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Crowley with daughters who lived out of state. Namely, that Caroline was not well and needed to be found and brought home. Which was true. But Porter’s gamble hadn’t paid off. Crowley had seemed cautious but willing to help. His meddling wife had not. She didn’t like Porter and never had.
    He now realized he had underestimated Lindsay Crowley. She was a loose cannon who had gone to the police with her concerns. She could have said things to arouse their suspicions so they would think him capable of almost anything, Porter realized.
    “She’s out of town.” Porter glanced down, licking his lips that had turned dry. He tasted salt. The sweat on his face prickled his skin. He took a swipe at it, willing himself to drop his hands before he scratched at the hives that were bubbling beneath his beard, making him itch.
    The cops merely watched him.
    The tactic was tried and true, as any mental health professional knew.
    And right now it worked like a charm on Porter, a fact he was aware of but had no control over. “She’s visiting her mother.” His mind skipped to his mother-in-law, sallow-skinned and in the end stages of alcoholism, staring out over the muddy waters of the Gulf from her third husband’s condo.
    Porter realized his mistake. It would take no more than a phone call to unleash a tirade about the hurt shesuffered as the result of her only daughter’s longtime estrangement.
    The police would have something to go on if they caught him in a lie.
    “It’s a surprise visit. She might not be there yet,” he added, flailing about for options.
    “Guess she didn’t fly.” The tall one spoke for the first time.
    How could they know that? Porter’s eyes widened and he took a step back, aware that his unease was showing.
    “Sanitation turned these in last night.” The tall one, smiling now, handed Porter two small booklets that were a familiar shade of royal blue.
    Relief washed over Porter. “Thanks,” he murmured, accepting the passports with a hand he tried to keep steady. He let out a deep breath and forced a smile.
    “Sanitation found them in a trash can on Wisconsin yesterday, just up the block.” The taller one motioned with his chin.
    So Lindsay Crowley wasn’t behind this. Porter looked down, turning the passports over in his hand, fingering their compact weight. “Thanks,” he said again.
    “No problem,” the tall cop said. “Glad we could help.”
    The stocky cop was not smiling. He continued to watch Porter with a gaze that did not waiver. “Any idea how you and your wife’s passports went missing?”
    “Yeah.” The flood of adrenaline and its aftermath was too much. Porter dug at his beard, long and hard, giving in to the urge that always plagued him in times of stress. The move bought him a precious few seconds. “Someone broke in a couple days ago. They got some of my wife’s jewelry as well.”
    “Did you file any report with the police?” The tall one’s smile faded.
    Porter shook his head slowly for effect. “I know I should have, but I feel sorry for the guy. I mean, I know who it is.” He let out a long, deep breath. “Our cleaning woman is in some kind of trouble. Her husband came here on a tourist visa and I know for a fact it expired. I had to let her go. They’re here illegally. I’m sure they’re desperate for money.”
    The cops exchanged glances. “You know where this guy lives?”
    Porter nodded. “I should probably report him to the INS.” He hated cops.
    The shorter one spoke. “Look, Mr. Moross, I think you should come down to the station and file a report.”
    “Good idea. I should have done that right away,” Porter replied thoughtfully. “I’ll do it as soon as I grab a shower.”
    “That’ll be a help to us,” the shorter cop said, taking out a business card and handing it to Porter. “I’m Officer Mike Hartung.”
    Porter took the card, helpful now. “Thank you, Officer Hartung. Will do.”
    “We appreciate your time, Mr.