She had to remind herself of that fact as she walked through the doors to the station house the following afternoon and made her way to her desk. She’d spent the past four hours talking to witnesses in a domestic violence case, and she was cranky from the conflicting testimony. Half the people at the party where the alleged incident had taken place insisted the wife was at fault; she’d baited her husband by flirting with his brother, then really heated things up by punching him in the gut. The other half said the husband, a possessive jealous type, known to use a steroid or two, had overreacted: he’d grabbed his gun and shot his wife dead.

Overreacting…no shit. How could people be so stupid?

Portia had about two hours of paperwork, and then she was going to call it a day. Shifts were about to change and there was a lot of activity in the office: phones jangling, computers humming, suspects in cuffs and shackles seated at desks protesting their innocence and bad treatment by the cops.

She passed by one of the young secretaries’ desk. A burst of color in the form of carnations and roses indicated that someone was thinking of her. Portia peeled off her raincoat and hung it on a peg near her desk while laughter erupted from somewhere near the fax machine. Then she stared at what appeared to be a mountain of reports to be processed.

So much for the whole “paperless society thing.”

She plowed through some of the files. Reminding herself she did not want a cigarette, she sorted through the paperwork as well as a butt-load of her e-mails.

The phone rang sharply. She picked up the receiver, her eyes still on her computer monitor. “Homicide, Detective Laurent.”

“This is Jay McKnight from the crime lab. I got your name from Sonny Crawley. I think he made a request for me.”

“Oh, right. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” Her interest was immediately diverted from her paperwork and she started typing commands on her keyboard. “It just so happens I was gonna give you a buzz a little later. Just had some final loose ends to tie up…here we go.” She found the correct file and brought it up. “Let’s see. It’s taken a little time but I’ve got a list of potential vans, all domestic and dark, Louisiana plates, owned by people who work at the college. I’ll send them if you give me your e-mail address.”

“Great.” Jay rattled it off. Portia would verify it before sending, even though she recognized the URL as belonging to the state police.

“I’m driving up tonight,” McKnight added. “I could stop by the station, exchange information.”