“Not used to standing so long.” Kovacs shook out his legs. “Guess I’d make a lousy palace guard.”

“Anything suspicious at all?” Decker asked.

“Not a thing, Sergeant.”

Decker knocked loudly, announced himself, and got no response. He turned to Swanson. “When’s this manager supposed to be here?”

“She said around eight. Five minutes maybe.”

Decker looked at the space between the door and its frame. Marie had a dead bolt. He couldn’t trip the lock with a credit card. Decker jiggled the doorknob. The door was flimsy, and he was impatient. A baby was missing, and so was a nurse—the only thing left behind an empty parking space dotted with blood. One good shove and he’d be inside. But he knew it was more prudent to wait.

Ten minutes later, the manager finally showed up. She seemed to be in her late fifties—scrawny and wrinkled with a bouffant of carrot-colored hair. Her voice was husky, her breath charged with cigarette smoke.

“Renee Fulbright.” She offered a bony hand, nails buffed and covered with pumpkin polish. “What happened to Marie?”

Decker said, “Who said anything happened to her?”

Renee pulled out a massive ring and began to sort through keys. “It’s gotta be serious. Otherwise, why would the police—ah, here it is. Apartment three-twelve. Marie’s been a model tenant, by the way. Never missed a month.” She slipped the key into the lock, then turned the handle and opened the door. “Don’t go messin’ up the carpet…if you can avoid it, I mean. I just had it cleaned.”

Decker wiped his feet on the burlap mat. “I’ll take off my shoes as soon as I’m convinced the place is secured.”

“The cooperative type, huh?” Renee gave him a slow smile. “You know, I got this thing for redheads.”

Decker said, “My new infant daughter’s a redhead. Bet you’d really like her.”

The smile disappeared. “That was subtle.”

Decker laughed. “You don’t have to stick around, Ms. Fulbright. But I’ll need the key until I’m done.”

Renee sighed, then slipped the key off the ring. “I’m in number one-oh-one. Just drop it in the mailbox.”

“Got it.” Decker stepped over the threshold and called out the word “Police.” After no one answered, he did a quick once-over of the living room. First the closets—clothes, utility, water heater—nothing. Then he started going through the kitchen as Swanson and Kovacs did quick checks on the bedrooms and bathrooms.

It was unremarkable—small counters, white stove and refrigerator, a corkboard hanging on the wall, a calendar thumbtacked to the board. Decker pulled out the thumbtack and leafed through the yearly log. None of the date boxes had the words “baby snatching” written in them. He smiled to himself. Bellson was going to make it hard. He’d look over the calendar thoroughly when he had more time.