“She had a boyfriend in Houston. She broke up with him, and that’s why she came to Austin. To get away. He used to hit her.”

“Did you get a name?”

“She never would say. And she only talked about him once. Then she seemed to catch herself and didn’t say more.”

“Did she do drugs?”

“She smoked cigarettes, but that’s all I saw.”

Cigarettes elevated the dopamine levels in the brain, which calmed the nerves. Jordan knew some addicts and people with mental illness smoked regularly as a form of self-medication.

“Did she ever talk about leaving?”

“No,” Richie said. “In fact, we were supposed to go to a movie. It was an artsy kind of thing. She was into art. She would set up her easel on Sixth Street and sometimes sketched people for money.”

Avery had done the same. Maybe the two had crossed paths.

Jordan showed them both a picture of Susie Wallace. “Either of you ever see her?”

Both men studied the picture, and both shook their heads. “We haven’t seen her,” Rawlings said.

“Never,” Richie said.

“Call me if you think of anything.” She handed another card to Richie.

The kid glanced at the card and frowned. “It says you’re with homicide. Do you think she’s dead?”

“I hope not. Either way, I want to know what happened to her. If you two should hear from her . . .”

“We’ll call,” Rawlings said.

“Thanks.” She left the store, and as she approached her car and saw the long gash, she thought about Sunday and Walker. “Bastards.”

The inside of the vehicle quickly filled with the scents of herbed chicken and roasted potatoes. She checked her phone, saw no messages from anyone she had left a card with, so she decided to drive home. Good day to get a workout in.

Ten minutes later she pulled into her gravel driveway and grabbed her purse and food. Out of the car, she looked around the yard, realizing it needed cutting. She could not remember the last time she had been home early on a workday. Well, she could at least knock out the yard today.

As she approached the front door, she heard the beat of music. Avery was here? The arrival of her sister was welcome, if not unexpected. Right now, silence would have left her to her own thoughts.

Smiling, she wondered if her sister had smelled Thompson’s chicken and roasted potatoes. “Avery, is that you?”

When she closed the front door, the music stopped.

“Yeah, thought I’d stop by.”