Beyond the reception area, silence erupted into fits of sound. Cubicles and desks crowded a dingy floor that may have once been a cheery yellow. The detained waited in cages or sat chained to aluminum chairs bolted to the floors. Cries and screams drowned the clattering from typewriters and computer keyboards. Here the expected smell of day-old coffee wrestled with the disarming aroma of the unkempt, the busy, the overwhelmed. Rapt, Erin’s eyes widened in curiosity and apprehension. She caught the eye of a drunk, who proceeded to launch himself at her feet, declaring his love. Erin jumped and bumped into Sylvie.

“Your first time in a police station?” Sylvie asked kindly, easily bypassing the drunk.

Erin nodded sheepishly. “I’ve seen them on television, but the real thing is—”

“Real,” the detective finished. “’Cause we’re in the middle of the French Quarter, life is never dull. It’s a twenty-four-hour party, and all the parents are away on vacation.”

“I teach college students. I can only imagine.”

Together, the pair walked to the end of the squad room and turned down a longer corridor. The hallway muffled the sounds of the police station, but the din hummed in the background. Sylvie escorted her into a cramped office, where file cabinets dueled with the desk for space. Papers leaned drunkenly on every horizontal surface.

“Sorry about the mess,” the detective said as they maneuvered inside. She motioned Erin to a spindle-backed chair that wobbled as she sat. Sylvie swiveled her hips around to the opposite side with a minimum of effort after years of practice. “As you can see, I’m not much for the whole cleanliness-and-godliness idea. I figure He’ll take me as I am.”

Erin smiled reassuringly. “No apology necessary. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”

“But you were expecting an audience with the captain.”

Clutching the bag close, Erin shrugged. If Captain Sanchez was unavailable, she’d take what she could get. “I’d rather not do this more than once.”

The detective leaned back in the office chair, one hand drumming lightly on the arm. “Captain Sanchez got called into a meeting. It will be a few hours before he’s back. I can take down your statement, and he’ll follow up.” No need to explain that Sanchez had pushed this one down to her in retaliation for a crack she’d made at staff yesterday about the ugly toupee covering his formerly shiny bald head. The man had no sense of humor. “So, what do you have for us that’s so important?”

Erin hesitated for an instant, then reached into her satchel and pulled out the album she’d compiled. Setting it on the desk, she marshaled her thoughts. “I’m a psychology professor at Burkeen University,” she began. “I teach undergraduates, primarily, but my doctorate is in criminal psychology.”