Mercy told him about the letter demanding $3 million and then described the fake diplomatic licenses and license plates.
“You know,” Samuel said, “Truman broke up a bar fight between the Moody brothers a few days ago. One of them had one of those stupid licenses—I don’t remember which brother.”
“I’ll check,” said Lucas.
Mercy’s spine tingled as she felt a few pieces of the case fall into place. “That can’t be a coincidence. One of those brothers and Truman both missing.”
“Clint Moody was the brother with the fake ID, according to Truman’s report,” said Lucas. “Truman mentions in his report that someone in the bar told him Joshua Forbes was making them. The sovereign citizen who sent Truman the letter.”
Mercy and Bolton looked at each other, agreement flowing between them. “Did Truman get too close to something?” Bolton asked. “Where’s Joshua Forbes right now?”
“In the county jail,” reported Lucas. “Truman and Royce went to his arraignment two days ago.”
“I’ll call and get us in to see him tonight,” said Bolton, pulling out his phone and stepping away from the group.
“Where do you want me?” asked Samuel.
“Scouring the roads for Truman’s Tahoe and Clint Moody’s vehicle.”
Samuel gave her a casual salute and disappeared out the door.
He’s a good officer. Respectful and dependable. She hadn’t missed the concern for Truman in his eyes, despite his stiff stance. It was the most emotion she’d ever seen in the tough cop.
“Joshua Forbes got out on bail today,” stated Bolton as he returned.
“What time?”
“Noonish.”
“Too late to have anything to do with Truman’s disappearance—assuming something happened to him before he was scheduled to meet with Ryan Moody at nine.”
“Never assume,” Bolton recited.
“I try not to.”
“I have Joshua Forbes’s address.”
“What are we waiting for?”
TWENTY-FIVE
Mercy parked behind Detective Bolton’s vehicle, a strong sense of déjà vu affecting her.
I was just near this area.
The Hartlage home with the missing family was two miles away. Bolton had been there with her.
Memories of the sad, empty home and the small skull filled her thoughts. Alison and Amy. Mercy was no closer to finding their killer.
She got out of her car, pulled up her hood against the rain, and joined Bolton. The mobile home in front of them was dark.
“We were both just out here,” she said to Bolton.
“I had the same thought,” he said. “But I don’t know what this could have to do with that case.”
“Coincidence?” Mercy suggested, as her brain refused to accept the answer.
“Usually I don’t believe in coincidences.” He turned to the house. “Looks like no one is home. Let’s check.”
She followed him toward the house and then hung back, watching the home and windows as he knocked.
Silence.
He knocked again. “Joshua Forbes?” he said in a loud voice. “I’m Detective Bolton with Deschutes County. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Mercy felt a clock ticking down on their window of time to find Truman. Tick tick tick.
She moved to the side of the home, shining a flashlight toward the back of the house. “No fence.”
“Let’s take a quick look around.”
The two of them cautiously circled the house. Nothing was behind the home except for a wet garbage pile. “There’s no car,” Mercy stated. “I can’t tell if he’s been home today or not.” Frustration filled her at the minor roadblock. It was too early in the case for this.
“I think most guys who get out of jail immediately hit the bars or a steak house.”
“True. But I don’t want to search every bar for him. Either we look for some relatives or—shit.”
“What?”
“Joshua’s last name is Forbes. I interviewed a Kenneth Forbes about the Hartlages because he was the closest neighbor. He’s in a wheelchair and mentioned his son lived nearby and helped him out. That son has to be Joshua Forbes. I didn’t make the connection until now.” She dug in the pockets of her coat for her little notebook. “Kenneth Forbes gave me his son’s cell number so I could ask him if he knew the Hartlage family. I called and left a message, but he never called me back.” She quickly dialed the number and got voice mail. Dammit. “Truman didn’t mention the name of the guy with the fake license to me . . . not that I would have remembered. It was a few days ago.”
“Sounds like we need to visit the father for our next stop.”
“He’s not a pleasant person.” Mercy remembered the older man in the wheelchair. “Very bitter. I didn’t find out until later that he’s an SC, so don’t expect any help from him. Especially considering that his son was recently arrested.”
“Great,” replied Bolton dourly. “I’ll follow you.”
Mercy drove to Kenneth Forbes’s home and was pleased to see lights on. No other car was present except for the old abandoned sedan she’d noticed on her first visit. She lowered her expectations about finding Joshua Forbes tonight. She already had no expectation of help from his father.
Dammit. Are we chasing the wrong lead?
As on Mercy’s previous visit, Kenneth Forbes rolled out onto the porch before she and Bolton could reach his home. This time he had a rifle across his lap.
“What do you want?” he hollered at them.
“Mr. Forbes, I met you the other day,” said Mercy, holding up a hand to block his bright outdoor lights from her eyes. “I’m Special Agent Kilpatrick. I talked to you about the Hartlage family.”
“I remember. I’m not senile yet,” he snapped. “Who’s with you?”
“I’m Deschutes County detective Evan Bolton.”
“You’re the ones who locked up my boy.”
“So I heard,” replied Bolton.
“Damn fool. Thinks he’s untouchable.”
Mercy and Bolton exchanged a glance. And the father doesn’t believe his son should be untouchable? Mercy felt a little hope that Kenneth Forbes might cooperate.
“Is Joshua around?” Mercy asked. “We stopped by his home, but no one is there.”
Kenneth didn’t invite them in out of the rain. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for days. Even before he was arrested.”
“Did you know he was released today?”
The man gave a short laugh. “Shit, yes. I posted his damn bail. I sent a friend to withdraw the money from my account and pay it.” He looked grim as he shook his head. “You’d think I’d hear from Joshua after that. No thanks or nothin’.”
Mercy realized he was slightly drunk and suspected that was advantageous for their questioning.
“Where do you think he went?” she asked.
“Hell if I know. Did you check the bars?”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “Where does he work at?” she asked, wondering if they could find him there in the morning.
“Not working. He’s between jobs. Usually works construction, but it’s been slow with the rain. And don’t bother asking me the last company he worked with, because that boy don’t tell me anything. He’s probably worked for a half dozen different companies in the last two years. Bounces around like a beach ball.”
Mercy suspected Joshua liked to get paid under the table.
“How about his friends?” Bolton asked a question for the first time.
Kenneth glared at him, and even through the rain, Mercy could see the annoyance in his sharp blue eyes. “You two act like I run my son’s life. I don’t know who he hangs around with.”
“Do the names Clint or Ryan Moody ring a bell?” Mercy wasn’t ready to give up.
He scratched his short beard. “Moody might be familiar. Don’t know the first names,” he said absently. Kenneth seemed to refocus, and suspicion narrowed his brows. “Why do you want him, anyway? You need to haul him back to jail? I just paid to get him out.”
“Nothing like that,” Mercy quickly assured him. “We want to ask him about a missing persons case.”
“That why you asked about the Moody name?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck getting him to answer any calls. I’ve left two voice mails and he’s ignored them.”
“Do you need some errands done?” Mercy wondered if he was low on groceries if his son hadn’t been around.
“Nah. I’m well stocked. Say . . .” He looked uncomfortable, as if he wanted to say more.