Portia was putting on her coat, ready to call it a day, when Detective Crawley, reeking of cigarette smoke and in need of a shave, showed up at her cubicle. She’d never much liked the man, but couldn’t fault him on his skills as a detective. He was just a little rough around the edges, which seemed to work for him, at least on the job.

“You all get a call from Jay McKnight?” he asked. It was after five and Crawley was already wearing his rain jacket, a battered briefcase in one hand, a printout in the other.

“No.”

“He’s with the crime lab, teaches a night class at All Saints. A friend of mine from way back. I gave him your name.”

“Because?”

“He’s got an interest in those girls that went missing. Seems to think they’re more than just runaways, like you. Thought you might want to talk to him. Compare notes. He also asked me to look up some info on some of the teachers who work at the college.”

“What kind of info?”

“Vehicle ownership, specifically he’s lookin’ for a dark van, if anyone who works at the college owns or has access to one. With Louisiana plates. Probably domestic and full sized, I think, not a mini. Claims someone was following Kristi Bentz. She’s a student there, and Rick Bentz of the New Orleans PD’s daughter.”

“What’s her involvement?”

“I think she’s playing amateur detective.”

“Just what we need,” she grumbled. “And how is McKnight involved?”

“He’s her professor. Friend.”

“More?”

“Probably.”

“Great,” she said, thinking the Bentz girl was more likely than not in the way.

“McKnight also wants background checks on some of the professors and staff who work at the college.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “He thinks one of his colleagues is involved?”

“I got the info from DMV, but thought you might want to work on the staff as I’ve got a few days off while my ex is in the hospital—knee replacement. I’ve got the boys. I’ll be back on Friday.” He handed her a sheet of paper with a list of names and another with five vehicles, potential matches. He gave her a quick rundown of what had happened to Jay and Kristi Bentz.

Portia couldn’t help the first tingle of excitement that ran through her blood. For over a year she’d sensed there was more going on than students at All Saints becoming runaways. Now, at least, someone seemed to agree with her.

“I’ll be checkin’ in with ya,” Crawley said, poking a finger at her nose. “And don’t screw it up, okay? I got a half-rack riding on this.”

“Do I get some of that?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Connect the dots and I’ll buy you a real drink. What do you drink? Cosmopolitan? Daiquiri?”

“Martini straight up. Three olives.”