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. 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