“Some kind of argument going on. Glass breaking. A woman crying. The folks in the room next door called the front office to complain. The manager knocked on the door to tell them to quiet down and a male inside told him to get lost.”

Zee was older than Brice Campbell, in his mid-thirties. He wore his dark hair as long as department code would allow, and his compact, stocky frame was a testament to the time he spent in the weight room.

“Which is where we come in,” Brice added. He looked around at the single-story stretch of rooms. “You been here before?”

“You mean on business?” Zee asked, his grin sly.

“You keep that shit up, Frannie is going to leave your ass,” Brice said. “Yeah, I mean business. I’ve had two calls over here in the last six months. One domestic, one auto breaking and entering.”

“Place is kind of sad, but it’s not as bad as some of these other fleabags I’ve been to,” Zee said. “You ready?”

The officers got out of the car, jamming their nightsticks into their belt loops, each letting their fingertips graze the handles of their holstered Smith & Wessons.

“Hang on,” Zee said. He fetched the heavy Maglite flash he’d stowed under the seat of his cruiser.

As they approached the door of Unit 12 they heard the sound of a woman’s hysterical sobs.

They stood to the side of the door and Brice knocked. “Police!” he called loudly.

Nothing.

Zee banged at the door with the Maglite. “Come on in there, open up.”

The door opened an inch, the chain lock engaged. A man, early-thirties with thinning brown hair and a pink flushed face, glared out at them. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. “What do you want?”

“Somebody called in about a disturbance coming from this room,” Brice said.

“We didn’t call the cops. Must be a mistake.”

“Sir?” Brice said, trying to sound firm. “We just heard a woman crying when we arrived here. Your neighbors in the next room seem to think there’s been some kind of a fight.”

“They need to mind their own fuckin’ business,” the man said, shouting now, as he looked toward the right and the left. “We don’t need the cops. There’s no disturbance. So leave us alone.”

“We need to come into this room and talk to that woman,” Zee said. “Now.”

The man turned away from the door. “Tell these cops you’re fine.”

The woman continued to sob.

“Goddamnit, Colleen, cut it out.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman cried. “I’m okay. You can go.”

“She’s upset, that’s all,” the man assured the officers. “We had an argument. She’s fine. End of story.”