Later on Kingsley Drive, a callous gust swept away the illicit pizza aromas billowing out of Shakey’s. They swirled up through a crack in the sky.
The detective from Cyprus and the young woman Nick figured was the man’s daughter passed through the big front door of the old apartment building. They rolled down Kingsley in the silver Hyundai. Nick stared at his phone. The GPS tracker was working fine.
Then he glanced up and caught the dim flicker of a familiar figure gently closing the big front door of the old apartment building.
