“What are you drinking?” he asked her.

“Scotch and ginger ale.”

“Philistine.”

“Yes, I know. But on me it looks good.”

Elliot laughed. “It does. Let me get this, though.”

“If you insist, I won’t arm wrestle you.”

He rose, managing not to wince as he slightly twisted his knee. That was one of the hardest things to get used to, the need to always move carefully, plan ahead. As he grew stronger and the pain faded, it was hard to accept that he couldn’t do everything he once had. At first he had been grateful for merely being able to walk.

Leaning against the bar after he ordered their drinks, Elliot gazed idly around the crowded room.

Several couples were engaged in low voiced conversations, a group of guys sat glued to the big screen TV behind the bar, and at the end of the bar a young woman in a fisherman’s sweater was brooding over a drink with a tiny umbrella in it. Still no Jim Feder.

He carried the glasses back to Anne’s table.

She took her drink with a murmur of thanks. “How’s Rollie these days? Still planning to overthrow the government?”

Elliot winced. “Don’t joke.”

She laughed. Her gaze traveled past him to the door once more.

“He’s fine. I think retirement suits him. He says he can’t figure out how he used to get anything done having to work all the time.”

She laughed again, but it was reflex. Her mind was a million miles away.

“At the moment he’s got me looking into the disappearance of the son of some friends. Do you know Pauline and Tom Baker?”

He had her full attention now. “Tom Baker? Oh yes, very well. Pauline…not so much. She’s an odd duck.”

“How so?”

Anne said vaguely, “A mild case of agoraphobia or something. Or maybe she simply prefers home and hearth.” Her expression changed. “You mean Tom’s son is missing?”

“It’s starting to look that way. Did you know Terry?”

“Oh my God. No. Yes. I had him in class one semester. One of the general requirement courses. ATRHI 115, I think. Art in a Global Context. That was a couple of years ago. He’s pre-law, isn’t he?”

She remembered the exact course and she knew the Bakers, or Tom at least, well enough to know what field their kid was studying. Interesting.

“He is. He’s also studying architecture. You teach a seminar in architectural history, don’t you?”

“Yes. Not this semester, though. I only had Terry in class the once. How is it you’re letting yourself be sucked into this? Or is that a silly question?”

“Why would it be a silly question? I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

Her smile was both sympathetic and mocking. “It’s a silly question because it’s obvious you miss being a cop.”

“I like teaching,” Elliot objected.

“But you liked the FBI more.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

They chatted a few minutes more and then Anne finished her drink and said she had to get going. “Let’s do dinner next week. How about Wednesday?”

Elliot said yes to Wednesday, they agreed on a local restaurant, bussed cheeks, and he watched Anne weave her way through the maze of chairs and tables. There was something about the line of her shoulders that seemed…dispirited? He wondered who she had been waiting for. A man, obviously.

Elliot sipped his drink and scrutinized his fellow bar patrons.

A young man with curly blond hair and brown eyes sat at a table gazing inquiringly his way. He looked about the right age for Feder. Certainly Elliot couldn’t imagine any other reason this kid would be eyeing him so intently, and it occurred to him that maybe Anne had a point. It had been a long—very long—time since he’d even considered getting back into dating. Mostly because he had no desire to date. Sex, yes. He’d like to have sex again.

Soon.

He mouthed across the crowded floor, “Jim?”

Feder nodded, picked his glass up and made his way to Elliot’s table. “You’re Dr. Mills?”

“Call me Elliot.” They shook hands and Feder sat across from Elliot. “Thanks for meeting me at such short notice, Jim.”

Feder nodded. He looked uncomfortable. “Sorry if I was rude on the phone, but…” He changed that. “You said Terry’s parents hired you to find him?”

“I’m acting as a consultant in the case. The FBI is looking into Terry’s disappearance.”

Feder slopped his drink on the table. “The FBI?” No mistaking the shock there. It could have been the echo of Charlotte Oppenheimer’s own apprehension. Feder recovered and took a long swallow, watching Elliot over the rim of his glass.

Watching him, trying to read him, Elliot said, “Terry’s parents are convinced he didn’t take off of his own volition. That he’d never do something that hurtful.”

“What about the hurtful stuff they’ve done?”

“What have they done?”

Whatever they had done, Feder let it go. He said instead, “The Bakers are well connected, that’s for sure, but Terry’s going to hate this when he finds out. The last thing he’d want is the FBI, or anyone else for that matter, digging in his private life.”

“So you feel sure that Terry disappeared voluntarily?”

“Yeah. I’m sure he did. He’d had it with his old man. With the whole…bullshit facade.”

Elliot considered Feder’s boyishly handsome face. “Did Terry tell you he was leaving?”

“No. Not in so many words.”

“What did he say?”

Feder admitted, “Nothing, I guess.”

“How close were you?”

The uncomfortable look was back. “Not as close as we used to be.”

“So you weren’t…dating?” Did they still call it dating? Sometimes Elliot felt like his social “real age” was forty-seven instead of thirty-seven.

Feder shrugged. “It wasn’t like…officially over, but we weren’t seeing much of each other anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Why else? Terry’s dad. Mostly. There was always like this yardstick he was waving over Terry’s head. This impossible standard he set. Being gay was not part of the program.”

“And that put pressure on your relationship?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s funny Terry didn’t take his car or any clothes if he left voluntarily. His suitcases are still under his bed.”

Feder stared at Elliot. He began to shake his head. Elliot watched him curiously.

At last Feder said, “That sonofabitch killed him, didn’t he? Killed his own son.”

“Time out,” Elliot said. “I’m not suggesting anything like that.

“But that’s it. That has to be it.”

“A couple of minutes ago you were assuring me Terry walked away under his own steam.”

“But that’s because…” Feder’s voice faded away. He gazed at Elliot unhappily.

“Tell me about Terry,” Elliot invited at last.

“What do you want to know? He’s a straight A student. A straight arrow.”

“Yes, I got that. But what’s he like? I can’t seem to get a fix on him. No one has a negative word to say about him, but I know he didn’t have a lot of friends.”

“He doesn’t have enemies either. Terry’s quiet, kind of shy. He’s your typical nice guy. He doesn’t like to rock the boat.”

“I gather he’s taking pre-law because that’s what his father wanted.”

“That’s right. Terry wants to be an architect, but his dad insisted on law. It’s not like architecture is some way out artsy fartsy major. But it wasn’t good enough for Tom My-Way-or-the-Highway Baker. And Terry…” Feder shook his head. “Terry doesn’t like to make waves.”

“To the extent of training for a job he didn’t want—and giving up a relationship he did?”

Feder threw Elliot a funny look. “It’s not like…I mean, Terry and I weren’t…”

“Serious?”

He flushed. “No. I mean, it’s not that I—we—didn’t care about each other, but we’re not—we’re only in college. It’s not like anyone wanted to settle down.” Feder’s eyes met Elliot’s with sudden guilty intensity. “I still want to…see people.” He gave Elliot a diffident but engaging smile. “I’m still available.”