A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(56)

Glancing back at Bolton, she noticed the curtains flutter at the home across the street. Truman’s report had stated he’d interviewed the woman living there, and that she frequently watched the Moody home.

Looks like we have an audience.

The handle of the door rattled, and the door opened enough to be caught by its chain. A dark-haired man sized her up. “Did you say FBI?” he asked.

“I did.” Mercy held out her ID.

“Is this about Clint? Did you find my brother?” he asked, his voice rising in hope.

“Yes, this is about your brother, but no, we haven’t found him.”

Ryan’s face fell. He closed the door, unhooked the chain, and opened the door wider.

Mercy kept her eyes on his face as soon as she realized Ryan wore only boxers with his T-shirt. He had a bad case of bedhead and a giant crease down a cheek from his pillow. She held out her card, and as he stepped closer to take it, she caught a strong whiff of morning breath.

He looks—and smells—as if he’s been asleep for hours.

Bolton joined her on the porch and handed over his card as well. Ryan opened the door farther and invited them in. He moved some magazines and boxes off the couch so they could sit and gave a jaw-stretching yawn. “Do you mind if I get the coffee going? I can’t function without it.”

“Go ahead,” said Mercy.

He padded to the attached kitchen and stuck a carafe under the faucet.

“I don’t think he’s been anywhere this morning,” she said in a low voice to Bolton. “They roughly estimated that the fire started around six. That’s only two and half hours ago. He looks like he’s been crashed all night.”

Bolton nodded, his gaze on the man in the kitchen.

Ryan shoved the carafe in the brewer and then sat down across from them. He was still bleary eyed. “You said this was about my brother.”

“We found your brother’s truck last night.”

His eyes widened. “Where? How come no one called me? But you didn’t find Clint?” He leaned forward, his gaze darting between Bolton and Mercy.

“No one notified you because it was late last night. Do you know the abandoned rock quarry off Bowers Road?” Mercy asked.

“Sure. It was found there?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll go out there with you.” Ryan stood, ready to dash to his bedroom.

“Wait.” Mercy held up a hand. “It’s already been towed away.”

“To where? Maybe I can spot something that indicates where Clint went.”

“Ryan.” She struggled to find the right words. “The truck was up to its windows in a pond. Everything is soaked and muddy.”

“You said it was at the rock quarry.” He sat back down, confusion and caution on his face.

“There was a pond in the bottom of the quarry from all the rain we’ve had.” She held his gaze.

“Did you search the pond?” His words were slow, as if his brain had just connected with what the location could mean.

“It’s happening as we speak,” said Bolton.

Indecision flickered in Ryan’s gaze. “I don’t think I want to watch that.”

“You’ll be the first to know if we find something,” Mercy promised, her heart going out to the sibling. “Have you recalled anything else that might help us find your brother?”

“No. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that night.” He frowned. “Is Chief Daly not on the case anymore? I mean, he’s a decent guy and stuff, but I’d much rather have the FBI looking for my brother.”

Mercy couldn’t speak. For the last five minutes Truman had been off her mind, but Ryan brought her mass of emotions back in a drowning rush.

“No, he’s not on the case now,” answered Bolton. “Do you know a Joshua Forbes?”

“Is he a suspect?” Ryan’s mouth gaped.

“No. But we’d like to talk to him. I take it you know him?”

“Clint hung around with him sometimes. He’s okay when he’s not pushing that sovereign shit.”

Mercy found her voice. “Chief Daly’s report said Clint had a fake diplomatic license on him after the bar fight the other day. Did he get it from Joshua?”

“Yeah. He sells them, but he gave Clint one for free. Clint thought it was funny, but I told him to never let a cop see it. Forbes tried to recruit us with all that pay-no-taxes bullshit. They’re a messed-up bunch. If we don’t pay taxes, who pays for the damn roads and forest management? God?” He shook his head in disgust.

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Nah.”

Bolton asked a few more questions, but Mercy knew the interview was done. She reassured Ryan they were doing everything they could to find his brother and thanked him for his time.

Outside, Bolton told her he didn’t think Ryan could have torched Truman’s SUV. “You were right that he looked like a man who’s been sleeping hard for hours,” he said. “And there was no scent of gasoline on him or in the house. Usually it sticks to a person no matter if they change their clothes and wash their hands.”

“I only smelled morning breath,” said Mercy. “How long do you think it will take to drag the pond?”