“Don’t know your daughter.” He turned, called out, “Henry, you know a Megan McCall?”

“Nope,” said his partner, who resembled him to an eerie degree. He stepped into the school proper and disappeared.

“What we’re concerned about is this car. A man seemed to be following her.”

“A car. Following her.” The young man was skeptical.

Bett took over. “Around the school yard. This past week.”

Tate: “We were wondering if anybody might’ve reported it.”

The man’s face eased into that put-upon look security guards are very good at. Maybe they’re resentful that they’re not full-fledged cops and could carry guns. And use them.

“Are the police involved?” the man asked.

“Somewhat.”

“Hm.” Trying to figure that one out.

“What happens if somebody sees something unusual? Is there any procedure for that?”

“The Bust-er Book,” the guard said.

Bett asked, “The… uh?”

“Bust-er. He’s a dog. I mean, a cartoon dog. But it’s like ‘Bust’ as in get busted. Arrested. Then a dash, then e-r If the kids see something suspicious they come tell us and we write it down in the Bust-er Book and then there’s a record of it for the police. If anything, you know, happens.”

Tate recalled what Amy’d said. “It was on Tuesday. Out in the parking lot by the sports field. Could you take a look?”

“Oh, we can’t let you see it,” the guard said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Parents don’t have, you know, access to it. Only the administration and police. That’s the rule.”

“That’s it right there?”

The guard turned around and glanced at the blue binder with the words “Bust-er” on the spine and a cartoon effigy of a dog wearing a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hat. “Yes sir.”

“If you don’t mind… See, our daughter’s missing. As I was saying. Could you take a look?”

“Just have the police give us a call.”

“Well, she’s not officially a missing person.”

“I don’t have any leeway, sir. You understand.” The guard’s lean face crinkled. His still eyes looked Tate up and down and his muscular hand caressed his ebony billy club. He was everything Tate hated about northern Virginia. Snide and sullen, this young man would see nothing wrong with a tap on the wife’s chin or a belt on his kids’ butts to keep the family in line. He was master of the house; everyone did as he commanded. And never ask his opinion about the Mideastern and Asian immigrants settling in Fairfax because he’ll tell you in no uncertain terms.

Tate looked at Bett. Her eyebrows were raised as if she were asking:

Why was Tate hesitating? After all, he was the silver-tongued devil. He could talk anybody into anything. (“Resolved: The Watergate break-in was justifiable as a means to a valid end.” Lifelong Democrat, grandson of a lifelong Democrat, Tate had leapt at the chance to take the pro side of the debate and argue that irreverent position-for the pure joy of going up against overwhelming odds. He’d won, to the Judge’s shock and lasting amusement.)

“Officer,” Tate began, thinking of the rhetorical tricks in his arsenal, the logic, the skills at persuasion. Ratiocination. He paused, then walked to the door and motioned the guard to follow.

The lean man walked slowly enough to let Tate know that nobody on earth was going to make him do a single thing he didn’t want to do.

Tate, standing in the doorway, looked out over the school yard. “What do you see there?”

The guard hesitated uncertainly. He’d be thinking, What kinda question’s that? I see trees, I see cars, I see fences, I see clouds.

Tate waited just the right amount of time and said, “I see a lot of young people.”

“Um.” Well, what the hell else’re you gonna see on a school yard?

“And those young people rely on us adults for everything. They rely on us for food, for shelter, for schooling, and you know what else?”

Video games, running shoes, Legos? What’s this clown up to?

“They rely on us for their safety. That’s what you’re doing here, right? It’s the reason they hired a big, strong guy like you. A man who’s got balls, who’s not afraid to mix it up with somebody.”

“I dunno. I guess.”

“Well, my daughter’s relying on me for her safety. She needs me to find out where she is. Maybe she’s in trouble, maybe she isn’t. Hey, let’s take an example: You see some tough big kids talking to a little kid. Maybe they’re just buddies, fooling around. Or maybe they’re trying to sell him some pot or steal his lunch money. You’d go and find out, right?”

“I would. Sure”

“That’s all I’m doing with my daughter. Trying to find out if she’s okay. And going through that book would sure be a big help.”

The guard nodded.

“Well?” Tate asked expectantly.

“Rules is rules. Can’t be done. Have a state trooper or a county officer stop by. I’ll be happy to help.”

Tate sighed. He glanced at Bett, who said icily, “Let’s go, Tate. Nothing more to be accomplished here.”

As they walked toward the car, the guard called, “Sir?”

Tate turned.

“That was a good try, though. Kids and safety and everything. I almost bought it.” He picked up a magazine on customized pickup trucks and sat down.

Tate and Bett continued to the car then climbed in and drove out of the lot.

Neither of them could contain the laughter for long. They both roared. Finally Bett gasped and said, “That was the biggest load of hogwash I ever heard. ‘It’s the reason they hired a big, strong guy like you.’ You sounded like you were trying to pick him up.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, Tate controlled his laughing. “That was some pretty good double-teaming.”

Bett reached under her blouse and pulled out the twenty or thirty sheets of notebook paper she’d ripped from the Bust-er Book while Tate had distracted the guard with his absurd argument. “I figured I better leave the notebook itself” She muttered, “The Bust-er Book? The Bust-er Book? Do people really take that stuff seriously?”

Tate drove about three blocks and pulled over to the curb.

“Okay,” she said, “Tuesday… Tuesday.” Flipping through the pages. “If the storm trooper back there’s the one who keeps the book he’s got handwriting like a sissy. Okay, Tuesday…“ She nodded then read: “‘Two students reported a gray car, no school parking permit, parked on Sideburn Road. Single driver. Drove off without picking up student.’”

“A gray car. Not much to go on. Anything else?”

“Not then. But Amy said Megan’d been thinking she’d been followed for a while.” Bett flipped back through the pages. Her perfect eyebrow rose in a delicate arc. “Listen. A week ago. ‘M. McCall (Green Team)’-that’s her class section at school-’reported gray car appeared to be following her. Security guard Gibson took report. Did not personally witness incident. Checked but no car seen. Subject did not know tag or make of vehicle.’” Bett looked at her ex-husband. “Why didn’t she tell me about it, Tate? Why?”

Tate shrugged. He asked, “Any description of the driver?”

“None, no.”

“What kind of car did her boyfriend drive?”

“White… I think a Toyota.”

“He could’ve borrowed one to follow her,” Tate mused.

“Could have, sure.”

More questions than answers.

Tate stared at the turbulent clouds overhead. The sun tried to break through but a line of thick gray rolled over the sky heading eastward. “We’ll come back and talk to Eckhard later,” he said. “Let’s go to Lees-burg.”