Bald, with a fringe of graying reddish hair that matched three days worth of stubble, he was nervous having the police on site. “Don’t know…uh, I saw her for sure last weekend, taking a load of trash to the cans outside and then again…oh, hell…” He rubbed his head and his scrawny shoulders jerked up and down as if pulled by strings. “I think she was hauling laundry up…Let’s see, I’d been raking up some old leaves. Guess that was Sunday afternoon.”

“And since?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got forty units here, I don’t keep track of everyone. Do I look like a house mother?”

Defensive, Portia noted. “You got a key to her mailbox?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Let’s check it.” She glanced around. “No phone.”

“Most of the kids just use cells,” the manager said.

“Can’t check her messages then, and she doesn’t get a paper.” But there was a smell to the place, an empty, almost musty smell, and a forgotten cup of coffee was sitting in the microwave.

They walked outside to the mailbox. Bills and junk mail were piling up. According to the report, Ariel didn’t hold down a job, but she should have been going to class. Portia had talked to the mother, who was battling a case of hysteria and was flying in early in the morning, hoping to locate her girl. Portia had called the woman and explained that the police were on the job. They’d called all Ariel’s friends, her neighbors, and checked with the local hospitals. She didn’t have a car, but she did have a cell phone and a bike. Campus police were searching for the bike. Portia had also double-checked with the bank, seeing if there had been any activity on her credit cards, but so far there had been no new purchases.

Ariel’s mother wasn’t convinced enough was being done. She gave Portia the name of her daughter’s cell phone company and said Ariel’s phone was equipped with a tracking device, but she wouldn’t be consoled.

“My daughter’s not like those other girls,” she argued. “I’ve read about them, those…those girls who have no one who cares about them. It doesn’t matter that Joe and I are divorced, we both love our daughter and…and we’ll do anything, anything to find her!”

“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything further,” Portia assured her, more determined than ever to find Ariel.

She just hoped the girl would be found alive.

Her cell phone rang as they were locking the apartment. Caller ID indicated the number belonged to the New Orleans Police Department.

“Laurent, Homicide,” she said automatically as she walked outside, one step ahead of Del Vernon, who was still talking to the anxious apartment manager.