I took stock of Mr. Bain Madox. He was maybe mid-fifties, tall, fit, and not bad-looking. He sported long gray hair swept back from a smooth forehead, and he had a prominent hooked nose and steely gray eyes that hardly blinked. He sort of reminded me of a hawk, or an eagle, and in fact his head jerked now and then like a bird's.

He also had a cultured voice, as you'd expect, and beyond the outward appearances, I sensed a very cool and confident man.

We looked at each other, trying, I'm sure, to determine who was the real alpha male with the biggest dick.

I said to him, "We need about ten minutes of your time." Maybe a bit more, but you always say ten. I nodded toward the chairs by the fire.

He hesitated, then said, "Well, you must have had a long journey. Come, have a seat."

We followed him back across the room, and Carl tagged along.

I could see lots of dead-animal heads on the walls and stuffed birds, which is not politically correct these days, but I was sure that Bain Madox didn't give a shit. I half expected to see a stuffed Democrat on the wall.

I also noticed a big wooden gun cabinet with glass doors, through which I could see about a dozen rifles and shotguns.

Madox motioned us to two leather wing-back chairs facing him across a coffee table, and we all sat.

Bain Madox, now feeling compelled to be a good host, asked us, "Can I have Carl bring you something? Coffee? Tea?" He motioned toward a glass of amber liquid on the table. "Something stronger?"

Kate, following the procedure for keeping someone sitting longer than they may have wanted to sit and chat, said, "Coffee, please."

I wanted a scotch, and I could actually smell Madox's scotch in his glass, which he was drinking straight up; so maybe there really was a problem with the ice maker.

"Mr. Corey?"

"You know, I'm really dying for a latte. Can you do that?"

"Uh ..." He looked at Carl and said, "Ask in the kitchen if we can get a latte."

"Or a cappuccino," I said. "Even an Americano will do. Maybe a mocha freezie."

I don't drink this shit, of course, but we needed some time with Mr. Madox.

Carl left, and I now noticed a dog lying on its side between Madox's chair and the hearth, sleeping or dead.

Madox informed me, "That's Kaiser Wilhelm."

"Looks like a dog."

He smiled. "It's a Doberman. Very smart, loyal, strong, and fast."

"Hard to believe." I mean, the stupid dog was just lying there, slobbering on the rug, snoring and farting.

Kate said, "He's a beautiful animal."

Oh, and it had a boner. I wondered what he was dreaming about. Also, Ms. Mayfield doesn't think I'm so beautiful when I'm snoring, slobbering, or farting.

"So," asked Mr. Madox, "what can I do for you?"

Normally, Kate and I would have already discussed who was going to lead, and what we were after. However, what we were after-Harry Muller-would tip off Mr. Madox that he was under surveillance, so this limited our questions to the weather and the World Series. On the other hand, maybe Madox already knew he was under surveillance.

"Mr. Corey? Ms. Mayfield?"

I made the decision to follow the example of General Custer and charge ahead, hopefully with better results. I told him, "We're acting on information that a Federal agent by the name of Harry Muller disappeared in the vicinity of this club, and we believe he may be lost on your property or hurt." I searched his face for a reaction, but his only expression seemed to be one of concern.

"Here? On this property?"

"Possibly."

He seemed truly surprised, or he was a good actor. He said to me, "But ... as you saw, it's not easy to get onto this property."

"He was on foot."

"Oh? But this property is posted, and surrounded by a security fence."

It was my turn to feign surprise, and I replied, "A fence? Really? Well, maybe he got through the fence."

"Why would he do that?"

Good question. "He's a fanatical bird-watcher."

"I see ... so, you think he may have gotten through the fence and wound up on this property."

"Possibly."

Madox's demeanor remained concerned and perplexed. "But why do you think that? There are millions of acres of wilderness surrounding this property. I have only about sixteen thousand acres."

"Is that all? Look, Mr. Madox, we're acting on specific information, which we need to check out. My question to you is, Have you or your staff seen or encountered anyone on the property?"

He shook his head and replied, "I would have been told." He asked me, "How long has this man been missing?"

"Since Saturday. But it has just come to our attention."

He nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his scotch. "Well," he said, "I had about sixteen houseguests this weekend, many of whom were hiking or bird-hunting, plus I have security staff, so it's unlikely that this person could have been lost on my property without someone coming across him."

Kate spoke for the first time and pointed out, "Sixteen people divided into sixteen thousand acres is one person per thousand acres. You could hide an army in there."

Mr. Madox thought about the arithmetic and replied, "I suppose if he were hurt and unable to move, it may be possible that he wouldn't have been discovered."

Kate said, "Very possible."

Madox lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings into the air. "What," he asked, "would you like me to do? How can I help?"

I regarded Bain Madox, smoking, drinking, sitting in his leather chair in his big lodge. He looked more at ease than the average suspect. Actually, he looked innocent.

I had the feeling, however, that even if he had something to do with Harry's disappearance, this man would keep his cool. He could easily have told his flunkies to tell us he wasn't in or wasn't available; instead, he'd chosen to meet us face-to-face.

My brief forays into criminal psychology, and my years on the street, taught me about sociopaths and narcissists-incredibly egotistical and arrogant people who thought they could get away with murder by bullshitting.