The magic words brought the whole pod to his desk, where they started arguing about whether Petra had been kidnapped or had disappeared on a secret assignment for Strangwell.

“Petra could be doing an undercover assignment for the Chicago Strangler,” a young woman with a number of piercings said. “She never says what the Strangler has her doing.”

“Running a hit squad,” the sole African-American youth on the team suggested.

“The Strangler feels free to machine-gun the whole opposition in broad daylight,” the pierced woman said. “You wouldn’t have to be undercover for that.”

“Who would Petra talk to if she had a tough problem to unknot?” I asked.

That quieted the group for a minute, but a young woman in jeans and layered tank tops said, “We don’t work like that. It’s more, like, how do I do this, and we all, like, brainstorm and come up with different ideas. Brian’s campaign, it’s about change. It’s not about personal glory. So we, like, all work together.”

“What if Petra had a personal problem?” I asked.

The African-American kid said, “She didn’t have personal problems that I could see … I mean, before the Strangler pulled her off the team. Then, I don’t know if working for him went to her head or he had her doing something she didn’t like, but she stopped eating with us after work. We don’t know what she’s doing or who she’s talking to.”

“Guy’s a fucking organizing genius,” the first kid I’d spoken to said.

“Granted,” the African-American youth said. “But would you want to go to El Gato Loco with him?”

The pierced woman laughed. Another young woman came along and asked who was going where for lunch. Before they all took off, I handed cards around.

“I’m her cousin. She disappeared in a way that’s got me seriously worried. And the Chicago police and the FBI are on it, too, so I’m surprised they haven’t been around to talk to you. If you can think of anyone she might confide in, or anything she’s said that would tell me why she took off, call me please.”

They were e-mailing with excitement before I even left the pod. Police, FBI: way too cool to keep to yourself. I walked slowly back to Strangwell—the Strangler’s—corner of the floor. The kids admired him, but he frightened them. And, at the same time, they had been jealous of Petra for being singled out to work for him.

Strangwell’s door stood open now. Tania Crandon was next to it, working her cellphone. The secretary was standing next to her desk, talking on the landline. Strangwell, frowning, watched from the doorway.

“We didn’t know what happened to you!” Tania pocketed her phone.