“Tell me about it,” Moore said. “Fifteen watts on his best day.” The lieutenant held his hat in front of him now and worked it with his hands, as if trying to adjust its shape. “So, Darnell waits out back, trying to think of what to do. He parks in the garage and asks some questions at the front desk.” Moore shook his head. “Then, instead of calling me, the dumbass heads back to the barn and writes up his report. ‘Subject’s whereabouts unknown.’ His exact words. Ran out the rest of his shift with his feet up by the coffee urn chatting up the night dispatcher.”

“Well, that there’s some damn good police work,” Keegan said.

The lieutenant smiled ruefully. “The guy’s worthless, but he’s somebody’s son-in-law. So—” He shrugged. What was he to do? He might end up with his own brainless son-in-law someday.

“So, you don’t have any idea where she went?” Keegan asked.

The lieutenant shook his head. “Nor where she is now,” he admitted. “I have a theory, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“I think she was with you.” He paused a beat to let the accusation breathe. “I think she spent the night in your apartment.”

“Afraid you’re wrong there, chief,” Keegan said. “It’s a tiny place. I would have noticed if there was a woman in there with me.”

The lieutenant grinned. “If Darnell had called me at home—like any jack with half a brain would have done—I’d have told him to cruise by St. Andrews Place and see if your lights were on.”

“You know where I live,” Keegan said, “and yet you never stop by.”

“Oh, I’ve stopped by,” the lieutenant said softly. “Been there a couple of times this week. You’re never in.”

Keegan felt caught off guard—but of course Moore would have gone by the apartment. This was a murder investigation.

The lieutenant looked up the road to where it dead-ended at the wooden barrier and smiled, still working the brim of his hat. “I’ll tell you what,” the lieutenant said. “That guy in the apartment next to yours is a real ride-along.” He didn’t look at Keegan as he spoke. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Keegan thought of the trembling blinds, the bobbleheaded little man spying on the quad. He could picture Mr. Soto talking to the lieutenant breathlessly, staring at the stitching of his seersucker jacket.

“What’s his name?” the lieutenant said. “Your neighbor? Lopez? Garcia?”

Keegan hissed through his teeth. He moved an inch closer to the screen. “Don’t play stupid,” he said. “It doesn’t suit you. You know the man’s name.”