“I went over there. To Tori’s apartment. Knocked on all the doors and asked if they remembered Tori, or seen any guy hanging around. What a dump. Mostly you got Mexicans living there, I’m gettin’ all these confused looks, no speaky English. You could get hold of the landlords and ask ’em to pull their rental records.”

“Seeing as you already tried and they said no?”

“Hey— ”

Milo said, “Don’t worry about it, just tell me what they said.”

“They said diddly.” Giacomo handed over a scrap of paper. Holiday Inn stationery. A name and a 323 number.

Milo said, “Home-Rite Management.”

Giacomo said, “Bunch of Chinese, I talked to some woman with an accent. She claimed they didn’t own the building two years ago. I try to explain to her this is important but I got nowhere.” He ran his hands along the sides of his head. “Stupid bitch— it’s like my brain’s gonna explode. I’m bringing Tori back home in a fuckin’ carry-on.”

* * *

We drove him back to the Holiday Inn, let the engine idle, and walked him to the hotel’s glass doors.

“I’m sorry about that alkie crack, okay? That other time, that Indian place, you guys had tea, I was just...” He shrugged. “Out of line, none of my business.”

Milo placed a hand on his shoulder. “No apologies necessary. What you’ve gone through, I couldn’t hope to understand.”

Giacomo didn’t repel the contact. “Be straight with me: Would you consider this a bad one? Compared to most of them that you get?”

“They’re all bad.”

“Yeah, of course, sure. Like someone else’s kid ain’t as important as mine. But my kid’s what I’m thinking about— think I’ll ever be able to not think about it?”

Milo said, “People tell me it gets easier.”

“Hope so. You find anything, you’ll let me know?”

“Of course.”

Giacomo nodded and shook Milo’s hand. “You guys are all right.”

We watched him enter the hotel lobby, pass the desk without word, and stand fidgeting in front of the elevator without touching the button. Thirty seconds later, he slapped his temple and pushed. Turned around, saw us, and mouthed the word “stooopid.”

Milo smiled. We got back in the car and drove off.

“ ‘People tell me it gets easier’,” said Milo. “Pretty therapeutic, huh? Speaking of lies, I need to get to the office, chart all that stuff Little Brie thought was off the record. Don’t wanna bore you.”

“Want me to meet you at Michaela’s apartment tomorrow morning?”

“Nah, that could be boring, too. But how about you phone Tori’s mom, see if a Ph.D. helps. The ex-husband, too. Here’s the numbers.”

* * *

I made the calls the following morning. Arlene Giacomo was a thoughtful, sane woman.

She said, “Lou drive you nuts?”

“Not yet.”

“He needs me,” she said. “I want him home.”