Two shadowy figures skulked into the building, neither students nor volunteers. One was, however, international.

“Maschio,” he whispered, “You’re sure the pest is gone?”

The other answered with a sigh, “My source saw him run off with an overnight bag, probably halfway to Jamaica by now.”

“Ah, cause your sources have been so good thus far?”

“And your gently leaning on the sister has been so productive?”

The darker man smirked, “Well, it was more fun than playing nursemaid to the mournful widower.”

As they climbed the steps his companion hissed, “I can’t believe the dope still believes she’s really dead.”

“It’d be easier to find her if she was.”

“Yes, but then Marco wouldn’t be with her, would he?” The two men inched down the hall.

“You think she’ll be in her apartment?”

“My source saw her lights go on an hour ago, and nobody’s left the building since.”

“Not even the lovebirds, eh,” said the smirking foreigner.

“We’ll deal with them later.” And with that they eased open the door to Izzy’s flat.