"Can I help you, officer?" He said politely, "I'm John Babbit, the landlord of this house."
"Hello, Mr. Babbit." Bolton said, "I'm officer Bolton of the LAPD. Does a Michael Nesmith live in this house?"
"Yes, he does." Babbit replied sourly, "Him and his three friends. What have they done?"
"This morning, I picked up two young boys who were joy-riding in Mr. Nesmith's car." Bolton told him. "They claim they had found it abandoned near the old high school grounds. We've been trying to reach Mr. Nesmith so he can claim his car at the pound, but no one has answered the phone."
"Hmmm," Babbit replied, scratching his chin, "That crazy car of theirs is the only one they have. They're long-haired weirdoes, but they'd never abandon their car."
"When was the last time you saw them?"
"Last week, when I went to pick up the rent. They had it for me this time." Babbit replied with a smile. "But I usually don't talk to them much."
"Would it be alright if I went inside to look around?" Bolton asked Babbit.
"Sure, Officer. I'll go get my passkey."
Babbit rushed back over to his house and returned a minute later with the key. He inserted it into the lock and opened the door.
Babbit made to go in first, but Bolton put a hand out.
"Let me go first, Mr. Babbit." He said, "We don't know what might be in here."
"Oh, sure, of course." Babbit said, stepping aside.
The police officer and the landlord slowly walked into the Monkees pad. The curtains were open, letting in some light.
It was very quiet, no sign of anyone being home. They walked further into the living room. Bolton held up his hand and Babbit stopped behind him.
"Mister Nesmith!" Bolton yelled, "This is the LAPD! Are you at home?!"
No answer, nothing. Bolton looked at Babbit.
"What are the last names of his friends?" He said quietly.
"Dolenz, Jones and Tork."
"Mister Dolenz, Mr. Jones, Mr. Tork!" Bolton yelled again, "Are any of you in this house?!"
Everything stayed as silent as before. Babbit tapped Bolton on the shoulder.
"Do you think something happened to them?"
"I don't know, Mr. Babbit." Bolton replied, "But the circumstances are suspicious. I want you to wait outside while I check the house some more."
"But, officer..."
"It's for your own safety, sir." Bolton told him, "We don't know what's in this house."
"Ok, officer." Babbit replied and walked outside.
Bolton waited until Babbit was outside, then pulled his gun out.
Slowly, quietly, Bolton went through every room in the house. He checked all the bedrooms. The beds were all made.
Nobody had slept in them last night. Everything seemed to be in order. True, the place could've used a little cleaning, but there was no evidence of foul play. Thankful he didn't find any bodies, Bolton holstered his gun and walked outside to Babbit.
"Well, officer?"
"They're not in the house." Bolton told him, "They hadn't slept in their beds last night. But at least I found no evidence of foul play. Still, I think I better call HQ and let them know what's going on." With that, he walked over to his police car and got on the radio. Babbit followed him.
"Officer, can I help somehow?"
"Yes, the first thing I want you to do is keep quiet about this."
The policeman told him. "There might be a perfectly harmless reason why those boys are missing, and we don't want to start a commotion.
Second, I want you to keep a close watch on that house. If any of them come back, I want you to let us know. Same if anybody suspicious starts to poke around, understand?"
"I understand, officer." Babbit said seriously, "But I think those boys just went on a trip somewhere, you know how these youngsters are today."
"I hope you're right, Mr. Babbit." Officer Bolton replied, "I hope you're right."