“Can you remember anything about him?”

Stefanie chuckled to herself. “Yeah, I called him Duran Duran. He had that poser fauxhawk hairdo.”

“Kind of gelled into the middle?” Ellie said.

“Exactly,” Stefanie said. “And he was dressed like some retro eighties MTV video star. Skinny pants. Skinny tie. Really stupid.”

“What about the basics? Height, weight, age?”

“Also kind of tall. Not as tall as the first guy. Probably right around six feet. A little older than us, maybe mid-twenties? Dark brown hair. Kind of thin, I guess. I really didn’t pay any attention, but I might recognize him if I saw him again.”

“Well, I can understand how the outfit might have distracted you.” Ellie was hoping a little humor might deter Stefanie from another guilt-induced digression.

“Oh, and Chelsea was calling him Jake.”

“His name was Jake?” Ellie clarified.

“No, like for Jake Gyllenhaal. It’s this thing Chelsea does. If someone looks like a celebrity, she’ll just call them that. So, I didn’t get a great look at the guy, but according to Chelsea, he looked like Jake Gyllenhaal.”

Ellie could certainly see how a guy who looked like that-regardless of the outfit-might get the attention of a nineteen-year-old girl from Indiana.

“Okay, so we’ve got the shaggy-haired guy who brought you into the VIP room and Jake the bad dresser,” she said. “Anyone else from last night you can remember?”

No.

“What about back home? Does Chelsea have a boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend’s not here,” Stefanie said.

“Where is he?” Ellie asked.

“Indiana. He went to Cancún for break, but he came back yesterday so he wouldn’t miss any classes. Oh, my God. He’s totally going to flip out when we’re not on the plane.”

“Worry about that later. What’s his name?”

“Mark. Mark Linton.”

Two more words for the notebook. She didn’t care whether the boyfriend was supposedly hiking in the Amazon rain forest. Until she verified his whereabouts, the boyfriend was always a suspect.

“Who else?” Ellie asked.

Stefanie cocked her head, clearly put off by the question. Jordan gave her an annoyed look.

“Who else other than Mark Linton?” Ellie asked again. “I mean, it’s not like they’re married, right?”

“Not married,” Stefanie said defensively, “but dating. And for like nine months. He’s her boyfriend, okay? She was dancing with some guys last night, but so were the rest of us.”

“No problem. Sorry if I offended you. I figured in college most people would still be dating around. You girls all right? Need to take a bathroom break or anything?”

Jordan raised her hand chin-high.

“Detective Rogan will show you the way.”

Jordan scooted past her friend and followed Rogan out, while Ellie continued to walk Stefanie through the basics. Chelsea had no enemies. No one was watching them. No one was following them. No tawdry affairs or illicit drug deals over spring break. The guys at Pulse seemed harmless enough, and Chelsea wouldn’t have left with any of them anyway.

It was just a fun night in the city. In fact, Chelsea had told Stefanie, just before they left her alone at the club, that it was the best night ever.

When Rogan returned to the room with Jordan, he gave Ellie the look she was expecting.

“This has been good, you guys. Very helpful. We’re going to make a few calls, and we’ll be right back.” Ellie waited for the door to close behind them to talk to her partner in the hallway. “So?”

“Miss All-American Innocent, my black ass.”

Ellie feigned a judgmental tsk. “My goodness, Jeffrey James. You are so cynical.”

FACTS. REALITY. THE TRUTH. A TIMELINE. It all sounds objective. Absolute. Black and white.

It never was. Sometimes a story changed because a witness lied. But more often, it was simply because there was another side to the story.

According to Rogan, it hadn’t taken much to get Jordan to come clean.

“I caught her on the way out of the ladies’ room,” Rogan said. “I told her I noticed her expression when Stefanie insisted Chelsea had only the one boyfriend. She gave me the usual ‘I don’t want to say anything about my friend.’”

“And then you said we need the truth if we’re going to help.”

Rogan nodded. “Chelsea was getting her party on last night. Hard. All these girls were polluted by the time they left, and Chelsea was probably the worst. And she’s got a wild streak. She’s got the one boyfriend, Mark Linton, but that doesn’t stop her from flirting with other dudes behind his back, or even in front of his face.”

“Just flirting, or following up on the flirting?”

“That’s where the girl was less certain. She’s personally witnessed Chelsea make out with guys at bars-not last night, but in the past. I think she suspects things have gone further from time to time, but doesn’t know for sure and didn’t want to be too catty under the circumstances.”

“We don’t have long before this one breaks.” The local crime reporters always had a way of learning about cases involving photogenic young women whose pictures made good front-page coverage. Add in a tourist at a trendy nightclub in Manhattan’s premier party district, and Chelsea Hart’s story became irresistible.

“And we need to get to the parents before that poor chump of a boyfriend goes to the airport and sees that his girl’s not on the plane,” Rogan added. “And we definitely need to get the Lou on board.”

The idea of Lieutenant Dan Eckels being on board with anything having to do with Ellie was a long shot. To say that Ellie wasn’t her lieutenant’s favorite detective was like saying the Hatfields and McCoys weren’t the friendliest of neighbors.

“At least you can fuel up before you face your maker.”

Jack Chen turned the hallway corner, juggling a pastry bag and a cardboard tray filled with three Styrofoam cups of coffee. Ellie recognized both as coming from a deli on Third Avenue. She took one of the cups and removed a cherry Danish from the bag, along with a napkin, while Chen handed five dollars and some coins back to Rogan. Rogan waved him off, and Chen thanked him before heading off to deliver the rest to the girls down the hall.

Ellie took a much-needed first sip of the black coffee.

“I’ll meet you back out here in ten?” Rogan said.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m going in there to prepare these girls to sit down with a sketch artist,” he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “You, however, are going to tell Eckels about your morning jog.”

ELLIE STUDIED HER LIEUTENANT for ten full seconds through the open slats of the blinds covering the window between his office and the squad room. Dan Eckels’s short, chunky frame rested in his black leather armchair, and as far as she could tell, he was staring into space, doing absolutely nothing. She tapped her knuckles three times against his closed door.

“Enter.”

Eckels’s square face darkened when he looked up to find Ellie in the threshold of his office.

“Morning, Lou. I come bearing pastry.” She extended the napkin-wrapped Danish in his direction.

“Is that powdered sugar on there, Hatcher, or did you get carried away this morning with a little arsenic?”

“They always say you’ve got a wicked sense of humor.” They didn’t. No one. Ever. Ellie suppressed a stomach growl and tried not to think about how much she would have enjoyed that cherry pastry.

Eckels met her fake smile with his. It wasn’t a look that worked for him. With his salt-and-pepper hair, block-shaped head, and low forehead, the grin created an unfortunate Frankenstein effect.

“Let me guess. You and this heart-attack-inducing breakfast ball are here to explain why you and Rogan were already well into a call-out when I arrived here at seven o’clock.”

“Something like that.” She explained how she came upon the crime scene that morning before the first blue-and-white had even arrived. “I was already there, Lou. What was I supposed to do? Miss the opportunity for us to get a head start on the investigation just so I could finish my run?” She said it as if she’d really been looking forward to that last mile.