“Shit,” I said. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“I have a house in Maine,” Ranger said. “It’s nice there at this time of year.”

It was a tempting offer. “Is there an outlet mall nearby? Is it close to a Cheesecake Factory? A Chili’s?”

“Babe, it’s a safe house. It’s on a lake in the woods.”

Oh boy. Bears, black flies, rabid raccoons, and spiders. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass. Just tell Tank to stick close to me.”

Ranger put the truck in gear, turned at the corner, drove two blocks down Market, and parked in front of an old Victorian clapboard house. The front door was unlocked and led to a small foyer. There were six mailboxes lined up on the wall. Beyond the mailboxes, a hand-carved mahogany railing followed a broad staircase to the second and third floors. The carpet was threadbare and the wall covering was faded and had begun to peel at the corners, but the foyer and staircase were clean. An air freshener had been plugged into a baseboard outlet and spewed lemony freshness that mingled with the natural mustiness of the house.

We ran through the names on the mailboxes and found Carl Rosen. Apartment 2B. We both knew chances weren’t good that he’d be in, but we took the stairs and knocked on his door. No answer. We knocked on the door across the hall. No answer there, either.

We could get Carl Rosen’s work address easy enough, but most people were reluctant to talk in their work environment. Better to wait a couple hours and catch him at home.

“Now what?” I asked Ranger.

“I want to go through Bart Cone’s house. It’ll be easier to do alone, so I’m taking you back to the office. You should be safe there. I’ll pick you up at five and we’ll try Rosen again.”

EIGHT

MRS. APUSENJA WAS sitting in the office when Ranger dropped me off. She was on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, lips pressed tightly together.

She jumped up when I walked in and pointed her finger at me. “You!” Mrs. Apusenja said. “What do you do all day? Do you look for Samuel Singh? Do you look for poor little Boo? Where are they? Why haven’t you found them?”

Connie rolled her eyes.

“Hunh,” Lula said from behind a file cabinet.

“I’ve only been looking for a couple days . . .” I said.

“This is the fourth day. Do you know what I think? I think you don’t know what you’re doing. I want someone new on the case. I demand someone new.”

We all looked at the door to Vinnie’s inner office. It was closed and locked. There was silence behind the door.

Connie got up and rapped on the door. No response. “Hey,” Connie yelled. “Mrs. Apusenja wants to talk to you. Open the door!”

The door still didn’t open.

Connie returned to her desk, got a key from the middle drawer, and went back and opened Vinnie’s door. “Guess you didn’t hear me,” Connie said, standing hand on hip, looking in at Vinnie. “Mrs. Apusenja wants to talk to you.”