He looked like he was in his late thirties, his body compact in his uniform. He was maybe twenty pounds overweight, not an unattractive amount, but something he'd have to cope with soon. Dark hair trimmed very short, smooth rounded face, a dent in his left ring finger where he'd recently worn a wedding ring. He shot a look at me at that point. Blue eyes flecked with green.

"Anything you want to add to this?"

"Her next-door neighbor down in Florida is sending me a plane ticket she apparently used. I'll take a look at it and see if it tells us anything else. A friend of hers named Pat Usher swears up and down she spent a couple of days with Elaine Boldt before she went off to Sarasota, but I don't believe much of what she says."

"She'll probably show up. They usually do." He took a file folder out and inserted a clamp. "You used to be a cop, didn't you?"

"Briefly," I said. "But I couldn't make it work. Too rebellious I guess. What about you? How long have you been on the force?"

"Eight years. I was a detail man before that. Sold drugs for Smith, Kline, and French. I got tired of driving around in a late-model car, hitting up on doctors. It was all hype anyway. Just like selling anything else. Sickness is big business." He looked down at his hands, then back at me. "Well. Anyway, I hope you find your lady. We'll do what we can."

"Thanks," I said, "I'll give you a call later in the week."

I picked up my bag and moved toward the door.

"Hey," he said.

I looked back.

"I like the hat."

I smiled.

As I passed the front counter on my way out, I caught sight of Lieutenant Dolan in Identification and Records, talking to a young black clerk in uniform. His glance slid past me and then came back with a look of recognition. He broke off his conversation with her and ambled over to the counter. Lieutenant Dolan is in his fifties, with a square, baggy face and a bald spot he tries to disguise with tricky arrangements of what hair remains.