Spelling out the precise wording of a warrant for the vanilla house, he named a judge likely to speed things along. “See if you can get a current photo of Heubel. Asshole’s a shape-shifter but maybe we can get a decent likeness… Yeah, it is weird. And all your fault, Sean… I’m kidding. You did good.”

Tony Mancusi’s Toyota remained where we’d last seen it.

No answer to the bell ring.

We squeezed through a cramped walk-space narrowed further by ragged planting and made our way to the back of the building. A slim rear door looked out to a Dumpster-lined alley. Garbage overflowed the containers and specks of trash had blown up the asphalt.

I said, “This reminds me of something. The back of Leonora Bright’s salon.”

“That so.” He scrutinized the alley, stepped to the door.

Solid-core, hefty deadbolt.

Please Keep Locked at All Times sign affixed dead center.

The knob turned easily. The door swung open.

Mariachi music from somewhere upstairs was loud enough to soundtrack the hallway. Bright white hallway, carelessly painted blue doors.

As we reached Tony Mancusi’s apartment, a woman stepped out of another unit carrying two see-through plastic bags.

She shot us a look, continued toward the front door.

“Ma’am?”

She stopped.

The badge made her flinch. Fiftyish, short and solid, with nutmeg skin and black hair tied in a tight bun. The bags held party favors and bags of candy.

Milo pointed. “¿Señor esta aqui?”

She shook her head, left hurriedly.

Milo’s knock on Mancusi’s door fought the beat of the music. No reply. Harder rapping followed by “Mr. Mancusi, it’s Lieutenant Sturgis,” had all the effect of a foam hammer.

He put his ear to the door. “If he’s in there, he’s keeping it quiet.”

The front door swung open and the woman with the bags came back in.

“¿Señora?” said Milo.

“I speak English,” she said. “Sorry for not answering, but you scared me. How’d you get in?”

“Back door was unlocked, ma’am.”

“Again. Just what we need.”

“You’ve had problems with break-ins?”

“Someone upstairs got robbed a few weeks ago. I think they were drug dealers because they never called the police and right after they moved out. Before that, there were a couple more incidents. Every time I see the door open, I lock it. But other people don’t bother.”

Milo asked her name.

“Irma Duran.”

“Looks like someone’s having a party.”

“My grandson’s class. Reward for reading accomplishment. I’m a teacher’s assistant at his school, on my way over there. Reason why I came back is someone else was looking for that guy. His mother, she seemed worried.”

“His mother,” said Milo. “When was she here?”