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That sparked a touch of suspicion in Faith’s mind.

She didn’t get the impression that Penny would have murdered her husband, but killers cried over their victims all the time, and just like friends and family were more likely to kill you than anyone else, wives were more likely to cheat with friends and family than anyone else.

Husbands too, but this husband had his brainstem severed two days ago, Faith’s concern lay more with the wife and friend.

They had an alibi for Penny, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have called Stan to have him handle their “situation.”

The bearded man waited for the agents to leave the SUV and approach him before confirming that he was who they thought he was.

He nodded again and stuck out a rough-skinned hand that looked four sizes too big for the body to which it was attached.

“Name’s Stan Merchant. Figured you’d be coming to talk to me at some point.

Not sure why it took you so long to be honest.”

“You in a hurry to talk to us?” Michael asked.

Stan shrugged. “No, I guess not. I don’t know who the hell could’ve done something like this, so I guess I can’t do much to help you.”

He wore a gruff scowl, and his tone was just as gruff, but Faith could hear the grief in his voice. That wasn’t an indication of innocence, but there was no doubt he missed his friend. “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince, and my K9 unit, Turk.”

Stan looked appreciatively at Turk. “Good dog. Old but strong. Like me.”

Faith thanked him and smiled down at Turk, but Stan’s observation alarmed her. She didn’t think Turk looked old at all.

Except now that he mentioned it, she could see the hints of white at his muzzle and scattered among the dark brown of his back.

Had they been there before the attack, or had the stress of his poisoning finally broken through the wall of good health that seemed to keep him perpetually in the prime of life?

“Well,” Stan said. “You might as well come inside. If you don’t mind, I usually have a beer when I get home from work. You two are welcome to some yourself if you’d like.”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Faith replied. “But go ahead and have one yourself if you’d like.”

He nodded and started up the porch steps. “If you don’t mind leaving your shoes outside too. Hetta doesn’t like dirt tracking through the house.”

Faith wasn’t keen on walking around a person of interest’s house in her socks, but Turk was wagging his tail and showing no sign of concern around Stan. He was still a suspect until they could talk to him, but he wasn’t a danger at the moment.

Once shoeless and inside the house, Faith observed the interaction between Stan and his wife, Hetta.

Hetta, like Stan, was not quite thin enough to be wiry.

She was tall with blonde hair—dyed at the roots to maintain its natural hue—blue eyes and full lips.

She didn’t appear much younger than her age, but she wore her years well.

More importantly, both of them showed genuine affection to each other, and neither showed any sign of guilt.

If Stan was involved in an affair with Penny Martinez, or if either he or Hetta was involved in Paul’s murder, it would be nearly impossible for them to hide that when interacting with each other.

Hetta greeted the agents and told them she’d bring tea to the living room in a few minutes. She hesitated when she saw Turk but didn’t object when he followed them into the living room.

This house was a little more spartan than the Martinez home, but at the gain of a more open and spacious feel. Stan sighed with relief as he settled into a recliner. Faith and Michael took the sofa, a gray vinyl number that was slightly tacky but comfortable enough.

“You’ll want my alibi,” Stan said. “You talked to Penny yet?”

Faith blinked. People didn’t usually start conversations with the two of them like this. “Why don’t you start with the alibi, and we’ll worry about Penny later if we need to?”

He nodded again. It seemed to be a bit of a nervous tic for him.

"Paul and I spent a lot of time together after work.

He'd come here on account of Penny didn't like to see him drink.

She didn't mind that he did, she just didn't like to see it.

Hetta doesn't mind so much. She was a quartermaster for the Seventeenth Infantry during Iraq, so she knows a bit about what we went through. "

Faith’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t exactly what Penny had said. She didn’t like him drinking and driving, but she didn’t mention a problem with drinking in general. “How do you know Penny didn’t like to see him drink?”

“He told me. That’s why he always came here.”

“You mentioned an alibi,” Michael reminded him.

“That’s what I’m talking about. He was here with me until around nine-thirty. Got sentimental and wanted to walk home. Said that he missed Penny. That happened sometimes when he got drunk. He always felt like he wasn’t good enough for her.”

“Did he say why?” Faith asked.

Stan shrugged. “Being a war veteran’s an odd thing. It doesn’t always hurt people the way it hurt Paul. The memories aren’t pleasant for anyone, but not everyone comes home with baggage. He did, though.”

“What kind of baggage?”

“He never told me.”

Hetta entered, quiet as a whisper, and set teacups in front of the agents.

She disappeared as quietly as she came, heading down a narrow hallway to the bedroom at the rear of the house.

Faith waited until she heard the quiet chunk of the door closing, then said, “You’re his best friend, and he never told you what happened in the war? ”

Stan met her eyes and said, "Never exactly. We'd talk in general terms, but whatever it was that drove him to drink, he couldn't face it head-on. Had to have been real bad, though."

“So he walks home at nine-thirty,” Michael interjected, trying to bring the conversation back to the alibi. Where were you after nine-thirty?”

"Well, I asked him to let me give him a ride. They don't live but four miles down the road. It's not far to drive, but it's a good hour and a half walking. He said he wanted to walk, said he wanted to think a bit, and needed some time to do it."

“I thought he said he missed his wife and wanted to come home,” Faith said.

“He said that too. He said both things. Looking back, I should have just made him ride with me, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time.

Hancock Village hasn’t seen a murder in thirty-three years.

Not since Osiah Pratt killed his girlfriend Rosie after she broke up with him on prom night.

And Paul was a tough man. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he was dangerous.

He could have handled himself in a fight. At least I thought so.”

His lower lip trembled. He sipped his beer, then said, “Anyway, after he left, I drove down to the convenience store on Eastvale Road to pick up some chips and ice cream. Hetta likes the salted caramel flavor, and that’s the only place to get it unless you drive all the way to Delhi.”

“What time would you say you arrived at the convenience store?” Faith asked.

“Couldn’t have been later than ten.”

Faith looked at Michael, and he got to his feet and stepped into the kitchen to follow up on that. Hopefully, the convenience store would have security cameras that could confirm Stan’s presence there. “After you got your ice cream, what did you do?”

“Came home. Ate some chips, watched some old movies, went to bed around midnight. Woke up at seven the next morning, and by the time I was ready to go to work, I heard they’d found a body down by the river.

Called Paul to tell him so, and he didn’t answer.

I figured he was still sleeping, but then five minutes later, I get a call from Penny telling me Paul’s dead. ”

His lips trembled again. He sighed and sipped more of his beer.

“I just don’t know who’d want him dead. He was always so kind and generous with everyone.

Only ever cried in front of me, but he was never rude or angry with anyone.

Never heard of him fighting or getting on anyone’s bad side. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Michael returned and gave Faith a thumbs-up. Stan's presence at the convenience store was confirmed.

That was only an hour of time, though. If he left the convenience store at ten-fifteen, even ten-thirty, he would still have more than enough time to find Paul, kill him, and bury his body at the river. In fact, the short timeframe could have been exactly why the grave was so shallow.

They didn’t have any good reason to suspect Stan, though, and Turk seemed to like the old soldier.

He sat next to Paul, straight and tall just like he did when he was a Marine K9 and looked at Paul with what appeared to be genuine affection.

Turk had never been affectionate with anyone who turned out to be a murderer before.

“Thank you for your help, Stan. If you think of anything else, please give us a call. In the meantime, I suggest you stay in the area.”

Stan chuckled bitterly. "So I'm on the shortlist, huh?"

“I don’t think you’re the killer,” Faith admitted, “but I can’t prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’m not saying you’re guilty until proven innocent, but you were one of the last people to see Paul alive. We might need to talk to you again, and that will be easier if you’re close by.”

Stan laughed again. "It's all right. He didn't talk to many people. I know you've got to keep me in mind 'til you figure out what happened." He shook his head. "He owes someone money or something?"

“You tell me.”

“Hell if I know. I just don’t know why someone would kill him and bury him like that. I guess to hide the body, but…” He sighed and finished his beer. “I’m sorry. I ain’t had the chance to grieve properly yet. This is just all hard to figure out.”

“That’s all right,” Faith said. “If you think of something, call us. If we think of anything, we’ll call you. No matter what happens, we’ll find out what happened to Paul.”

Stan gave them a final nod, then echoed Penny’s statement from earlier. “I’m glad of that, agent. I hope whoever did this gets justice, but it won’t bring Paul back. My friend’s gone no matter what.”

It was dark when the three agents stepped outside. Faith looked up at the night sky—full of stars out here in rural Delaware County. She hoped those stars didn’t shine on their killer as he buried another victim.