Darcy walked past him, trying not to show her distaste. From time to time, Erin complained about the sixty-year-old Casanova in dirty flannel. “Boxer gives me the creeps,” she’d said. “I hate the idea he has a master key to my place. Once I walked in and found him there and he gave me some cock-and-bull story about a leak in the wall.”

“Was anything ever missing?” Darcy had asked.

“No. I keep any jewelry I’m working on in the safe. There’s nothing else worth pocketing. It’s more that he has a nasty, flirtatious way about him that makes my skin crawl. Oh well. I’ve got a safety bolt when I’m inside and the place is cheap. He’s probably harmless.”

Darcy came straight to the point. “I’m concerned about Erin Kelley,” she told the superintendent. “She was supposed to meet me last night and didn’t show up. She doesn’t answer her phone. I want to check her apartment. Something may have happened to her.”

Boxer squinted. “She was okay yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

Thick lids drooped over faded eyes. Parted lips were moistened with his tongue.

His forehead collapsed into erratic lines. “No, I’m wrong. I seen her Tuesday. Late afternoon. She come in with some groceries.” His tone became virtuous. “I offered to carry ‘em up for her.”

“That was Tuesday afternoon. Did you see her go out or return Tuesday evening?” “Nope. Can’t say I did. But listen, I’m not a doorman. Tenants have their own keys. Delivery guys gotta use the intercom to get let in.” Darcy nodded. Knowing it was useless, she had rung Erin ’s apartment before she buzzed for the superintendent. “Please. I’m afraid there may be something wrong. I’ve got to get into her place. Do you have your passkey?” The twisted smile returned. “You gotta understand, I don’t normally let people into an apartment just because they wanna go in.