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phoned his superiors but those calls were never returned.”
    “Frustrating.”
    Frostig’s look said,
What else is new?
    “What have you done personally to look for Caitlin?”
    “I haven’t hired any other detectives, if that’s what you mean.”
    “I mean anything.”
    “The Web,” said Frostig. “I’m on it constantly. Plugging in Caitlin’s name, checking missing persons sites. I’ve logged onto philosophy chat rooms, because Caitlin was interested in philosophy.”
    “People talking about the meaning of life?”
    “People will talk about anything, Mr. Fox. The computer grants permission.”
    “To …?”
    “Communicate.”
    “Was Caitlin into cyberspace?”
    “She didn’t have her own computer,” said Frostig. “We share.”
    Talk about lack of privacy. A voluntary rabbit was looking more and more feasible.
    Aaron said, “What’d you guys do, divide up the time?”
    “We guys,” said Frostig, frowning. “Caitlin used the computer for academic purposes.”
    “Homework.”
    “Term papers. But feel free to examine the computer. I was just offering an example of the lengths to which I go to find Caitlin.”
    “What else can you tell me about Caitlin, sir?”
    “About Caitlin,” said Frostig, as if redigesting the concept.
    What an oddball. Half an hour in this place and Aaron felt ready to molt his skin. Voluntary rabbit was climbing toward Probability.
    Maitland Frostig said, “She’s a good girl with a good brain. She’s neat and diligent and reliable.”
    Sounded more like a Boy Scout than a daughter.
    “I don’t want to think,” said Frostig.
    “About?”
    “Where she could be after all this time.”
    “What was the name of the police detective you spoke to?”
    “The police,” said Frostig, “are utterly useless.”
    “Even so, sir.”
    “You’re going to waste time going over old ground. On Mr. Dmitri’s dollar.”
    Aaron forced himself to smile. “Generous man, your boss.”
    Frostig turned his back, headed to the living room. Walked through the room and positioned himself by the front door.
    Aaron said, “Is there some reason you’re uncomfortable with my taking on your daughter’s case?”
    “Because you’re black? Absolutely not.”
    Race hadn’t entered Aaron’s head. Frostig had seen nothing but the color of Aaron’s skin.
    “It’s not you, Mr. Fox. I’m not hopeful, that’s all. Fifteen months and no one’s given me the time of day.”
    “Now that’s changed, Mr. Frostig.”
    “I suppose it has.” Frostig’s smile was unsettling. “I apologize if I’ve been rude. I certainly haven’t intended any rudeness.”
    “None observed.”
    “Well that’s polite of you, Mr. Fox. I’m sure you’ll do your best.”
    Aaron opened the door and let in a sliver of evening. He said, “The name of that police detective, sir.”
    “Reed,” said Frostig. “Moses Reed. You’re wasting your time.”
    Aaron walked to his car, head spinning in a whole new direction.

CHAPTER
5
    T he big detective room echoed.
    Just Moe Reed at his desk and D-3 Delano Hardy in a far corner, on the phone, talking to someone about a court appearance.
    Hardy had as many years on the job as Sturgis—had partnered with Sturgis back when the lieutenant still did that. Moe, still feeling like a trainee, had made it his business to eavesdrop when the older detectives talked.
    Delano’s case sounded like a gang shooting, bad guy nabbed early, easy confession. Routine, nothing to learn. Moe was just about to pay attention to his own work when tension snaked into Hardy’s voice and his volume rose.
    Turned out this bad guy was a fifteen-year-old girl and her lawyers were pushing a child abuse/diminished capacity defense. On top of that, she was Hispanic and Hardy was black, so the race card was going to be used to sully the confession.
    Hardy grunted, drank coffee, grunted.
    Sturgis made those same sounds when he was pissed. Maybe that was the mark of decades on the job. Or getting