The lock turned with a sharp, heavy click, and the brass handle began to rotate.
The door opened three inches, stopped by a thin brass chain that looked too fragile to hold against any real force.
In the narrow opening, Lily’s pale face appeared, her dark eyes looking up at my uniform badge.
She was wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt that hung down past her knees, and her small fingers were twisting the fabric of the hem into tight knots.
“Is my mom with you?” she asked in a soft, trembling voice.
“Not yet, Lily,” I said. “We want to help you look for her. Can you unhook the chain?”
She hesitated for a second, then slid the brass bolt out of its track and stepped back into the dark room.
The air inside the apartment was freezing, holding the damp, flat smell of wet concrete.
On the worn green sofa in the corner, a four-year-old boy was sitting up, wrapped in a faded blue blanket. He was Toby, and he was rubbing his eyes with both fists as my flashlight beam swept across the ceiling.
“Juice,” Toby said, pointing toward the dark kitchen.
“We will get some juice in a minute, buddy,” I said, shining my light toward the small dining table.
On the table sat a glass jar containing fifty-four dollars in crumpled bills.
“Where did your mother go, Lily?” I asked, stepping further into the room.
“She went down to the basement to check the box,” Lily said, pointing toward the small kitchen. “She said the lights would come back.”
I walked over to the wall switch and toggled it up and down.
The room remained completely dark, the only light coming from the bright hallway behind me and our flashlights.
“Bill, check the back bedrooms,” I said.
