Face it, McKnight, you’re pussy-whipped.

He refused to listen to the voice as he worked in his office, which was not much more than a closet with a window, but it had a computer terminal and access to all of the police databases. “All I need is here,” he said aloud, though it was a lie. What he’d like was a beer. Instead, he settled for a semi-chilled can of iced tea from the vending machine and snacked on peanut butter cups and red licorice.

At least it was quiet here, the weekend shift busy in other areas of the building, away from his small office.

Everyone he’d phoned was willing to talk to him and all agreed to call him back if they found any information on the four girls, but so far no one had offered up anything he didn’t already know.

To a one, the police officers believed Dionne Harmon, Monique DesCartes, Tara Atwater, and most recently Rylee Ames were troubled girls who had just taken off. If their credit or debit cards hadn’t been used, it was surmised that they’d found a different money source. Probably dealing drugs or prostituting themselves for cash. Maybe gambling? Mooching off some low-life friends?

The only glimmer of hope Jay received was from his friend Raymond “Sonny” Crawley, with whom he’d gone to college and who now worked in the Homicide Department at Baton Rouge.

“Jeeeezus, McKnight,” Sonny had said when he’d answered his cell phone. “What happened? You been talkin’ to Laurent or somethin’? That’s the trouble with that damned woman, she won’t let this thing go, I’m tellin’ ya. No bodies. No crime scene, but she seems to think the girls were abducted or killed or God only knows what. Trust me, we got all the work up here we need without creatin’ any more, but she’s not convinced. Pissin’ everyone off.”

“Who’s Laurent?” Jay asked, scribbling a note to himself as he stared at the computer screen with the picture of Rylee Ames, the girl who was supposed to have been in his class this term.

“Portia Laurent’s a junior detective with the department who has a bug up her butt about those girls. Hell, we all want to find them, but sheeeit, there just isn’t a case. Not yet. But you know how those newbies are. They tend to get fired up about any little thing. Not that I’m makin’ light of the situation, but there just isn’t much we can do about it until we come up with a body, murder weapon, suspect, or witness. So why the hell are you interested?”