But Phyllis Carney, my boss, likes to say she looks for "misfits, mavericks, and oddballs," for their "willingness to apply unorthodox solutions to ordinary problems." It's an interesting management theory, and I think she's started looking into a new one since my arrival.

Ms. Tran now was poking her head inside the victim's closet. I approached her from behind and asked, "Anything interesting?"

She turned around and faced me. "There are three cops, a forensics expert, and four detectives here. Why me?"

"Update me, and I'll get out of your life."

For the first time she looked interested in what I had to say. "Is this because I'm an attractive woman?"

"Absolutely not." Definitely. I said, "You look smart and you take notes. Like the girl I sat beside in second grade."

"When was that? Last year?" She smiled at her own joke.

Which brings me to the here and now: 10:30 a.m., Monday, October 25, Apartment 1209 in a mammoth complex of rental units, mostly cramped efficiencies and one- and two-bedrooms, on South Glebe Road. There was no sign in front of the building that advertised, "Cribs for Swinging Singles," though I was aware it had that reputation.

The apartment was small, essentially one bedroom, an efficiency-style kitchen, closet-size living room, and an adjoining dining room. A Realtor's brochure would characterize it as cozy and intimate, which is code for cramped and uninhabitable. The furniture was sparse and looked new, and also cheap, the sort of crap you rent by the month or pick up at a discount furniture warehouse. I observed few personal, and no permanent touches; no books, no artwork, few of the usual trinkets or junk people sprinkle around to individualize their living environment.

You can usually tell a lot about a person from their home.