said Geoff, the late-night doorman in Lindsay Segal’s building. He said it to Maya’s picture, Brenna holding it out in front of him, her hand trembling from nerves and fatigue and swelling frustration. She realized how unfairly she’d judged the other doorman, who’d at least tried to be friendly. This guy made him look like a superhero. Brenna clutched her wrist to steady it. “Could you please look at this a little closer?” she said. “This is my daughter. She’s missing. This apartment building may be the last place she was seen.” “Yes, you told me all that.” He said it as though Brenna were asking him about a missing set of keys. Maybe the ennui came from too many late-night jobs in the city, or maybe he was on too much medication. Maybe he was just an asshole. He wore glasses with very thin silver frames. He adjusted them languidly, the frames glistening like spiderwebs in the soft lobby light. “She doesn’t look familiar,”
