“Her parents both died a few years ago. She said something about a brother, but he lives in Toronto, I think.”

The elevator opened onto the third-floor hallway. Trevor led his father down to a door with tarnished brass numbers that said 313.

Seconds later, a fire door at the end of the hall opened and Gretchen emerged. The sound of her flip-flops echoed with every step. When she reached Carol’s apartment, she inserted a key into the lock.

“Hope she doesn’t have the chain on. If she’s got the chain on, we’re not going to be able to get in.”

“If she has the chain on,” Duckworth said, “we’ll have to kick in the door.”

“Who pays for the damage? The police going to pay for that?”

It turned out not to be an issue. She turned the knob and the door opened wide.

Trevor went through first. Duckworth reached out, grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“Let me do this,” he said. “You stay right here.”

Trevor, with reluctance, held his position.

“You a cop too?” the superintendent asked him.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. But I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Maybe so,” Trevor said.

Duckworth quickly moved through the apartment. It was a one-bedroom, decked out with inexpensive but tasteful furniture that had an IKEA look about it. Flowered throw cushions on the couch, magazines perfectly stacked on the coffee table. Trevor watched him go into the bedroom, come out, go into the bathroom, come out, then, finally, check the kitchen.

“She’s not here,” he said, returning to where his son stood.

“Can you tell anything?”

Duckworth sighed. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Everything looks fine. I saw a couple of purses in the bedroom, but most women have several. Neither of them contained a wallet or car keys.”

“She had to spend the night somewhere,” Trevor said.

Gretchen chortled. “Hey, women today, they don’t have to come home every night.”

Duckworth said, “Thanks for your help, Ms. Hardy. You can lock the place up now.”

He steered his son back into the hallway and in the direction of the elevator.

“What next?” Trevor said. “If she’s not here and she’s not at work, then—”

Duckworth’s cell rang. He dug it out of his jacket and put it to his ear.

“Duckworth here. You get a plate from that info I gave you? What?” He stopped walking. “Say that again?”

His head seemed to be dragged down by whatever he was hearing.

“What is it?” Trevor asked.

Duckworth held up a shushing hand. “Okay,” he said into the phone. “Don’t touch anything.”

He put the phone back into his jacket and started to move toward the elevator again, but Trevor stopped him.

“What is it? What’d they say? What did you mean, don’t touch anything?”

“Outside,” Duckworth said.