At the second floor, two nurses in scrubs stepped on and selected the fifth floor. They were chatting, carrying coffee cups and glazed doughnuts. The doors opened on the next floor, and Jordan excused herself as she pressed past them.

She showed her identification to the charge nurse, introduced herself, and learned Ms. Stone was stabilized. There was no uniformed cop by her door, but an empty chair suggested the officer had stepped away.

Inside the room, the television light flickered on darkened walls and the woman lying in the bed. Her pale wrist was handcuffed to the bed railing. Though Ms. Stone had reported the body to the police, her intoxicated state and inability to answer basic questions had made her a person of interest. There had been a few times in Jordan’s career when the guilty party had called in a crime, believing the cops would buy their story more easily.

Ms. Stone’s body was still and her jaw slack. If not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, she would have looked dead.

Jordan pulled up a chair beside the bed, scraping the metal against the floor, and then in a loud voice said, “Ms. Stone.” The eyelids fluttered, but she did not move. “Ms. Stone!”

Her eyes opened, sparking with surprise and fear. “What?”

“Ms. Stone, I’m Detective Jordan Poe with the Austin Police Department.”

“What?”

Jordan repeated herself several times, filled a glass of water for the woman, and turned up the lights. “I need to talk about Mr. Walker.”

“What about him?” Ms. Stone drank thirstily from the water cup Jordan held to her lips.

“You called the police about him this morning.”

“Did I?” Ms. Stone’s eyes closed.

Jordan set the cup down and clapped her hands loudly.

Ms. Stone’s eyes opened, but she still appeared dazed.

“You spent last night partying with him,” Jordan said.

“He wanted to have fun. Said he’d give me a bunch of free shit.”

“As in cocaine and fentanyl?”

“Maybe.”

“How long were you with him last night?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Think, Ms. Stone. What time did you leave him? Or did you?”

Thin brows knotted. “I left him about three or four a.m. He had a friend come over, and I didn’t like him.”

“Who was the friend?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He had business with Walker.”

“What kind of business?”

“Didn’t ask. The guy was giving Walker cash as I was leaving.”

Jordan remembered the empty money clip and wondered if Lucas would find cash in the apartment. “What did the friend look like?”

“Medium, dark hair, quiet.”

That description could belong to thousands of men.

“Did he have a name?” Jordan asked.

Ms. Stone was silent.

“I don’t care about your drug use, Ms. Stone. Or if you turned tricks. I want to know what happened to Mr. Walker.”