was Murray Snow?”
“Yes.” Guarded.
