“Because I have a question about some benefits. For my father, who was laid off seven weeks ago. He’s had to go into the hospital.” That seemed like a safe bet, given the empty benches in the assembly room.

He frowned, not wanting to give away anything to anyone, but finally directed me to the third door up the hall from him.

My luck didn’t hold when I found the proper door. The man in the tiny office had been in the cluster that saw my undignified entrance into the plant four days ago. At first he didn’t recognize me, but as soon as I mentioned Mitch Kruger’s name, Friday’s episode came back to him. He frowned ferociously and picked up the phone.

“Milt? Dexter here. Did you know that female dick was back? The one who came around last week? You didn’t? Well, she’s with me right now.”

He slammed the receiver down and folded his arms. “You just don’t learn, do you, girlie?”

“Learn what, pork chop?” I saw a folding chair next to his filing cabinet and pulled it out flat to sit on.

“To mind your own business.”

“I’m here doing just that. Answer a few simple questions about Mitch Kruger and you won’t see me again.”

He didn’t say anything. Apparently we were waiting for Milt Chamfers. The plant manager arrived a few seconds later, his tie knotted up to his throat and his jacket on. This was going to be a formal meeting, and I was wearing socks instead of pantyhose.

“What are you doing here?” Chamfers demanded. “I thought I told you to get lost.”

“Same thing that I was here for last week—to see who saw Mitch Kruger and when and where and all those other w questions they teach you in journalism and detecting schools.”

“I don’t know who this Kruger was, let alone when and where,” Chamfers mimicked in a savage falsetto.

“Then I’ll have to talk to everyone here at the plant until I find out who does, won’t I.”

“No you won’t,” he snapped, tightening his thin lips until they disappeared into his chin. “This is private property and I can have you thrown out if you don’t leave at once.”

I tilted back in the folding chair until it touched the filing cabinet, and smiled a little. “It’s a murder investigation now, sonny. I’m going to give you to the cops and you can explain to them why Mitch Kruger’s name makes you so angry and agitated.”

“I don’t let anyone come into my plant snooping around, pretending they’re looking for missing persons when they’re really engaged in industrial espionage. If the cops want to talk to me about some old man who worked here twenty years ago, I’ll talk to them. But not you.”