Is this about the police again?

He wore the same thin cotton shirt and baggy shorts, and still held a cocktail glass. It might have been the same glass. His legs were lumpy with cellulite and very white.

I said, That's right. We need to see her.

You and everyone else. Someone was here earlier, too, banging away at the door.

That would have been Levy.

Was she home?

She travels a lot, you know. I don't think she saw the note you left in her box.

He tinkled the ice again, pissed off I had left the note in her mailbox instead of with him, and frowned at the dog.

Go make piddle.

The little dog's round face curled into a smile, then it waddled back into his apartment.

She doesn't tell me when she's coming and going. If you'd like to leave a note with me this time, I'll make sure she gets it.

I glanced back at her apartment, wondering what was behind the door.

Pike gestured at the surrounding apartments.

She friendly with any of these people? Maybe they know where she is.

He sized Pike up and down, and tinkled the ice again. He put out his hand.

I'm Darbin Langer. Yours?

Pike.

Langer hadn't bothered to introduce himself to me.

He shook his head, answering Pike's question.

I doubt it. She isn't the friendliest person, and we like our privacy here. We like a quiet home without all this coming and going and knocking. They're all at work anyway, and I'd ask you not to pound on their doors.

How about I slip a note under her door. Maybe that would work better than leaving it in her box.

He frowned, pissy again, then turned back into his apartment.

Whatever. Just stop with the noise.

Pike and I returned to her apartment but I had no intention of leaving a note. I left Pike by her door, then circled behind the building, trying to see inside.

Climbing roses trellised the walls, bracketing a tall hedge that formed a narrow path leading around the sides of the building. The rose vines drooped over the path, brushing my face like delicate fingers. The stillness and silence felt eerie. I followed the path around the building, peeping in Ivy's windows like a neighborhood pervert, with the creeped-out feeling I was about to see something I didn't want to see, like Ivy with a slashed throat.

The back and side windows were off her bedroom, and here she hadn't been as careful when pulling the drapes. The first window was completely covered, but the drapes covering the second window hung apart with a gap as wide as my hand. The room inside was dim, but revealed a double bed and a doorway to the hall leading out to the living room. The room was bare except for the bed, with no other furniture, nothing on the walls, and no bodies in evidence. Ivy might have been hiding under the bed, but probably wasn't.