“I got him into the car, which, let me tell you, wasn’t easy with his legs all shaky and him moaning that he was going to die.”
I wondered why Looper hadn’t called for an ambulance, but I didn’t ask him.
“When we got to the ER, he just stopped breathing.”
We waited for Looper to go on. He didn’t.
“They placed him on a respirator?” I prompted.
“Hmm. Wally started breathing on his own, but he wouldn’t wake up. Still won’t.”
“Was it a heart attack?” I asked softly.
“I suppose so. The doctors don’t really want to tell me much.”
Overhead, the fan hummed softly. The artificial bouquet was beginning to cloy.
“Wally and I have been together a long time. I really hope he’s going to pull through.” Looper’s eyes had reddened around the rims.
“I hope so, too. He’s a fine man.”
Brilliant, Brennan.
Looper laced his fingers, and one thumb began picking at the other.
“I suppose I should phone his sister, but they aren’t close. And I keep thinking that any minute he’s going to wake up and ask for his pipe and everything will be fine.”
Looper recrossed his legs, and gave the flip-flop a few flicks.
“Why is it you’re here?”
“I spoke to Dr. Cagle by phone on Thursday,” I said. “He promised to send me a case report and photos. I never received them, and Detective Slidell and I wondered if perhaps he’d brought the materials home, intending to work here.”
“He did sometimes work here on his laptop. But I haven’t noticed anything in the house.”
“A folder? An envelope?”
Looper shook his head.
“A briefcase?”
“Wally does usually carry a briefcase. That and his precious laptop.”
Slidell lumbered to his feet and held out a hand.
“How ’bout I have a peek at the prof ’s wheels while you two check out his crib.”
“Whatever.” Suit-yourself shrug.
Looper produced a set of keys, then turned and walked toward the back of the house. I followed. Slidell exited through the front door.
Cagle’s bedroom was ICU clean and OCD neat. Big surprise.
The search took five minutes. I saw no sign of a file or photos in Cagle’s dresser or desk drawers, closet, or under his bed. There was nowhere else to look. Frustrated, I trailed Looper back to the living room.
“Let me understand this,” Looper said, tucking one foot under him as he resumed his seat. “You spoke to Wally on Thursday?”
“Yes,” I replied. “He was in Beaufort.”
“Was he driving up just to send you this report thing?”
“He said he was heading home anyway.”
“Hmmm.”
Slidell rejoined us, shaking his head.
“Does that surprise you, Mr. Looper?” I asked.
“During the summer, Wally never returned to Columbia on Thursday. He always stayed at the dig until Friday. That’s why I was so surprised to find him here.”
“You have no idea why he might have been coming back early?”
Looper pulled the foot out, crossed his legs, and popped the flip-flop several times, the ankle-flexing more agitated than before.
“I was out of town all week, myself.”
“Why was that?” Slidell.
“I’m in sales.”
“What is it you sell, Mr. Looper?”
“Pumps. The hydraulic kind, not the ones you wear on your feet.”
