“You’re thinking that somebody there might have seen something?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“They wouldn’t have been open that early,” Rena said. “It’s a lunch and dinner place.”

“You never worked in a restaurant, did you?” A.L. said.

“No. Why?”

“People are in hours earlier than it opens. Prepping for the day. Then they work all day.”

“Sort of like police work,” she said.

A.L. ordered a panini with salami and pepperoni and Rena chose a chicken and pesto from a tired-looking sixtysomething guy wearing a once-white apron over jeans and a chambray shirt.

“Slow night,” she said as she paid for her order. A.L. had hit the bathroom.

He shrugged. “You a cop?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s about all we’ve had tonight. Plus a few volunteers. Hell of a thing. A missing kid.”

“Anybody from here around this morning?”

“I got in about 9:00.”

Early but not early enough, thought Rena. “Are you the owner?”

“Yeah. Going on seven years.”

“I’m Detective Morgan. What’s your name, sir?”

“Antonio Gibacki.”

“How’s the neighborhood, Mr. Gibacki?”

“We’ve been happy. There’s a couple apartment buildings two blocks over that occasionally have a few lowlifes, but I know how to protect my place if it comes to that.”

She decided to ignore that he probably was insinuating that he kept a gun on the premises.

A cook, partially visible in the kitchen via the pass-through window, placed two baskets on the stainless-steel edge. The man turned and grabbed them. “Just last night,” he said, setting the steaming food in front of Rena, “I had two assholes that I needed to show to the door.”

“Because?” Rena said.

The man shook his head. “They were a couple of punks. Loud. I had some regulars in here and they were getting irritated.”

“So these punks were strangers?” Rena asked. A.L. had returned and now stood silently next to her.

“I hadn’t seen them before. Maybe they’re new to the apartments. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll see ’em again.”

Strangers in the neighborhood the night before a five-year-old child went missing. “Mr. Gibacki, this is my partner Detective McKittridge. Can you tell us what these guys looked like?” she asked.

The guy blew out a breath. “White. Skinny. Early to midthirties. Both of them had on pants that they practically had to hold up to keep them on.”

“Hair?”

“One brown. The other was a redhead. Had a thick head of hair. To his shoulders. I had a cousin who had that thick, coarse red hair and he hated it.”

Rena resisted the urge to pat her own red hair but she could feel some heat creep into her face.

Maybe the guy saw it. Maybe he realized that he’d stepped in it. “Now, you got nice red hair. Real pretty.”