“Five days,” Nonnie said. “He left for work and he never returned. We asked his employer and they said Samuel didn't show up that day. We came here because we hoped Mr. Plum would be able to help us find Samuel.”
“Have you checked Samuel's room to see if anything is missing?” I asked. “Clothes? Passport?”
“Everything seems to be there.”
“Have you reported his disappearance to the police?”
“We have not. Do you think we should do that?”
“No,” Connie said, voice just a tad too shrill, hitting Vinnie s cell phone number on her speed dial.
“We've got a situation here,” Connie said to Vinnie. “Mrs. Apusenja is in the office. Samuel Singh has gone missing.”
At two in the morning when the weather is ideal and the lights are all perfectly timed, it takes twenty minutes to drive from the police station to the bail bonds office. Today, at two in the afternoon, under an overcast sky, Vinnie made the run in twelve minutes.
Ranger, Vinnie's top gun, had ambled in a couple minutes earlier at Vinnie's request. He was dressed in his usual black. His dark brown hair was pulled back from his face and tied into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. His jacket looked suspiciously like Kevlar and I knew from experience it hid a gun. Ranger was always armed. And Ranger was always dangerous. His age was somewhere between twenty-?five and thirty-?five and his skin was the color of a mocha latte. The story goes that Ranger had been Special Forces before signing on with Vinnie to do bond enforcement. He had a lot of muscle and a skill level somewhere between Batman and Rambo.
A while ago Ranger and I spent the night together. We were in an uneasy alliance now, working as a team when necessary, avoiding contact or conversation that would lead to a repeat sexual encounter. At least I was avoiding a repeat encounter. Ranger was his usual silent mysterious self, his thoughts unknown, his attitude provocative.
He'd looked me over before taking a chair. “Vaseline?” he asked.
“I am thinking it must be something sexual,” Mrs. A
pusenja said. “No one has told me otherwise. I am thinking this one must be a slut.”
“I am not a slut,” I said. “I had to capture a guy who was all greased up and some of the gunk rubbed off on me.”
The back door burst open and Vinnie came in like gang-?busters, followed by Lula.
“Talk to me,” Vinnie said to Connie.
“Not much to tell. You remember Mrs. Apusenja and her daughter Nonnie. Samuel Singh rented a room in the Apusenja house and they were at the photo session last week. They haven't seen him in five days.”
“Christ,” Vinnie said. “National print coverage on this. A week to go. And this sonovabitch goes missing. Why didn't he just come over to my house and feed me rat poison? It would have been an easier death.”
“We think there might be foul play involved,” Nonnie said.
Vinnie made a halfhearted effort to squash a grimace. "Yeah, right. Give me a refresher course on Samuel Singh.
What was his normal routine?“ Vinnie had the file in his hand, flipping pages, mumbling as he read. ”It says here he worked at TriBro Tech. He was in the quality control department."
“During the week Samuel would be at work from seven-?thirty to five. Every night he would stay home and watch television or spend time on his computer. Even on weekends he would spend most of his time on the computer,” Nonnie said.
“There is a word to call him,” Mrs. Apusenja said. “I can never remember.”
“Geek,” Nonnie said, not looking all that happy about it.
“Yes! That's it. He was a computer geek.”
“Did he have friends? Relatives in the area?” Vinnie asked.
“There were people at his workplace that he spoke of but he didn't spend time with them socially.”
“Did he have enemies? Debts?”
Nonnie shook her head no. “He never spoke of debts or enemies.”
“Drugs?” Vinnie asked.