Martin paid close attention to the man at the window. Ever since his arrival, he sat watching the street. So far he had spent ninety minutes just staring. To Martin it was a waste of valuable seating. The man had only consumed one cup of coffee thus far and was nursing the other like it was rubbing alcohol. If there had been more customers, Martin would have asked him to leave. He contemplated doing so anyway, but the man had a disconcerting manner and Martin, frankly, was afraid of him.

Out of boredom Martin sized the man up: he was in his early to mid fifties with a full head of sandy brown hair, graying at the temples. He kept himself in a slipshod fashion. His tan slacks were baggy and wrinkled and held in place by a wide leather belt. His dark blue, cotton shirt was also wrinkled and tucked sloppily into his trousers. The undershirt revealed beneath the collar was yellowed slightly– definitely unmarried. His hazel eyes were set above a straight, sharp nose; they looked wild and intense, burning with purpose. The man’s stature was wide at the shoulders, narrowing at the waist; the build was powerful with little room for excess fat on his five foot-ten inch frame. As a prospect, Martin found him handsome enough to be interesting, but too brazen for anything serious.

Martin busied himself with the duties of the afternoon. Soon it would be time for the lunch crowd. He wiped down the empty tables with a cotton rag dipped in hot water and bleach. Once all the tables were ready, he adorned them with short candles that sat in their own glass goblet, lighting each as he went. He made his rounds on all of his tables, neglecting the man at the window for as long as that was possible. Then, once he was through, he picked up the last of the candles and advanced on the occupied table with the best view.

“Will there be anything else for you, sir?” he asked setting the candle down and sliding it towards the wall. “More coffee, perhaps?”

The man looked at him, his eyes sharp and annoyed. “I’m not through with this one. I’ll let you know.”

“How about your bill?”

“When I’m through.”

“Very well, sir,” Martin humphed and walked away. His humor of the morning completely flattened by the brute at table 31. He was about to ask Ann Marie to take it over when he noticed a very tall and very handsome gentleman enter.

In his calfskin boots he looked to be an easy 6’ 3”. His dark hair was rich with highlights and gave evidence of a recent cutting, however the barber had left just enough of it to fall in a careless manner across his brow. Sexy, thought Martin. His tall frame was lean, but Martin had a sense of the raw power contained within the confines of the man’s build. He wore blue jeans, a leather belt, and a rich, burgundy corduroy shirt, open at the neck. What struck Martin the most were the man’s eyes. They were a warm brown with honey flecks and had an intensity that trapped the energy around the room. Electrifying the very air. In his hands he held a tan, well-worn Stetson, its leather band studded with buffalo nickels. Martin placed his age to be between thirty-two and thirty-six.

Never in all of Martin’s life had he ever been so aware of his own sexuality and felt so physically attracted. He was acutely aware of the man’s presence and he fought to compose himself before walking up to the door.

“May I help you?” he asked when he noticed the gentleman looking around the restaurant.

“I’m meeting someone... oh, never mind, I see him.” The man smiled and pointed to the table at the window. Table 31. Martin’s heart sank. Surely not. Well, it would explain the brute’s presence in the restaurant so long.

Chief noticed the waiter’s hesitation and the way the man leered at him. It was unnerving. “If you don’t mind,” Chief said in the man’s absence of movement. “I’ll just seat myself.”  Chief examined the man’s face more closely. He looked ill. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” the waiter answered breezily, snapping out of his earlier reverie.  “I’ll be over to take your order, shortly.”

Chief nodded and, shrugging off the exchange, crossed the café to find Moss staring out the window.

“That was quick,” Moss commented as Chief seated himself across from him.

“You didn’t think I was going to leave you all the fun?”

Moss grinned and shook his head. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up as the waiter approached the table. He was smiling as he asked to take Chief’s order. The fact that his previous snide manner was absent was not lost on Moss.

“What may I get you, sir?”

Chief glanced at Moss and noticed his coffee. Then he returned to the waiter. “Just coffee for now, thanks.”

“Certainly, sir. Would you like it sweetened? Or with cream?”

“Sweetened? No. Black, please.”

“Very well, sir.” He glanced at Moss. “And you, sir?”

Moss stared at him; then his eyes fell to Chief, then back to his own coffee. He returned to the waiter. “I’ll let you know.”

The waiter bit his upper lip. “I see. Well, thank you, sir.” He curtly turned on his heels and disappeared into the bowels of the restaurant, only to reappear in a matter of minutes with Chief’s order.

Chief watched as the waiter daintily set down his coffee. The man’s eyes traveled uncomfortably over Chief’s person until his gaze fell upon Chief's ring finger. Chief noticed the man's expression shift from expectation to dejection before he turned on his heals and left abruptly.

Chief frowned. “Strange man.”

Moss’ grin was sly as he looked up at his companion. “He’s flying at least two feet off the ground if you ask me.”

Chief stared at him. “Huh?”

“A gentleman’s gentleman,” finished Moss. “And if I were you, my friend, I’d watch my back, because that man likes the cut of your jeans.”

Chief shook his head. “I’ll give him the name of my tailor.” Then, to change the subject, he added, “It looks like it could be a long wait.”

Moss nodded and regarded the street once more before informing Chief, “And at thirty cents a cup for the coffee, if you don’t slow down there, it could be a costly wait.”

“You're kidding?  I guess Chambers hasn’t gotten around to arresting all the thieves in this neck of the woods.”

There were few people walking about. Several wandered in and out of the trading post across the street but none even marginally resembled the man they were searching.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Moss said after a while.

Chief regarded him. “Why’s that?”

“I need to take a leak. Keep an eye out,” Moss said rising to his feet. Chief watched him disappear behind a potted plant at the back of the restaurant, then returned to the window. He wasn't  aware the waiter had come up behind him.

“I notice both you and your companion are spending an unnatural time staring out that window. I find it quite disturbing, considering the amount of money management spent on the atmosphere here.” The waiter smiled coquettishly. “You have a lovely smile.”

Chief, who wasn’t smiling at the time, said “Thanks.” His tone was laced with sarcasm that went completely unnoticed by the infatuated waiter.

“May I get you more coffee? I see both you and your friend are ready.”

Chief nodded. “Please.”

The waiter turned seductively and sauntered away from the table, passing Moss as he went.

“Making new friends?”

“Knock it off.”

“Bennet show?”

“If he had I sure wouldn’t be sitting here taking your abuse.”

“It could be worse.”

“How’s that?”

“During one stake-out, I had to sit for sixteen hours under a bush, half the time in the pouring rain. Compared to that, sitting in a dry café sucking down coffee is pretty light duty. At least there’s a john handy.”

“Only I’d probably have to deck that waiter before I could use it.”

At that Moss laughed. Chief's expression took a more serious note.

“What?” Moss asked.

“There’s been something I’ve wanted to talk to you about. Now that we have the time...”

“Go on.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been out of uniform for quite a while now.”

Moss nodded, but didn’t respond.

Chief continued. “I know this case isn’t highway’s jurisdiction. You’d have to get special permission to work it- either that or take a leave of absence.”

Moss looked intently at him. “Lieutenant Downing is a real cool customer,” he said after a while. “When I started working under him, even he knew I didn’t belong...not with my resumé.” 

Moss glanced out the window. The street was empty. “The truth of it is, Bob, the case is Federal jurisdiction. Blackney escaped from a Federal Institution. The Feds should have been on it from hour one. But when we were asked to enact the roadblocks and I heard about the escape, I had a friend at the Bureau lose the file on Blackney. Redirect it. Bury it.” Moss’s eyes were intent on Chief’s. “This is your case. Was from the beginning, all jurisdictions aside. You know the perp. It’s your kid’s neck on the line. I didn’t want you to lose your edge to some Federal bonehead. And I couldn’t see them adding any assistance, I only saw them ultimately getting in the way. Hell,” Moss added, “it would have gone to Perkins. That’s something I can’t abide. Anyway, when that little girl was killed, and you asked me to help– the thing of it is, Bob,” Moss took a deep breath, and gazed out the window. “This is what I do. Investigation. It’s my life- my identity. When Perkins took that away, he destroyed my life. You gave me a chance to get it all back. I walked into Downing’s office and laid it all out for him. He’s a fair and reasonable man. But he also works within the system. He gave me three weeks leave; I was entitled to two. So the third week is without pay. But in that third week we realized this case was connected to our investigation thirteen years ago; I had a shot at ending it once and for all. Damn it Bob, I’m not going to let it go this time. Solving that case will prove I was right all along. Breaking up that cult and throwing those bastards in jail– doing that– will get me my job back with the Bureau. If I lose my highway job, so be it, I really don’t care.”

“We were wondering what happened to you.”

“We?”

Broden smiled. “Kate, I and… Martha. You dropped out of sight Mort, without word. Last thing we heard from you was that you were going to D.C. to get an extension to open up a case investigating Bartlett's cult. Then nothing.”

Moss rubbed his chin. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but how is Martha?”

“She didn’t pine away after you left, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Moss shot him a cross look. “I’d never expect Martha to pine for anyone.”

“She wondered why the sudden dump.”

“I didn’t dump her.”

“You left without word and disappeared. You moved out of your apartment and cut your phone. You haven’t called her in thirteen years and there was no way for her to call you. That’s a dump.”

Moss’s frown caused the lines at the corner of his eyes to deepen. “We sent our best work to Richards. Everything else went to Gainesville and was subject to Perkins’s inspection. Perkins had it all impounded. When I requested a budget to investigate the existence of the cult I was damned sure existed, he blocked me. I couldn’t get hold of my files; he classified them out of my reach. I had nothing concrete to take over his head. I threatened to go to Richards and was informed he died when his car was bombed that morning and he no longer was in charge. Chief Inspector Greevy was, and he was not entertaining the same level of confidence in me, or my work, that Richards had. I went back to Gainesville and threatened Perkins, even going so far as jumping over his desk and wrapping my hands around his skinny little neck. I was that frustrated. Perkins got the credit on Jonas and even for our work against Bartlett, Bob. He was promoted with a big fat raise in pay. He had connections I had no idea he had, including strong ties with Greevy. I was escorted from the Fed building and dumped in the street. I was then officially fired, and subsequently black-listed. No one would hire me in law enforcement. I tried, but couldn’t hack being anything else. I fell into a state of depression. I hit the bottom. I wasn’t about to saddle Martha with what I’d become. She deserves so much better. And I didn’t know if I’d be able to claw my way back up from the gutter, I eventually found myself living in. I was lucky, though. Remember Henry?”

“Your sister’s… friend?”

“Husband, now. He knew Downing. Spoke for me and against the black list, and Downing hired me. It was the closest I could get to a law enforcement gig. I took it. Been with highway for the last five years." 

“So why not call Martha? You got it back.”

Moss laughed. “Got it back. Working highway patrol is getting it back? Hell no, Bob. I didn’t get it back until Blackney jumped his cage and you invited me in. I’ve been putting away a six-pack every night before the last three weeks. I still live with my sister! I’m still a miserable failure, not worth a woman like Martha’s time. We’ll see what happens once we finish with Blackney and have what we need to officially reopen the case against the cult.”

“And what would it take, exactly, Mort?”

“Something concrete linking Jonas’s and Bartlett’s actions to the cult.”

“We have that.”

Moss looked up.

“Mike found several passages–”

“But I thought Blackney had the log during Jonas–”

“No. At some point they got it back, we think around August 7th. As close as Mike can tell, by cross referencing it with Fred’s journal, Fred only reclaimed it just before Hank and the other boys knocked it loose.”

“When did they get it back?”

“It mentions that the book was in the possession of someone known as the Messenger. It was retrieved after the Messenger was “put on ice.” The information was added back after the fact up until August 7th.”

“The Messenger?”

“That’s what the notation in the book claims.”

Moss stared. “Any guess on who?”

“Nothing more than a guess based on speculation,” he said quietly returning to the window.

Moss noticed his expression and his eyes narrowed. “There’s something else.”

“There’s something else,” Chief said quietly and reached for his coffee, but didn’t lift the cup. He glanced briefly out the window before turning his attention over to the sergeant. “Mike found a passage in the cult’s log describing the murder of Sam Crebs’s wife and son. Sam was getting too close.”

Moss stared at him. After a while he said, “You suspected him of running an investigation back then.”

“I don’t think he knew how close he was. Whatever the pattern, whatever it was he was close to, slipped by him, or he would have suspected foul play, Mort. They knew, because they were watching for it. They killed the child, and his wife, to distract him. It worked. He dropped everything. Took up drinking.”

“I see,” Moss said quietly. “His name was mentioned, Bob, in connection with your friend Blackney and our elusive Mr. Bennet. ”

“I know.”

“What year did Sam move to the area?”

“He bought the land before the war. 1907. He didn’t build on it until four years later. Then work and the war interfered with his plans and the house sat. He moved here after, in 1918.”

“Then whatever his case, it was originally under the jurisdiction of the NSA or the Justice Department. The Bureau wasn’t even formed yet. He would have been reporting to them initially. He acted as a field operative when he was with them. I imagine he was recruited off the case when the war broke out. Probably worked for army intelligence during the war. Then resumed the case upon his return.” Moss digested his statement but then shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Chief nodded. “There was no case out here. Sam initiated it. He saw something going on- reported the transgressions to D.C., Washington ran a background check, sent the information back to Sam, who eventually put it together, legitimizing the case. Since he was already settled in the area, he was naturally asked to work it. Possibly infiltrate.”

“Possibly as the ‘Messenger?’” Moss suggested. “Suppose he had the book, Bob?”

“It was reclaimed around August 7th. Sam would have been in the hospital. Charlotte had a live in nurse.”

“The death of his wife and child,” Moss said sadly. “Good way of putting the ‘Messenger’ on ice.” 

Chief nodded. “He lost interest in everything, including the pending case. He had no reason to believe the accident was foul play, or that his wife’s condition was really a result of skillful poisoning. He dropped the case because he felt he could no longer further it.” Chief said quietly. “Then, Sam was killed last summer. His house was rigged with explosives that brought it down on top of him. Sam’s sudden sobriety made them nervous. He mailed two letters and a manila envelope the day he died. The envelope went to Twin Buttes, the letters to Connecticut and New York. I recently discovered the letter to New York went to his attorney naming Kelly as his beneficiary. The other two destinations are still unknown.”

“So how does Bennet and Blackney fit?”

“Not sure.”

“Blackney killed those heifers in ‘22. It was a two man job.”

“It wasn’t Sam. Could be Bennet. We’ll have to ask him about it.”

“They may have been looking into the cult on their own. We know Fred had a grudge. Maybe they ran across Sam’s path during his investigation. Or saw him working the case.” Moss shook his head. “Damn,” he whispered. “You know what gets me, Bob?”

“What’s that?”

“How much we have to rely on luck. Think about it. We may never have caught Jonas– damn that guy was slick, but for the phone call. If it hadn’t have been for that kid phoning in the description of the auto, I know the son of a bitch would have slipped away.”

Chief smiled. “I don’t think so, Mort. Jonas was coming unraveled. He was making too many mistakes and I think Bartlett was getting ready to withdraw his support. Without it, we’d have found Jonas much sooner.”

“True enough,” Moss sighed.

“As for that kid, I found out who he was,” Chief continued. “It turns out that Jonas gave a young run-away a lift. They pulled into a service station. Jonas went inside to use the facilities. While he was occupied, the boy noticed a leak coming from under the car. He bent down to check it out and noticed it was blood coming from the back. He opened the back door just as Jonas reappeared. There was blood all over the floor. Jonas tried to convince him it was mule deer blood and offered him a ride as far as he wanted to go. The kid didn’t buy it. Later he saw the sketch in the newspaper and called us.”

“A runaway?” Moss asked, his brows deepening into a frown.

Chief nodded.

“There was only one boy I know of that ran away back in ’23 not later accounted for as one of Bartlett and Jonas’s sacrifices. The boy from that home you and Kate were going to foster. Can’t recall the boy’s name.”

“Michael Flannery.”

Moss stared at him. “When did he tell you about meeting up with Jonas?”

“Recently. We discussed the death of that little girl. It reminded me of Charley Stevens.”

Moss nodded solemnly. Then both returned to the window. Their attention never fully left their mark, the conversation easing the boredom.

Moss turned to Broden. “How’d you and the lad finally get together, anyway?”

“I was working late at the office, oh, it must have been late February, of ‘28. I got a call from Elly. She said there was a boy scrounging a meal from her trash bins in the alley. She was worried for him, didn’t want to spook him. I locked up and headed over. He was digging through the refuse when I turned the corner. I recognized him right off. He was very thin, malnourished. I could tell he had a few hard miles on him. I invited him home with me. It was just a few years after Katherine’s death, Kelly was about three.” Chief smiled at the memory. “She took to him right off. Maggy was a little suspicious. Anyway, he kept mostly to himself.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“You and Kate had planned to foster that boy. He runs away only to return five years later. You don’t find that interesting?”

“You don’t believe in coincidences?”

“I don’t know. I suppose they do exist." He looked intently at Chief. "Does Mike know?”

“About the foster papers?”

“Yeah.”

“No. It felt awkward at first. I didn’t want him to feel beholden or cornered. To get him to agree to stay, I offered him room and board and pay to watch my children while I was at the office. I’d just lost my twelfth nanny in less than three years. I needed the help. It was the tail end of the school year, too late to get him enrolled, anyway. Attending school the following year was part of the bargain. He agreed to stay. To say the boy was skittish is an understatement. I think he may have been abused while he was out west, Mort. It took some doing for him to come around to trusting me. But eventually we worked through most of that. He became part of the family without the papers. They didn’t seem necessary in the end."

The waiter had returned to the table. “Is everything all right, here?”

“We’re fine,” Broden answered. He turned to Moss, “You need anything?”

Moss shook his head.

Chief and Moss waited for the man to leave before glancing quickly out the window. Nothing there.

Moss noticed the tight lines around Chief's eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

Chief sighed. "I didn't want to think about it Mort. Not then. Not now...."

"About what?"

"Kate's dreams."

"What about them?"

"When we went to pick Mike up...that summer. He'd left his belongings. There was a photo of him with his mother. Kate recognized Mike from the photo, Mort."

"Let me hazard a guess. The boy from her dream? The child lost?"

Chief nodded. "But that's not the half of it. I questioned a boy who was in the infirmary with Mike. Turns out Mike was having nightmares, too... Hell, he was sharing Kate's nightmare." Chief held Moss's gaze. "And mine."

Moss looked at the table briefly before glaring at Chief. "You never said anything."

"What was there to say?"

"It would have been nice to know."

"Why? There was nothing in the way of clues-"

Moss shook his head. "How do you know that? Maybe no clues to do with that case, Bob. What about this one? This raises the scope, don't you think?"

"I don't follow-"

"Of course you don't," Moss said sarcastically. "If it doesn't make logical sense to you, you immediately discount its validity." Moss glanced out the window before continuing. "I've seen hyper-aware individuals-people with a heightened awareness. When it's real, it's rare. But now I have four people sharing dreams- four that I'm aware of. So maybe it isn't so much the people, as the dream itself."

"And it means, what?" Chief asked sharply.

"I have no idea," Moss admitted quietly. 

Chief glanced across the street. He noticed an old man with a long white beard, picking his way into town, sliding a narrow walking stick from side to side.

“Jesus, Mort,” Chief whispered. “Here he comes.”

Moss said and turned in the direction Chief was looking. “I’ll be damned.”

Chief glanced at his watch. “Just after one. Let’s go.”

“Waiter!” Moss called. The waiter turned from serving another table. “Check, please.”

“I’ll be right with you, sir,” the man said, his voice laced with contempt.

“Now,” Moss answered sharply, rising to his feet. “Or you can forget it.”

The waiter quickly excused himself from his customers and rushed to the window table. He tallied the coffee and scribbled the amount on a tab he slid upside down on the table. He gave Moss piercing glance, but his eyes softened when he turned to Chief. “You could do a lot better,” he said quickly, then walked away.

Chief looked at Moss and shrugged. “Obviously he hasn’t met Elly.”

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