26: Across town, Porter stood at his mailbox in the lobby of his apartment building, his cell phone in one hand and the TV Guide in the other. He was staring down at the floor, at the picture that had fallen from the pages of the magazine when he freed it from his cluttered mailbox.
Porter knelt, leaned in closer.
The photo was five-by-seven, black and white, on matte paper. A picture of a woman in a prison jumpsuit being led through an outdoor chainlink walkway, one guard in front, another behind her. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and her head hung low, her face barely visible in the shadows. It appeared to be a distance shot, grainy, as if enhanced with software beyond the capabilities of the original lens. Porter could make out ORLEANS PARISH PRISON on the wall behind her in block letters.
Porter dropped the TV Guide to the floor beside it, picked up the photograph with his gloved hand, and flipped it over. On the back was one simple sentence written in black ink.
I think I found her.
B