“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 Slidel 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?”

“Wal y does usual y carry a briefcase. That and his precious laptop.”Pop. Pop.“He doesn’t keep a desktop computer here.” Looper rose. “I’l look around his room.”

Slidel 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 fol owed. Slidel 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 Wal y 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.”

Slidel rejoined us, shaking his head.

“Does that surprise you, Mr. Looper?” I asked.

“During the summer, Wal y 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 pul ed 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 al week, myself.”

“Why was that?” Slidel .

“I’m in sales.”

“What is it you sel , Mr. Looper?”

“Pumps. The hydraulic kind, not the ones you wear on your feet.”

If this was an attempt at humor, Looper’s delivery was beyond dry.

“I wasn’t supposed to get back until Friday, but my appointments wrapped up earlier than I’d expected.”

“Landed the big one?” Slidel .

“Actual y, no.”

“Do you have any guess as to why Wal y might have cut short his workweek in Beaufort?” I asked.

Though one shoulder rose in a nonchalant shrug, Looper’s face tensed visibly.

“We’re here in regard to a murder investigation, Mr. Looper,” I prompted.

Deep sigh.

“Wal y may have been planning a rendezvous.”

Deeper sigh.

“A tryst.” Shoulder. “Behind my back.”

There was a long silence. Even Slidel was shrewd enough not to break it.