Zack rubbed at his tired eyes. He knew he needed to head to South Boston, to see the scene for himself, but he wanted a little more time to contemplate what he’d already uncovered. So, for the briefest moment, he stayed where he was: sitting on the edge of a twin bed in a small, stoic bedroom in a third-floor walk-up two blocks from Mass Avenue in Central Square. The furniture in the room was mostly utilitarian, painted in calming pastels. Across from the bed was a small, converted card table serving as a desk, propping up a cheap laptop computer and a few blank notepads. Next to the computer was a wooden bookshelf that might have come from a garage sale. Between the shelf and the single window overlooking a parking lot was another card table, and then a dresser. Zack had already gone through the drawers. Mostly cheap dresses and jeans, a few T-shirts, nothing remarkable. No stash of money or casino chips had been found, but then, Zack hadn’t yet brought in the state CSI team, or the fiber-and-hair bloodhounds. Somewhere in this room, he assumed, was a loose floorboard, ceiling tile, or false shelf bottom. Maybe a stack of bills, maybe more yellow chips, maybe even a computer memory card full of records. Good card counters always kept meticulous records, whether out of ego, or efficiency; in that, they were very similar to professional art thieves.

Zack finally rose from the bed, casting a quick glance out the window to gauge the time. Midafternoon, now, but the parking lot below was only half full. This part of Central Square had so far avoided full gentrification, but the rent was probably still pretty high, being so close to the MIT campus. Most of the apartments in the building were filled with students, a lot of them, presumably, math and science whizzes like Hailey Gordon. The roommate—Jackie something—who was still in the apartment’s kitchen two doors down talking to one of the investigators Marsh had sent by, was studying quantum physics. A pretty girl, friendly, and very smart. Zack had already gone through her bedroom, which had been filled with family pictures, stuffed animals, high school and college paraphernalia. On her desk he’d noticed a framed photo of her boyfriend, a student at Emerson. On her shelf, next to the books on physics, a row of shot glasses emblazoned with various local sports teams’ logos.