CAPRIATI'S BLOOD (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 1) by Lawrence de Maria Page B
Authors: Lawrence de Maria
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little digging.”
“This going to cause trouble for you?”
“Be serious,” he said. “Colleges have strict rules about confidentiality. We protect students’ privacy religiously. Or since we’re talking about academia here, maybe agnostically. Unless, of course, the banks want to lend the kids money they can’t pay back or give them credit cards they don’t need. After they graduate we hunt them down like dogs for contributions. And you should see what happens when a professor or dean wants to screw someone out of tenure or a choice committee spot. All sorts of confidential information gets leaked. Place is like a hen party. What a crock of shit.”
“I thought you liked it here. Everybody says you’re doing a bang-up job.”
“Like it? I love it. Did my 30 with the Coasties, have a nice pension. Pay here is good, working on another pension, the benefits are outstanding and I’m getting a doctorate for free. Bumping into co-eds all day is just a bonus. That doesn’t mean I can’t recognize bullshit when I see it.”
“Any of Capriati’s teachers still here?”
I hadn’t seen any names on the transcripts.
“Jesus, Rhode, you want me to do your job for you? Go down to the Registrar’s Office and find out.”
“All you academic types are lazy.”
“Mention my name at the Registrar and if you talk to any of the professors. Though I’m not sure that will help. They live in their own world and they don’t like me in it.”
I held up a grainy photo of Capriati wearing a jacket and tie.
“Yearbook shot?”
“Yeah. When he was a senior.”
“Can I get the yearbook?”
“There’s only that graduation shot of him and a couple with him on the wrestling team. They’re all in the file. Like I said, he wasn’t a joiner.”
“I may want to blow this up and have copies made. The resolution isn’t good. I’d rather work from the original page.”
“The photographer is listed on the credit page. Maybe you can go right to him. If he’s still in business he may still have the negatives.”
“I’d like the yearbook just in case. Besides, it will have the names of his classmates. Might give me some leads. Maybe he kept in touch.”
“That’s a lot of kids. The yearbook won’t tell you who Capriati was close to. You can’t contact them all, can you?”
“I’d probably contact those who still live around here. I might get lucky. Six degrees of separation and all that.”
Clapper looked dubious.
“You have heard about the Internet, haven’t you?”
“This is an unusual guy.”
“Must be. Anyway, I’ll call the library and tell them to pull the yearbook for you. They’ll want it back. Not too many left after all this time. Don’t lose it, for God’s sake. I’d rather go through Katrina again than have a hassle with one of our librarians.”
After I left Dave, I found a bench outside on the common and went through the file. It didn’t take long. Clapper was right. Billy Capriati had been a solid student, maintaining a 3.2 Grade Point Average as a finance major. He showed a particular aptitude for mathematics, which undoubtedly came in handy during his embezzlement. Only a few B’s and C’s, and one D, all in Liberal Arts courses. One of the C’s was in something called “Moral Decisions in a Pragmatic World.” I suspected Billy Cap hadn’t drawn the right conclusions from that course. The D was in “America’s Real Manifest Destiny: The Subjugation and Exploitation of Women.” He should have aced that one.
Most of the other stuff in the file was boilerplate. The news clips that mentioned Capriati ran along the lines of one that said “Bear Wrestlers Pin Ryder 9-3.” If ever a headline called for a typo, that was it. He didn’t seem to have any extracurricular interests outside wrestling. Not even intramural football to mitigate the lie to Ellen James. His medical reports listed a few minor injuries related to wrestling and some of the meds he was on, mostly
“This going to cause trouble for you?”
“Be serious,” he said. “Colleges have strict rules about confidentiality. We protect students’ privacy religiously. Or since we’re talking about academia here, maybe agnostically. Unless, of course, the banks want to lend the kids money they can’t pay back or give them credit cards they don’t need. After they graduate we hunt them down like dogs for contributions. And you should see what happens when a professor or dean wants to screw someone out of tenure or a choice committee spot. All sorts of confidential information gets leaked. Place is like a hen party. What a crock of shit.”
“I thought you liked it here. Everybody says you’re doing a bang-up job.”
“Like it? I love it. Did my 30 with the Coasties, have a nice pension. Pay here is good, working on another pension, the benefits are outstanding and I’m getting a doctorate for free. Bumping into co-eds all day is just a bonus. That doesn’t mean I can’t recognize bullshit when I see it.”
“Any of Capriati’s teachers still here?”
I hadn’t seen any names on the transcripts.
“Jesus, Rhode, you want me to do your job for you? Go down to the Registrar’s Office and find out.”
“All you academic types are lazy.”
“Mention my name at the Registrar and if you talk to any of the professors. Though I’m not sure that will help. They live in their own world and they don’t like me in it.”
I held up a grainy photo of Capriati wearing a jacket and tie.
“Yearbook shot?”
“Yeah. When he was a senior.”
“Can I get the yearbook?”
“There’s only that graduation shot of him and a couple with him on the wrestling team. They’re all in the file. Like I said, he wasn’t a joiner.”
“I may want to blow this up and have copies made. The resolution isn’t good. I’d rather work from the original page.”
“The photographer is listed on the credit page. Maybe you can go right to him. If he’s still in business he may still have the negatives.”
“I’d like the yearbook just in case. Besides, it will have the names of his classmates. Might give me some leads. Maybe he kept in touch.”
“That’s a lot of kids. The yearbook won’t tell you who Capriati was close to. You can’t contact them all, can you?”
“I’d probably contact those who still live around here. I might get lucky. Six degrees of separation and all that.”
Clapper looked dubious.
“You have heard about the Internet, haven’t you?”
“This is an unusual guy.”
“Must be. Anyway, I’ll call the library and tell them to pull the yearbook for you. They’ll want it back. Not too many left after all this time. Don’t lose it, for God’s sake. I’d rather go through Katrina again than have a hassle with one of our librarians.”
After I left Dave, I found a bench outside on the common and went through the file. It didn’t take long. Clapper was right. Billy Capriati had been a solid student, maintaining a 3.2 Grade Point Average as a finance major. He showed a particular aptitude for mathematics, which undoubtedly came in handy during his embezzlement. Only a few B’s and C’s, and one D, all in Liberal Arts courses. One of the C’s was in something called “Moral Decisions in a Pragmatic World.” I suspected Billy Cap hadn’t drawn the right conclusions from that course. The D was in “America’s Real Manifest Destiny: The Subjugation and Exploitation of Women.” He should have aced that one.
Most of the other stuff in the file was boilerplate. The news clips that mentioned Capriati ran along the lines of one that said “Bear Wrestlers Pin Ryder 9-3.” If ever a headline called for a typo, that was it. He didn’t seem to have any extracurricular interests outside wrestling. Not even intramural football to mitigate the lie to Ellen James. His medical reports listed a few minor injuries related to wrestling and some of the meds he was on, mostly
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