Patrice looked past the woman into the dim living room. The odor of warm trapped air seeped out of the house as if the door hadn't been opened in ten years. "Is Walter here?"

"No." The woman's lips barely moved. "Who are you?"

Patrice showed her badge. "We're Pittsburgh police detectives." She noticed the woman was dressed casually in tan elastic-waisted trousers and matching fuzzy socks. "Were you expecting us?"

"I don't have a lick of makeup on. Do I look like I'm expecting company?"

It was difficult to determine the woman's age but the creases in her face and the broken capillaries in her flat cheeks spoke of a difficult life.

"I'm Sergeant Wilson," the local officer said with a polite grin. "And this is Officer Dunlop from the East Liverpool Police Department."

"There sure are an awful lot of you."

"You're Ms. Schmitzer?" said Patrice. "Walter's mother?"

"Is he in some kind of trouble?" Her tone softened.

"Did your son mention that the police would be visiting?"

"No." Her expression tightened.

"Maybe we should talk about this inside." Patrice glanced over her shoulder at the neighbors on their porch. "You don't need anybody else in your business, do you?"

The woman swiped a strand of silver hair from her face and glared at the neighbors and their yapping dog before retreating into her home.

"Is there anyone else in the building aside from you?"

"No."

Sergeant Wilson rubbed his nose. "How about we keep the door open and me and my officer will be right out here if you need us?"

The detectives cautiously crossed the threshold and followed the woman into her living room. In contrast to the dilapidated exterior of the home, the interior was spotless. The heavy cocktail of furniture polish, Lysol, and Windex hung in the air and infiltrated the worn upholstered furniture. To add to the oppressive ambiance, Patrice estimated the room temperature to be somewhere in the neighborhood of eighty degrees.

The woman grumbled, "You're letting the bugs in."

The Sergeant responded by closing the door halfway.

The old woman shuffled to an overstuffed chair and lowered herself into it with a muffled grunt. She looked like she could barely keep herself from falling asleep.

Patrice paced slowly across the carpeting and peeked around the edges of the shades through the front-facing windows. She got the impression that Velma Schmitzer didn't spend much time looking out these windows, she was more concerned that others didn't look in. Patrice stopped at the base of the staircase.

With his eyes darting back and forth across the room, Lloyd asked, "Ms. Schmitzer, are there any weapons in the house?"

"Huh?" She pulled a wadded tissue from her cardigan pocket and dabbed her nose daintily.

"Do you own a gun? Or guns?"

She lifted her chin and glared at him. "What for?"

"So am I to understand there are no firearms on the premises?"

A creaking sound coming from the second floor drew Orion's attention. "Nobody's upstairs?" she said.

"It's an old house," Ms. Schmitzer said solemnly. "Old houses make noises."

Orion looked toward the top of the staircase, her hand near her holster, the heat dimming her focus.

The woman cleared her throat. "You say my Walter was in Pittsburgh?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lloyd replied. "We believe so." He unbuttoned the second button of his shirt and opened his collar. "Do you have Walter's cell phone number?"

"He doesn't have one of those." Her eyelids fell closed.

"Are you sure?"

She didn't bother to open her eyes. "Do I look like I could afford a fancy phone?" Her voice was so light, they could barely hear her.

Patrice asked, "He does own a computer or has access to one, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Yes." She licked her dry lips. "He has a computer. Is that against the law now?"

As Orion peered up the shadowed staircase, she winced at the pungent odor of a powerful air fresher. She spotted the source of the antiseptic smell, a large block of pet odor freshener on the side table. "Do you and Walter have pets, Ms. Schmitzer?"

"You said pets?"

"A dog, or a cat?"

She shook her head and shoved her hands into the pockets of her cardigan.

Patrice glanced at her partner and gestured toward the second floor with her eyes.

Lloyd nodded. He bent forward, leaning closer to the woman who seemed to be fading away. "It seems your son has been contacting some of his classmates from the junior high school. A few who live in Pittsburgh."

"Walter wouldn't want anything to do with the kids from that school."

Lloyd said, "Well, that may have changed now that they've grown up."

"He won't even drive past that building. Too many awful memories."

Lloyd nodded his condolences.

"When he was twelve, Walter became very ill. Very ill. And those kids. They said a lot of cruel and hurtful things. They had no business talking that way about my boy."

Patrice said, "Do you have a photo of your son?"

"Walter doesn't like to have his picture taken."

Patrice exchanged a look with Lloyd. Creaking floorboards from upstairs turned her head. "Is his computer in his room?"

She didn't respond.

Patrice felt her shirt sticking to her back. Her patience was nearing a breaking point. The stifling air was so thick with the air freshener scent that it worked its way into her sinuses. "Ms. Schmitzer. Is Walter's computer in his room?"

"I don't like the idea of you rummaging through his personal belongings."

"It's important that we have a look at that computer."

"What sort of trouble do you say my Walter got himself into?"

Lloyd said, "We believe he may be involved with a missing girl."

The woman withdrew her hands from her pockets and folded them in her lap. The placid expression on her face was unsettling.

Patrice said, "We really do need to take a look at that computer."

"He's most likely taken it with him. It's one of those, what do you call them?"

"A laptop?" Patrice said.

She nodded. "He takes it with him when he goes out. So you won't find it up in his room. There's no sense in going up there." She looked down at her hands as she rubbed them together.

"When he goes out," said Lloyd. "Where does Walter like to go?"

She shrugged. "Just around, I suppose. He doesn't talk about it much."

"Maybe just around to Pittsburgh?"

"I never heard him say anything about Pittsburgh. He's a very private person."

"Is he?"

"I told you everything you need to know. I answered all your questions. Every single one of them."

Patrice gestured toward the second floor. "How about you take us up to Walter's room?"

"I told you his computer isn't up there." The woman let out a deep sigh, her chest sinking. "Now I've been very cooperative with you people."

"Yes, Ma'am, you have," said Lloyd.

"I think I've talked all I want to. There's nothing else to be said. It's time for you to leave."

Patrice had had enough of the stonewalling. "I'm afraid we can't do that."

"You people are very rude."

Lloyd said, "We're just doing our jobs, ma'am."

"People are entitled to their privacy." She muttered something unintelligible.

Patrice said, "Either you take us up there or we'll go up and find his room on our own."

"You got a search warrant for something like that?"

Patrice climbed the first two steps. "Are you coming with us, or are you staying down here with the police officers?"