“Gene’s off to Florida until the start of fal term. Left Friday.”
A long, lacquered finger pointed at the computer.
“But that scanner won’t run. I’ve had a work order in to computer services for at least two weeks now.” Slidel and I exchanged glances. Now what?
“Did Dr. Cagle ask you to send any faxes last week?” I asked.
The lacquered hands vanished in an arm fold across her chest, a hip shifted, and one sandaled foot came forward. The toes were the same bril iant red as the fingers.
“I’ve already told you, I didn’t see Dr. Cagle last week. And besides, do you know how many faculty I’m responsible for? Or how many grads and undergrads and booksel ers and visitors and whatever trail through my office?” I guessed Slidel and I fel under the “whatever” heading. “Hel s bel s, I do half the student advising around here.”
“That can’t be easy,” I said.
“Faculty faxing isnotin my job description.”
“You must get a lot of visitors.”
“We get our share.”
“Did Dr. Cagle have any unusual cal ers last week?”
“That would not be for me to say.”
What the hel did that mean?
“Did Dr. Cagle haveanyvisitors last week?”
There was a long pause as she chose her words.
“I may not agree with Dr. Cagle’s alternative lifestyle”—she pronounced it as two words: “alter native”—“but he’s a fine man, and I don’t question his associations.”
“Someone came to see Cagle?” Slidel asked gruffly.
One deb eyebrow shot up. “There’s no need to be a grumpy pants, Detective.”
Slidel opened his mouth. I cut him off.
“You were unfamiliar with Dr. Cagle’s visitor?”
The deb nodded.
“What did he want?”
“The man asked for Dr. Cagle. I informed him the professor was out of town.” The deb shrugged one freckled shoulder. “He left.”
“Can you describe the guy?” Slidel .
“Short. Had black hair. Lots of it. Real shiny and thick.”
“Age?”
“Wasn’t no spring chicken, I’l tel you that.”
“Glasses? Facial hair?” Slidel ’s tone was sharp.
“Don’t get snippy with me, Detective.”
The deb unfolded her arms and flicked at a nonexistent speck on her skirt, her way of al owing Slidel to cool his interrogatory heels.
“No mustache or beard, nothing like that.”
“Can you remember anything else about the man?” I asked.
“He wore funny sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes.”
“Whatdidyou see when you looked at his face?” Slidel glared at her.
“Myself.” The deb slapped a key on the desktop. “That’s for the wal cupboards. Check with me when you leave the building.” Slidel and I spent the next forty minutes searching every remaining cabinet, drawer, and shelf in the place. We found nothing related to the Lancaster case, and nothing to indicate where Cagle had gone.