“What’s with the Disney fetish?” Charlie asks.

“That’s where he used to work – fifteen years as an Imagineer in Orlando.”

“Really? So did he ever design any cool rides?” Charlie asks.

“To be honest, I don’t even know – I barely knew him growing up. He used to send a stuffed Minnie doll every year for my birthday, but that was really it. That’s why my mom left – we were just his second job.”

“When did he move back to Miami?”

“I think it was five years ago – said goodbye to Disney and found a job at a local computer game company. The pay was barely half, but luckily, he had a pocketful of Disney stock options. That’s how he bought the house.”

“And maybe that’s how he opened the account at Greene,” Charlie says, adding the rest with a glance. But we both know that even Disney stock options don’t add up to three hundred million.

I nod in agreement. “He wasn’t a bigshot at Disney, was he?”

“Dad?” she asks in that completely disarming laugh. “Naw, even with the engineering degree, he was pure worker bee. The closest he got to the action was linking the computer systems so when Disney’s central weather station sees rain coming, all the gift shops in the park get immediate messages to put out umbrellas and Mickey ponchos. The shelves get stocked before a single drop hits.”

“That’s still pretty cool.”

“Yeah… maybe – though knowing my dad, his role might be a bit… overstated.”

“Join the club,” I say with a nod. “Our dad was a-”

“Our dad?” she stops. “You two are brothers?”

Charlie pummels me with a look, and I bite my tongue.

“What?” Gillian asks. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing,” I tell her. “It’s just… after yesterday… we’re just trying to keep a low profile.” As I say the words, I watch her weigh each one. But like Charlie on his best day, Gillian lets it roll away. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’d never say a word.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” I smile back.

“Can we get on with this?” Charlie interrupts. “We’ve still got a house to search.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re lost in paper. Charlie has the piles on the top of the desk, I’ve got the drawers below, and Gillian’s working the file cabinet in the corner. As far as we can tell, most of it’s useless. “Listen to this one,” Charlie says, wading through a stack of science newsletters. “The Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers’ Lasers and Electro-Optics Society Journal.”

“Ready to be shamed?” I ask. “Dear Martin, If Abby lived across the sea, what a great swimmer you would be. Happy Valentine’s Day. Your friend, Stacey B.”

“You think that beats the Lasers and Electro-Optics Society?”

“It’s a Valentine’s card from the 1950s!” I shout, waving the musty card through the air. In front of me, the bottom drawer of the cabinet is packed tight with thousands of others. “He’s got every postcard, thank-you note, and birthday card he’s ever been sent. Since birth!”

“These are all magazines and old newspapers,” Gillian says, slamming her own file drawer shut. “Everything from Engineering Management Review to the Disney employee newsletter – but nothing that’s actually useful.”

“I don’t get it,” Charlie says. “He keeps everything he ever touched, but doesn’t have a single bank statement or phone bill?”

“I’m guessing that’s what he kept here…” I say, pulling open the file drawer above the birthday cards. Inside, a dozen empty file folders sway on metal brackets.

“They must’ve grabbed them when they grabbed the computer,” Gillian says.

“Then that’s it – we’re dead,” Charlie blurts.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him.

“But if the Service already picked through this-”

“Then what? We should give up and walk away? We should assume they took everything?”

“They did take everything!” Charlie shouts.

“No, they didn’t!” I snap. “Look around – Duckworth’s got junk stuffed everywhere – fifteen colors of rabbits’ feet. And since we have no idea what the Service left behind, I’m not leaving this place until I flip over every coaster, pick apart every drawer, and tear off Happy and Bashful’s plastic squeaky heads just to see what might be hidden inside. Now if you have any better options, I’m happy to hear them, but like you said before, we’ve got a whole house to search!”

Charlie steps back, surprised by the outburst – but just as quickly shrugs and moves on. “You take the kitchen; I’ll take the bathroom.”

“She knows,” Gallo said.

“How could she possibly know?” DeSanctis asked.

“Just look at her,” he said, jabbing a fat finger at the computer that rested on the seat between them. “Her sons are missing… it’s another night alone… but does she report it? Does she cry on the phone, sobbing to a friend? No – she just sits there, sewing away and watching the Food Channel.”

“It’s better than watching soaps,” DeSanctis said, pointing the thermal imager up the dark block.

“That’s not the point, ass-face. If she knows we’re watching, she’s less likely to-”

The chime of a doorbell blared through the laptop’s speakers. Gallo and DeSanctis shot up in their seats.

“She’s got a visitor,” DeSanctis said.

“Was that from downstairs?”

DeSanctis aimed the imager at the glass windows of the lobby. In the camera, a muddy dark green image of the lobby came into focus. Green was cold; white was hot. But as he scanned between the buzzer area and the lobby, the only thing he saw were two white rectangular starbursts along the ceiling. No people – just fluorescent lights. “No one’s down there.”

“Coming…!” Maggie shouted toward her door.

“How’d they get past us? Is there a back door?” Gallo shouted.

“Could be a neighbor,” DeSanctis pointed out.

“Who is it?” Maggie asked.

The answer was a mumble. Microphones didn’t work through doors.

“Just a minute…” Maggie said as she shut off the TV. Undoing the locks with one hand, she straightened her hair and her shirt with the other.

“She’s making an impression,” DeSanctis whispered. “I’m betting a client.”

“At this time of ni-?”

“Sophie! So nice to see you,” Maggie sang as she opened the door. Over Maggie’s shoulder they saw a gray-haired woman wearing a cable-knit brown cardigan, but no coat.

“Neighbor,” DeSanctis said.

“Sophie…” Gallo repeated. “She said Sophie.”

DeSanctis tore open the glove compartment and yanked out a stack of paper. 4190 Bedford Avenue – Residents – Real Property.

“Sophie… Sofia… Sonja…” Gallo suggested as DeSanctis frantically ran his finger down the printed list.

“I got a Sonia Coady in 3A and a Sofia Rostonov in 2F,” DeSanctis said.

“How have you been?” Sophie asked in a thick Russian accent.

“Rostonov it is.”

“Fine… just fine,” Maggie replied, inviting her inside.

“Watch her hands!” Gallo barked as Maggie reached out and touched Sophie’s shoulder.

“You think she’s passing something?” DeSanctis asked.

“She doesn’t have a choice. No fax, no e-mail, no cell phone – not even an electronic organizer – her only hope is getting something from outside. I’m guessing a pager or something small that can do text-messaging.”

DeSanctis nodded. “You take mom; I got Sofia.” Crouching down toward the laptop, the two agents were silent. In the darkness, their faces glowed with the pale light from the screen.

“I took almost an inch off all the sleeves – let me get them off the line…” Maggie said as she walked toward the kitchen window. From his bird’s-eye view in the smoke detector, Gallo only saw her back, but he studied everything she touched. Hands at her side. Opening the kitchen window. Pulling in the clothesline. Unhooking two women’s blouses and angling each onto a hanger.