He stared glumly at the assault report on his desk. Unfortunately, he couldn't just ignore this report--not without risking a reprimand. His partner, Connie Vandel, was just coming in from lunch, and he said, "Don't bother taking off your jacket." He got up. "How would you like a drive in the country?"

"I have no problem with a scenic drive after lunch," she said cheerfully. On the way out to the car she said, "So, who and what are we working on?"

"We're going out to have a little talk with a fellow named Genello."

She frowned. "Dominic Genello?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"I know of him--a little." She was quiet and thoughtful.

They got into the car, Roland driving. He pulled out into traffic, then said, "So, are you going to give, or do I have to guess?"

"Dominic Genello used to work for Corbin Thomball. Heard of him?"

Roland frowned in concentration. "Wait a minute--there were Feebs around awhile back, and I think I heard them mentioning his name."

"They're very interested in him. He's suspected of being the mover and shaker behind a pretty elaborate and extensive sex ring."

"Call girls?"

"Nothing as wholesome as that. We're talking what could better be described by the rather Victorian term of 'white slavery'. His name has come up in connection to the disappearances of well over a dozen young women, but they've never been able to hang anything concrete on him. Common speculation is that Dominic Genello has a lot to do with that. Dominic is third generation thug. His daddy and his granddaddy both spent the major part of their lives behind bars. They seem to be getting smarter each generation, though, because Dominic has never done time for anything more than drunk and disorderly."

Roland ruminated on this for a moment. "Do you think that Turner might have something on Genello, and he's trying to sort of ease it out, instead of just telling us?"

She shrugged. "It's always possible that Genello could have slipped."

They drove in silence a little while longer, then Roland said, almost hesitantly, "Turner wanted to file a missing person report." Connie made a 'go ahead' sound. "One of his former co-workers--a woman." Connie sat up a little straighter, a spark of interest in her eyes. "It's probably nothing. No one with a closer relationship has made a report."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," said Connie. "There are some people out there who don't touch the rest of the world much."

"Still..."

"Roland, you've heard the stories about little old ladies who are found dead for a month, half eaten by their cats. It isn't just eccentric little old ladies. Some people choose not to interact with the world. Tell me about this woman."

"She works in the same place he used to. He got fired from there a few days ago, and he says that she hasn't been in to work since then, and she isn't the sort to miss work. He admits that he was fired after some sort of incident with her, but he swears that it was a misunderstanding. He was trying to warn her that Genello was up to something. It seems that the woman, Mina O'Connell, had been catching rides back and forth to work with her boss--Stephen Baxter."

She blinked. "Baxter, ferrying an employee around for an extended period of time? You may not want to hear this, Roland, but I think that would look like a red flag to me, too."

"What, the guy can't be generous?"

"Oh, get real. Guys like Baxter are generous with their checkbooks if they're generous at all. They write tax deductions. They do not give personal car service to their employees, no matter how needy."

"So you're telling me that you think I ought to take this missing person report seriously?"

"You're the senior in this partnership."

He sighed. "Oh, hell, I hate it when you do that. It's like when I was a kid, and my mother told me she trusted me to do the right thing. It always meant I was going to have to do something I wasn't going to particularly like. Okay, we'll talk to Baxter and Genello, see what they have to say. I'd like to have a look around the place."

"Do you think he's likely to do that without a warrant?"

"Hell, what sort of warrant could we get with what we have--or rather don't have? But if he doesn't have anything to hide, maybe he'll go ahead and let us look, as a sign of good faith."

"Good luck. I think that someone this rich could live as clean as Billy Graham and he'd still hesitate to let the cops snoop around his place without having legal limits set in concrete."

"We're getting close to the place now. Which side is it going to be on?"

"You're asking me? I haven't taken the guided tour, but my guess would be the left."

"Why?"

"Because of that big ass brick wall over there. Look, there's a place to turn in up ahead."

They pulled into the short drive, but had to stop. There was a gate across the drive. Roland glanced over at Connie. "You get out and use the intercom."

"Please state your name, and your business." The voice was clear, with scarcely any distortion. Roland poked his head out of the window, looking around for the speaker. "There's no need to get out. Just speak clearly." Connie poked her partner, then pointed to a camera mounted on top of one of the thick gateposts. "Yes, we are monitoring you. Information, please."

"Detectives Mankowitz and Vandel." They both pulled out their ID and helt the shields up toward the camera. "We need to speak to Mister Baxter."

"What's this about?"

A different voice said, "Dominic, zoom in on the shields." There was a pause. "They seem genuine. This is Baxter. Wait a moment, detectives, and the gate will open." There was a mechanical whirr, a muted clang, and the gate slid sideways. "Please come ahead to the house. Just follow the drive." The gate slid shut behind them as they made their way down the graveled drive.

Roland shook his head as they approached the house. "You mean to tell me that one family lives in that?"

"Not even a whole family," Vandel replied. "Baxter is childless, and unmarried. It's just him, and whatever live-in servants he has. They pulled to a stop at the front door, just as it opened. A gray-haired woman in a dark dress stood, hands folded, watching them. She wore the carefully neutral expression of a good servant, but her eyes were sharp--apprehensive, and...

*Hostile,* Mankowitz thought, his interest rising. *She doesn't look like the sort who'd be raised to spit when she saw a policeman, so I wonder what's got her panties in a bunch?*

She nodded to them as they approached. "Sir--Miss. Mister Baxter will see you in the front parlor, if that is acceptable." Her eyes said that had damn well better be acceptable.

"Just fine," Mankowitz assured her.

He'd been in many different houses during his career, talking to victims and suspects of many different social levels. This, though, was something else. It wasn't quite up to the standards of those 'stately homes' they toured on the public broadcasting channels, but it wasn't that far down the scale.

The front parlor was bigger than Connie Valden's first apartment, and much better furnished. As they entered, the woman said, "Detectives Mankowitz and Valden, sir."

There was a man standing, looking out one of the windows, and he didn't turn immediately. *Hm. He knew we were coming, and there's nothing out that window that he hasn't seen before, so he's showing us that we're not very high up on his scale of what is vitally important,* thought Mankowitz. *I suppose he's trying to show how little he's worried about this visit. When are people going to learn that condescending to the law is never a very good idea?*

Baxter counted to three, then turned and gave his visitors a carefully measured smile. "Hello, detectives. My curiosity is piqued. I'm certain that if there was anything wrong at work, my security department would have notified me."

"It isn't anything about your business per se," said Mankowitz. "And I understand that you also employ Dominic Genello in a personal capacity."

"True. Dominic is... I suppose the best description would be assistant."

"We'll need to speak to him, also, and if we can kill two birds with one stone..." Mankowitz trailed off suggestively.

"I see." Baxter's voice was flat. "He's here, so there's no reason why he can't join us." Stephen gestured at a sofa. "Please, be comfortable. Can I offer you anything? Miss Fulham keeps a wonderful array of teas and coffee on hand, and she's an excellent baker."

As they sat, Connie said, "I can always use another cup of coffee, and it's bound to be better than the sludge at the station." Roland nodded agreement.

"Excellent. Coffee all around, Miss Fulham, and please ask Dominic to join us." As she left, he seated himself in a high-backed chair, resting his hands easily on the arms. The suggestion of a king on his throne was far too strong to be uncalculated. "What can I do for you?"

"Mister Baxter, do you know a man named Axel Turner?" asked Mankowitz.

Stephen frowned slightly. "Well, I don't know him--we aren't friends, or even what I'd call acquaintances. I know of him. He used to work for me. Not directly, mind you. He was employed as a security guard in my building, but I discharged him several days ago. What has he done now?"

"What makes you think he's done something?"

Stephen shrugged. "Besides the fact that you asked after him? The circumstances that led to his termination. He was harassing one of my female employees. He basically attacked her in the ladies room."

"We haven't had any complaints against him."

"Yes, Miss O'Connell didn't want to file charges. I was rather hoping she'd change her mind. It isn't safe to let someone like that roam around. There's no telling what he's capable of." Dominic entered the room, pausing near the door. He eyed Roland and Connie, his gaze shrewd, and...

*Amused,* thought Connie, feeling her hackles rise. *Someone's feeling very superior.*

"You called, Boss?"

"Dominic, these are detectives Mankowitz and Valden. They wish to speak to us, though I'm not entirely sure why. It seems to have something to do with Miss O'Connell, and Turner."

"Yeah?" Dominic looked at the detectives again. "What did he do to her?"

"Both of you seem to be pretty sure that the only reason we'd be here is if Turner did something wrong. Why is that?" asked Valden.

Dominic took a chair near, and a little behind, Baxter. "Because he's an asshole, and he was bothering her even before he tried to jump her in the lavatory." He looked at Stephen. "You remember the first day we gave her a ride, huh, Boss? We were just getting ready to drive home when we saw that he practically had her pinned against her car in the parking lot. She sure was happy when we showed up."

"So, you've been providing transportation for her this last week or so?" Valden continued.

Dominic scratched his chin casually. "About that. I was trying to get her car fixed for her. Between my other duties and getting the parts, it took awhile." He smiled. "She had it good, though. She didn't suffer while waiting."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

Dominic frowned, then looked at Baxter. "Been a couple of days. Boss?"

"Dominic repaired her car two... no, three days ago. She drove it home from work."

"You didn't see her at work the next day?"

"I wouldn't normally see her at work, Detective Valden. She's a data processor. Our areas of duty are widely separated."

Valden smiled, but it was a little tart. "Don't have all that much contact with the 'little people', eh?"

Baxter's voice was cool. "I have well over a hundred employees in that building alone. I'm hardly capable of sustaining a close relationship with each one. I'm beginning to get disturbed by your reticence. You still haven't told me why you are here."

"Mina O'Connell has been reported missing." Mankowitz watched Dominic and Stephen's expressions closely.

Stephen frowned. "Who made this report? We spoke a little during our rides, and I was under the impression that her parents were deceased, and she had very few close companions."

Before either of the detectives could respond, Dominic said, "Wait a minute... Was it...?" He shook his head. "No, it couldn't be. Tell me it wasn't Turner." The detectives said nothing. Dominic sat back, passing a hand over his face. "Oh, fuck. I don't believe it."

"Turner reported her missing?" said Stephen. "That is utterly ridiculous. Miss O'Connell may be unavailable right now, but she's hardly missing. The last time we spoke, she said that she intended to take a few personal days off. Apparently the assault in the restroom had shaken her more than she first thought."

"So you gave her permission to take off? That's very considerate of you," said Connie, the sincerity in her voice less than true.

"I thought it was an excellent idea. After all, an employee who is distracted is hardly an asset to the company."

"So, she filed paperwork for the days off, right?" Stephen was silent. "I know that when I want any time off I have to fill out forms out the wazzoo." She laughed. "You'd think I was applying for CIA security clearance. I'm sure a corporation like your business has to be really, really careful to have everything documented."

"I don't handle such things personally."

Connie pulled out a notebook and pen. "Who would? I'd like to have a talk with them." She smiled. "Just touching bases, you know. The brass like it if we dot our I's and cross our T's."

"That would be Miss Holachuck, in Records. Do you really believe that Miss O'Connell is missing?"

"We'll have to check," said Mankowitz. "We'll be visiting her apartment, talking to her neighbors, that sort of thing."

"And you came here before you did that?" asked Stephen slowly.

Connie gave him a crooked smile. "We have to start somewhere." Miss Fulham came in, carrying a heavy silver tray, laden with serving pieces, cups, and saucers. "Oh, wow, that looks fantastic! Are those home made macaroons?" Fulham nodded stiffly. "I'm kicking the vending machines when we get back to work."