“If you guys aren’t building inspectors, I charge for my time.”
The man stepped inside and went to my partner’s office. The door was closed.
The man said, “Anyone home?”
I leaned farther back until my chair squeaked.
“Marines. Go in. Say hi.”
The big man peeked inside and glanced at the woman.
“He’s alone.”
I leaned forward and touched the edge of my desk. A Dan Wesson .38 Special revolver waited in the drawer, but the drawer and the pistol were a mile away.
“Are you going to tell me what you want, or do I have to guess?”
They turned without a word, returned to the outer office, and the big woman opened the door. A small, older woman clutching an enormous brown purse entered. She wore no makeup or jewelry, and looked to be in her seventies. Her wispy hair was more gray than not, and her thin flower-print dress looked shabby. She glanced at me, glanced quickly away, and turned to the woman in the blue suit. She appeared uncomfortable.
The woman in the blue suit gave her a gentle smile.
“We’ll be right outside, Ms. S. Take as much time as you like.”
“Thanks so much, Wendy.”
Wendy and her partner left, and Ms. S finally looked at me. She raked threads of hair behind an ear, but they floated free and drifted toward the ceiling.
“You’re Mr. Cole? The detective?”
I stood, hoping she couldn’t hear my stomach grumble.
“I am. And you?”
She came to my desk and held out a weathered hand. She was one of those people who should’ve avoided the sun, but hadn’t. Faint spots and fine creases covered her skin.
“My name is Adele Schumacher. Forgive me for not phoning first. I don’t care for phones.”
I glanced toward the hall.
“And them?”
“Wendy and Kurt?”
She frowned as if my question was odd.
“They’re my helpers.”
I nodded. Helpers.
“I apologize for showing up without an appointment. If now isn’t a good time, I could wait or come back later if you’d—”
I held up a hand, stopping her.
“I think I can fit you in. Please, sit.”
She sat in one of the leather director’s chairs across from my desk. I took my seat again, facing her.
“All right, Ms. Schumacher, how can I help?”
“You find missing persons.”
A statement of fact.
“Among other things, yes. We offer a wide array of services.”
We. This was the detective presenting himself as a multinational corporation.
“My son was kidnapped. I’d like you to find him.”
I pulled a yellow legal pad close.
“Are we talking about a minor child?”
“Josh is twenty-six. Joshua Albert Schumacher.”
She spelled his first and last names. She probably figured I was smart enough to spell Albert.
“If you believe he was kidnapped, you should call the police.”
“I filed a missing persons report four days ago. The first detective referred me to a second detective, but I haven’t heard from her since.”
I nodded. She probably filed the report at her local division station, but division dicks don’t look for missing people. The division dick would have passed the case downtown to a detective at the Missing Persons Unit.
“Uh-huh. Have you received a ransom demand?”
“I have not and don’t expect to. I believe Josh was kidnapped to silence him.”
“Silence him?”
“Yes.”
She drew a 9x12 manila envelope from her purse and placed it on my desk.
“I have pictures of Josh here, and information you’ll need. Address and phone, a key to his home, and so forth. The second detective’s card is here, too. She was smug.”
I made another note. Smug.
“Why would someone want to silence him?”
“He’s an investigative journalist. He was going to expose them.”
“Expose who?”
“You may have heard of his show. In Your Face with Josh Shoe. It’s a very popular podcast.”
“Sorry. I’ll look it up.”
“He’s becoming quite famous.”
“I’ll give it a listen.”
I tapped the pad with the pen, encouraging her to continue.
“So who is it Josh was going to expose who kidnapped him but hasn’t demanded a ransom?”
She raked the hair behind her ear again, but it still didn’t stay.
“He’s likely being held at a secret facility. If so, your job will not be easy.”