Marty drove the Scout van across the country to the address they had been given. He

wore a light blue shirt with an H in the shape of an hourglass on the front near his

collarbone. It drooped on him, but he didn’t mind.

He concentrated on the road, searching for street signs to point him in the right

direction. He wanted to get to the house and deal with Mercer as fast as possible.

Once he had some answers, maybe he would feel better about leaving his friends

alone after they had died.

Being able to punch the man responsible would certainly feel good in his mind.

“I think we are on the right street.” Ren folded the map he had been consulting. He

put if back in a pocket of maps in the roof over his seat. “It should be just ahead

according to the mailboxes.”

“How do you want to handle this?,” said Marty. He slowed as he read the numbers

on the mailboxes on his side of the van.

“We knock on the door and make sure this is the right Mercer,” said Ren. “Then we

ask him why he was at the scene of the crime.”

“What if he doesn’t want to give us answers?,” said Marty. He stopped in front of a

small white house with a small porch in front of a green door and a single window.

“He will,” said Ren. “Even if he says nothing at all, I am confident I will be able to

learn something we can use to find out the parts we don’t know.”

“Let’s see if he’s home,” said Marty. He pulled into the gravel driveway, stopping

behind an old pickup truck with blue paint and patches of rust. “Then we can see

what happens after that.”

“Remember to keep an eye out,” said Ren. “Anything could be waiting for us inside

there.”

“I’m ready.” Marty cut the engine. “If he so much as raises a hand against us, he’ll

regret it for the rest of his days.”

“Don’t kill him,” said Ren. “We still need what he knows.”

“I won’t kill him,” said Marty. He got out of the van and shut the door before he said

in a lower voice, “He’ll just wish he was dead.”

The two men walked up to the porch. Nothing seemed out of place. Ren paused

before he knocked on the door. He looked at the window. A shade and curtain

blocked his view inside the house. He knocked on the door three times with the back

of his hand.

He listened, but heard nothing. He walked down to the end of the porch and looked

down the side of the house. Nothing moved in his view of the backyard. He decided

to knock again before he entered.

He didn’t want to get caught trespassing when he just wanted to clear up some

questions. If no one was home, that made looking around that much easier. The

presence of the truck said that someone lived in the house.

That didn’t mean the resident was Mercer.

Ren knocked on the door. He frowned as he listened. He thought he heard footsteps.

He stepped back from the door and to the side. Many criminals would shoot through

the door to avoid answering questions.

Marty took the other side of the door. He held a mental image of a dog in his head.

If someone opened the door, and he had a gun in hand, then he would suffer some

holes in that same appendage.

The door opened. A thin man who had seen better days without alcohol glared at the

two younger men on his porch. He wore overalls over a long john shirt but no shoes.

His eyes were bleary and bloodshot. It was difficult to say if that was sleep, or drink.

Marty held himself from releasing his animal. This guy didn’t look capable of

committing murder. He didn’t look capable of checking his own mailbox.

“What you want?,” the resident demanded of Ren. “I don’t got time for a gook and

some bum.”

“We are looking for Captain Steven Mercer,” said Ren. His eyes seemed to glow in

the shadow of the porch. “Does he live here?”

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“Naw,” said the elder man. “He’s been gone since he joined the Army. He was no

good as a kid, and he was no good in the Army. It didn’t surprise me when they

kicked him out.”

“You haven’t talked to him,” asked Ren.

“Not in a long time,” said Mr. Mercer. “He said he had a job with some kind of

company. He wouldn’t be coming home again.”

“Did he give you some way to talk to him in an emergency?,” asked Ren. “We have

some questions we need answering.”

“Not my problem,” said Mercer. “He’s not here, and I don’t know you two from

Adam. Get off my property.”

“Thank you for your time,” said Ren. He nodded as he turned to leave. “Come on,

Marty. We have other places to look.”

Marty glared at the old man before walking off the porch. It would have been so easy

to set the dog on the guy. Then he would know what a questioning really looked like.

Ren waited until the door shut before stepping back on the porch. He waved Marty

to the van before he blended in with the slight shadow on the porch. The former Scout

took the hint and got behind the wheel of the van. He started the engine and backed

out of the driveway. He backed out on the road and slowly rolled down the road.

Ren listened at the door. What he heard confirmed his suspicions. The Mercers were

in contact, and the father was on the phone with the younger to warn him about their

poking around. The old man sounded more bothered by the visit than what he had let

on at the door.

Should he go in and confront the elder Mercer? He decided not to. He stepped off the

porch. He put the piece of the puzzle in its place as he walked to the road.

It was time to chase the ring. They had enough circumstantial evidence to talk to

Mercer. It was time to find him and see what he had to say about things.

Ren expected a lot of lies when they did catch up with the man. That didn’t matter.

Something would show up to give him one more clue to put in place to make his case.

It would be up to others to try to prosecute the man for a ten year old crime that no

one saw happen.

He saw the blue and white Scout van waiting down the road. He walked to the

passenger door. He knew Marty wanted to follow the ring, and he had to agree. They

had exhausted most of their normal lines of attack.

“Mr. Mercer was trying to call his son as soon as he thought we had left.” Ren

climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. “The number called can be

checked for a location.”

“How do you know that?,” asked Marty.

Ren pulled out a pad and pen. He wrote the phone number down. He tore the paper

off and handed it over.

“I heard him dial the number,” explained Ren. “Since I have no way to check it, I

thought we should follow the ring and see where that leads us.”

“Hold on,” said Marty. He stared at the number for a second. He looked around. “I

need a phone.”

“We can try at one of the gas stations we passed,” said Ren. “One of them must have

a public telephone.”

“This might give us a destination quicker than following the ring,” said Marty. He

pulled away from the grassy shoulder and headed to the next cross street. “It might

get us to the guy’s front door.”

“This will probably lead to some kind of operation for Watson Security,” said Ren.

“Exactly,” said Marty. “It ties Mercer to Watson as part of a conspiracy if the number

pans out.”

“And we already know he worked for Watson ten years ago because of the two cases

handled by the Scouts,” said Ren. “It’s enough to develop a theory. We still need

some kind of proof to fill in the motive. That’s the hardest part of a case to prove.”

“We have enough for probable cause, but not enough for an indictment,” said Marty.

“I can see that.”

“There’s a gas station up ahead,” said Ren. “I think it has a phone booth next to it.”

“That’s fancy.” Marty aimed for the lot in front of the booth. “I only expected a thing

on the wall. Let me make this call. We might have to wait a while for Barry’s friend

to call back.”

“Can he help us?,” asked Ren.

“He’ll know someone who can check the number,” said Marty. “That’s better than the

two of us can do.”

“True,” conceded Ren.

Marty got out of the van and walked over to the phone. He fished some change out

of his jeans and put that in the phone. He dialed the number, listening to the clicking

of the dial as he waited.

“Marston Investigations,” announced a cool voice after a few rings in the line. “How

can I help you?”

“Is Petey in?,” asked Marty. “I would like to talk to him.”

“Petey?, Mr. Marston?,” said the secretary. “Who’s this?”

“This is Marty Morgan,” said Marty. “Petey Marston used to be friends with a friend

of mine. I need to talk to him.”

“Hold please,” said the secretary.

Marty fed more change into the slot at the top of the phone. He didn’t know how long

he was going to be holding. He smiled when someone new asked him who he was.

“This is Marty Morgan,” said Marty. “How’s it going?”

“Everybody thinks you’re dead, Marty,” said Marston. “What’s going on?”

“I would like for you to reverse direct a phone number for me, and give me some kind

of location, Petey,” said Marty. “I want to know what’s there.”

“I can do that,” said Marston. “Where do I call you back?”

“I’m on the road, Petey,” said the former Scout. “I’ll call back in a few hours.”

“Give me the number, and I’ll get to work on it,” said the detective.

Marty read the phone number off the sheet of paper.

“Be careful, Petey, and warn anyone you have look into this,” said Morgan. “This is

about Idaville.”

“I got it,” said Marston. “Are you going to need help?”

“Just confirm the number,” said Marty. “After that, I’m just going to look around and

see what I can find.”

“You need me, I’ll come down and put a bullet in somebody,” said Marston.

“It won’t come to that, Petey,” said Marty. He hung up the phone. “I plan to let bears

do my talking for me.”