Free Smoke by Lisa Unger

Detective Stenopolis. But she didn’t really need him, she thought, as she slid into her black Mercedes SLK Kompressor and pulled up Fifth Street.
    Jeffrey was already working on banking and credit card records, as well as cell phone activity, thanks to the agency’s many contactscultivated over the years. And she was already getting in touch with the people who knew Lily best. They were well on their way to peeling back the layers of her life, with or without Matt Stenopolis to help them.
    Hardly anyone ever used directory assistance anymore. But Lydia had learned over the years that many more people than one might expect had listed telephone numbers. Especially young single people; they didn’t want to pay for unlisted service and they wanted to be easily found in case Miss or Mr. Right should come looking for them. Lydia remembered Lily’s best friend’s name only because she thought it was funny that they had both been named after flowers. Jasmine Karr was a first-year resident at NYU Medical Center. Lydia had left a message for Jasmine at her apartment as she headed toward the precinct and was surprised when Jasmine called back less than fifteen minutes later.
    “She respects and admires you so much, Ms. Strong,” said Jasmine, her voice sounding far too young to belong to someone nearly thirty. “I’m so thankful that you’re taking an interest in this. I know she will be, too.”
    “I was hoping you and I could get together. Talk a little bit about Lily and how things were with her before she disappeared.”
    “Sure. Of course,” Jasmine said. “But I told the police everything I know.”
    “I’m sure you did. But it would help me, if you don’t mind. I was also wondering if you have access to her apartment.”
    “Actually, I do,” she said. “Her mother asked if I’d take care of her plants until she gets back. So I’ve been doing that and keeping things clean. I just want things to be nice when she comes home.”
    They both knew that her statement was hopeful instead of certain. “I’m still at the hospital. I just called in for my messages. But my shift ends here at noon,” she said. “I could meet you at Lily’s around one if that works. Do you know the address?”
    L ydia made her way through crosstown traffic, thinking she should have taken the subway or walked instead of driving. But she’d been feeling lazy. And the subways held some very bad memories that hadn’t faded much in the past year. Eventually, she parked in a lot on JaneStreet and walked down Eighth toward Bank. The sidewalks were bustling with the usual mix of businesspeople breaking for lunch, mommies or nannies pushing prams, punks, homeless people, and peanut vendors. The day was cool, the air filled with city music and the smell of honey roasted nuts.
    In the marble and oak pre-war lobby a young woman in a navy blue fleece pullover on top of green scrubs and a worn pair of Nikes was sitting on a plush leather chair, looking zoned out and exhausted.
    “Jasmine?” asked Lydia.
    “Yes, Ms. Strong. I recognize you from television.”
    They shook hands and Jasmine told the doorman in his green uniform with gold piping on the sleeves that they wouldn’t be long. He looked up from a magazine and nodded as though he couldn’t care less.
    “This is a nice building,” said Lydia, doing the calculations in her head. Depending on the size of the apartment she couldn’t imagine Lily paying any less than $1500 a month, even for a studio in a building like this one in such an astronomically high-rent district. She knew what a young newspaper reporter made. It wasn’t enough to live here.
    “Yeah,” said Jasmine. “I’m still living with my parents up in Queens. I used to spend the night here with her a lot.”
    “You haven’t been staying here recently?”
    “Since she’s been missing? No. I—I just can’t.” She shook her head and Lydia saw tears gather in her eyes. “I can’t be here without her. It doesn’t