“I’m looking for Samuel Singh,” I told Andrew Cone, passing him a business card.

He smiled at me with slightly raised eyebrows. “Bond enforcement? What’s a nice girl like you doing in a tough job like that?”

“Paying the rent, mostly.”

“And Singh skipped out on you?”

“Not yet. He has another week left on his visa. This is routine monitoring.”

Cone wagged his finger at me. “That’s a fib. Singh’s landlord and her daughter were here earlier. They haven’t seen Singh in five days. And neither have we. Singh didn’t show up for work last Wednesday and we haven’t seen or heard from him since. I read the article in today’s paper. Unfortunate timing.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“No, but I don’t think it’s any place good. He didn’t pick up his paycheck on Friday. Usually, only the dead and the deported don’t show up for their paycheck.”

“Did he have a locker here? Any friends I might talk to?”

“No locker. I’ve asked around, but I didn’t come up with much. The general opinion is that Singh’s likeable enough, but a loner.”

I looked around the office. No clues as to the nature of TriBro’s business. “So what sort of business is this? And what did Singh do for you?”

“TriBro makes very specific parts for slot machines. My father and his two brothers started the business in fifty-two, and now it’s owned by me and my two brothers, Bart and Clyde. My mother had hopes for a large family and thought it would simplify things to name her children alphabetically. I have two sisters. Diane and Evelyn.”

“Your parents stopped at five?”

“They divorced after five. I think it was the stress of living in a house with one bathroom and five kids.”

I felt myself smiling. I liked Andrew Cone. He was a pleasant guy and he had a sense of humor. “And Singh?”

“Singh was a techie, working in quality control. We hired him to temporarily fill in for a woman who was out on maternity leave.”

“Do you think his disappearance could be work related?”

“Are you asking if the Mob rubbed him out?”

“That would be part of the question.”

“We’re actually a pretty boring little cog in the casino wheel,” Cone said. “I don’t think the Mob would be interested in Singh’s contribution to gambling.”

“Terrorist connection?”

Cone grinned and tipped back in his chair. “Not likely. From what I hear, Singh was addicted to American television and junk food and would give his life to protect the country that spawned the Egg McMuffin.”

“Did you know him personally?”

“Only as boss to employee. This is a small company. Bart and Clyde and I know everyone who works here, but we don’t necessarily socialize with the people on the line.”

Raised voices carried in to us.

“My brothers,” Andrew said. “No volume control.”

A slightly younger, balder version of Andrew stuck his head in the doorway. “We got a problem.” He looked my way. “And you would be who?”