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“Let me show you upstairs.”
     
The two men jogged to the second floor. Jones shook his head when he saw the stick used as a door prop. “Definitely not professionals,” he muttered as they walked toward Ariane’s front door. “You tried calling her, right? Maybe she’s just sleeping and can’t hear the door from her bedroom.”
     
“Trust me, she’s not in her bedroom.”
     
“How can you be so sure?”
     
“I went into her bedroom.”
     
“You had your key with you?”
     
Payne shook his head. “Not exactly.”
     
Jones noticed the splintered door frame before he reached Ariane’s apartment. The door hung there, slightly tilted, like it had been battered by a tropical storm.
     
“Let me guess,” Jones quipped. “Hurricane Payne.”
     
“She wouldn’t answer the door.”
     
Jones shrugged as he walked inside. “Seems like a reasonable response.”
     
“Listen,” Payne said, “I realize everything I’ve showed you is marginal at best. But this is the thing that really got me going.” He pointed to the tape that covered Ariane’s peephole. It was the same type of tape that covered the lock on the front door. “There’s nothing innocent about this. And I guarantee that this tape wasn’t here last night. No way in hell.”
     
Jones grimaced. It did seem suspicious. But he didn’t touch it, just in case there were fingerprints on it. “What kind of security system does her apartment have? Didn’t you pay to have it upgraded?”
     
“Yeah, they installed alarms on all the windows and the two doors. I also had a camera mounted inside the peephole, but they must’ve known about that.”
     
“Not necessarily. Just because they put tape on the door doesn’t guarantee that they knew about the camera. They could’ve been trying to prevent her from seeing into the corridor. Shoot, for all we know, maybe her neighbor across the hall was doing something illegal, and he wanted to guarantee his privacy.”
     
“But how does that explain the fact that she’s missing?”
     
“I have no idea,” Jones admitted. “But I’m trying to keep as many options open as possible. Have you tried talking to her neighbors? Maybe they saw something.”
     
“I was reluctant to bug them so early, but now that it’s after eight o’clock and you’re beginning to see my point of view, I’m willing to try anything.”
     
Jones nodded his approval. “Why don’t you handle this floor while I head downstairs?”
     
“Fine. But if you find anything, please let me know immediately.”
     
“Will do,” he assured Payne. “And Jon? Keep the faith. We’ll find her.”
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 9

     
KNOCKING on each door, Payne started with Ariane’s neighbor across the hall and slowly made his way down the corridor. Everyone that he talked to was friendly and immediately knew who Ariane was—females of her beauty tended to stand out. Unfortunately, no one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. And no one could account for the duct tape over the front lock.
     
After speaking to the last of her neighbors on the second floor, Payne heard Jones running up the stairs in an obvious state of excitement.
     
“I think I’ve got a witness,” Jones exclaimed. “He’s waiting downstairs in the hall.” Within seconds, the two men were standing in front of the open door of apartment 101. “Mr. McNally, this is Jonathon Payne, Ariane’s boyfriend. Jon, this is Mr. McNally.”
     
Payne shook the hand of the elderly man while trying to observe as much as he could. McNally appeared to be in his mid-eighties, walked with the aid of a metal cane, and closely resembled Yoda from Star Wars —minus the green color. His apartment was cluttered with heirlooms and antiques, yet for some reason a framed Baywatch poster of Pamela Anderson hung near the entrance to his kitchen. “Mr. McNally, D.J. tells me that you might’ve seen something that could help me find Ariane?”
     
“Who the hell is D.J.?”