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kid’s twenty years old, five-nine, weight about one thirty-five, slender build. Skin, dark brown, hair, black, worn thick, eyes, brown. He rents half of a double at twelve-seventeen D’Hemecourt Street.”
    â€œOkay, Inspector. We’re on it.” They left the scene and drove out Napoleon Avenue, heading west on Claiborne until they reached Carrollton. Ten minutes later they turned into D’Hemecourt.
    â€œDon’t look like nobody’s home,” Andrews said.
    â€œLet’s try the other side of the double.” Daggett knocked on the door and a few seconds later the door opened. An attractive light-brown woman of about forty-five stood behind the screen. “Yes?”
    â€œPolice officers, ma’am. Are you the owner of the house?”
    She looked mildly flustered. “Oh. Well, yes. I’m Mrs. Coretta Ivy. Is something wrong?”
    â€œWe hope not, but we’re looking for Skeeter Longbaugh.”
    â€œDear me, he might be ill. He normally leaves for work at 7:00, but his car’s in the shed behind the house.”
    Daggett jerked his chin at Andrews. “Take the rear. I’ll see if I can raise him.” He gave Andrews a couple of minutes to get around back, then he knocked loudly on the door several times. “Mr. Longbaugh, it’s the police. Open up please.” He pounded some more. When no answer came, he looked into the anxious face of the owner. “Have you got a key, ma’am? I’d like to make sure he’s all right.”
    She reached into the pocket of her dress and brought out a small ring with two keys on it. Singling out the proper key, she handed it to him. It was the work of only a moment to unlatch the door and push it open. “Mr. Longbaugh? It’s the police. Answer if you’re in there.”
    â€œAin’t nobody here, Iz,” Andrews called from the kitchen. “Back door was unlocked. Car parked in the shed.”
    Daggett walked through the house, taking in the rumpled bed, the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. “Looks like he just sleeps here—when he sleeps.” He led Andrews back to the front porch where the lady waited.
    â€œNobody home, Mrs. Ivy.”
    â€œDo you think something’s happened to him?”
    Daggett shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you know if he has any close friends or a girlfriend?”
    She put a finger to her chin as she thought. “No, not that I noticed. I speak to him just about every day and he seems like a happy-go-lucky youngster. Rather good looking.” She smiled fondly. “I see him out with quite a lot of young girls. He never brings them here, of course. I made that clear to him at the beginning. He’s been a good tenant. Never any trouble, always on time with his rent.”
    Daggett reached into his vest pocket and removed a white card. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Ivy. If you see or hear from Mr. Longbaugh, would you please call us? It’s really important that we speak to him.”
    She took the card, trying not to look worried. “Of course, officer. I do hope he’s not in any trouble.”
    Daggett nodded. “We hope so, too. Good morning.”
    â€œThink she’s a li’l sweet on him, herself?” Andrews asked when they were back in the car.
    â€œShe’s just the motherly type. She didn’t seem jealous of all his girlfriends.”
    â€œHe sounds kinda girl-crazy to me, Iz.” Andrews face took on a worried expression. “Girl crazy and a kidnapped white gal make a bad combination. He could be one of these fools who’s just burnin’ up to lay down with a white woman.”
    Daggett shook his head vigorously. “Uh-uh. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt until we can find him.”
    Andrews shrugged. “Sorry. Imagination run off.”
    â€œThat’s the trouble with this job. Even before you know what a suspect looks like, you automatically