Agent Montefort took no notice of the rather large driver who met him in baggage claim. Nor did he make much of the man’s brooding silence as they got his bags and went to the car, an older BMW . Typically preoccupied he left his bags for the man to stow and plopped himself in the passenger seat.

The car shuddered as the brute of a driver climbed in, slammed his door and gripped the wheel at 10 and 2. He didn’t start the car, only stared ahead with steely eyes.

“Um,” Montefort ventured, “you’ve left my bags on the curb.”

Without looking, the other man answered, “I know what you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“We thought your daughter had been kidnapped because of trace fluids.”

“Please, this is hardly…”

“I checked the laundry.”

“Look, do you know…”

“All her sheets had stains.”

“I’m sure I don’t…”

“All of them.”

The two sat silently for a few minutes.

“You’ve got no case.”

“Who says I care about a case?”

“Oh, and what now?”

“Simple. You leave, and don’t come back.”