Together, they walked up to the apartment building—an old square made of bricks and stucco. In a perfect world, the glass front door was locked for security. But the hasp appeared to be broken so they slipped inside, walking up a flight of stairs, down the hallway until they found Latham’s unit. Decker knocked on the door. After a few minutes of futile banging, Decker gave up.

“What now?” McAdams asked.

“We leave a card, then we drive over to the morgue and see if they’ve started Angeline’s autopsy. I’d like to get a blood sample for DNA. See if we can get a match from her toothbrush. If that doesn’t work, we’ll do a match with Mom. Anything’s better than a visual identity. No parent should have to see a son or a daughter in that condition.”

“Don’t you need both parents for a profile match?”

“The lab can do a mitochondrial match. Unless there are other sisters missing, it’s good enough for an ID.” Decker took out his card and stuck it into the doorway. As he turned to leave, a neighbor came out. She lived two doors down and was wearing a housecoat. She was dark complexioned with gray hair: midsixties to early seventies.

“Finally!”

“Excuse me?” Decker said.

“You’re the police, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, it took you long enough to come down.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. Then he took out a notebook. “When did you call?”

“Around ten last night. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Remind me of the complaint. I just got a notice to come down and talk to the man in this unit . . . I believe his name is John Latham.”

“It’s John. I don’t know his last name. He wasn’t very friendly.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “And you are . . .”

“Inez Camero.”

“How long have you lived in the building?”

“Ten years.”

“How long has John been here?”

“Under a year. And like I said, he’s not very friendly. But at least he was quiet . . . until last night. Music was blasting so loud, my other ear nearly went deaf. You could have probably heard it in Cambridge.”

“It was blasting all last night?”

“It started around nine-thirty. I know because my favorite show, Real Estate Buddies, was on the television. I had my tea, I had my biscotti, all set to enjoy a nice quiet evening, but nooooo. I called the police at ten during the commercial break. When nothing happened, I finally went over myself and banged on the door. That musta been around ten-thirty right after my show. Leslie Avila saw me. She was getting ready to do the same thing. Finally the jerk turned down the volume.”

“Inconsiderate neighbors can be a real problem,” Decker said.