"I’m sorry," she said at last. "I’ve never seen this particular lighter before; I’m sure of that. I’m positive I would remember it."

Joe’s face fell. He had been so hopeful!

"Besides," the woman continued, gesturing towards a white box behind her. "I do all my work with computer-assistance. Most engravers do that, these days. These initials were done by hand." She smiled encouragingly at the crestfallen Joe, and returned the lighter. "Perhaps a jeweler might be able to help you."

A jeweler? First a surplus store, then an engraver, now a jeweler? I’m going to be running all over Bayport for the rest of my life, trying to track down this damn thing! Joe thought in exasperation. Aloud, he said: "Thanks, I’ll try that, then." He accepted the Zippo, and dropped it into his pocket. "Could you recommend anyone?"

"You might try Ben Walters, at K & G Jewelers." she suggested. "He’s been there forever, just about, and does all their custom engraving." She jotted the name and address of the jewelry story down on the back of an order form and handed it to Joe. "Tell him Marie says hello, and good luck to you!" She smiled, and Joe smiled back, despite his disappointment. At least she’d been of some help!

Deciding that he might as well check other jewelers as well, Joe found a phone booth with a directory attached, and looked at the listings. There were a discouraging number of them, but he made note of the addresses, and doggedly set about going down his list.

Two hours later, a tired and discouraged Joe consulted his notes once more. He was down to the final few entries, and the closest was the store which Marie the engraver had recommended. If I don’t get anything here, I’m going to call it a morning, he thought. For all his time and effort, his only rewards had been blank looks and headshakes…and an incipient blister on his foot, caused by the friction of his new athletic shoes. I’ll go back and change shoes, at least! he mused, as he walked towards his next destination.

K & G Jewelers was a small establishment. It looked as if it had been comfortably settled in its niche for decades, but although it lacked the opulent splash and glitter of the larger jewelry chain stores, it felt warm and welcoming. Soft chimes sounded as Joe pushed the door open, and almost immediately a smiling salesgirl approached him.

"Can I help you?" she enquired.

"I’d like to talk to Ben Walters." Joe told her. "An engraver named Marie sent me. I have some questions about some engraving work, and she suggested I talk to him."

"Oh, sure." The salesgirl nodded. "Ben!" she called over her shoulder. "There’s someone here who wants to see you."

After a few moments, an elderly man came from a back workroom. He had sparse white hair, and his forehead was lined from decades of concentration on close work – but his bright blue eyes sparkled with an almost youthful quality.

Joe introduced himself – remembering just in time that his name was Josh Douglas! – passed on Marie’s message, and produced the lighter. Once again, he stood and waited while yet another person thoughtfully examined the old Zippo lighter.

Finally, Ben Walters raised his head from his perusal. "It’s quite old." he stated with conviction. "The font style isn’t used much anymore – it’s not popular, for some reason – and I can tell just by the wear on the surface that it was engraved a long time ago. Maybe as much as 50 years ago, although that might be stretching it just a bit. I’ve been doing hand engraving for nearly that long, and I’ve done a few in this style, but not for many years." He looked sympathetically at Joe, whose disappointment was evident on his face. "Sorry that I can’t help you more than that, son."

Joe wasn’t sure whether he was pleased to get some information or ready to scream with frustration at the sparseness of it. He thanked Ben Walters for his help, and headed for the door. On his way past one glass case, however, he slowed down for just an instant…and thoughtfully examined the rows of sparkling diamond engagement rings displayed there. If I’m ever in the market…I’ll come back here.

Once more on the sidewalk, he hailed the first taxi he spotted, and headed back to the B & B. Settling into the back seat, he let his mind drift. If the engraving’s 50 years old, then the lighter could be even older than that. He took the lighter from his pocket and turned it thoughtfully in his fingers. Let’s assume that the lighter was bought with the intention of having it engraved…in that case, the initials are almost certainly not the murderer’s. He nearly groaned aloud. Which also could mean that our murderer could have nothing at all to do with the military police, and Frank’s on a wild goose chase!

Returning the lighter to his pocket, Joe braced his elbow on the window frame and propped his chin on his hand. As he gazed dolefully out on the passing traffic, an old rusted car entered his field of vision, and he was suddenly struck by a thought. Oh man! The license number of my ‘friend’s’ car! He yanked his cell phone out, and scanned down the list of stored numbers until he reached Con Riley’s.

It was a good eight rings or so before Con answered; Joe had been about to hang up. Con’s first words caught him by surprise.

"H’lo Joe."

"How did you know it was me?" Joe blurted out.

"Use your imagination, college boy – I programmed your number into my phone, so I’d know who was calling me. You caught me in with Chief Collig, so make it snappy. I had to make an excuse to leave; I’m in the bathroom right now!"

Joe laughed. "You just live for subterfuge." he teased.

Riley didn’t even bother to react. "What can I do for you, kiddo? I can’t talk for long."

Joe quickly told Con about the car chase and that he’d taken down the plate number. Con mmmm’d a few times before he asked for the number.

"That man is really interested in you two, isn’t he? I’ll see if I can trace him, and get back to you."

"Okay, thanks Con." Joe grinned. "Better get back to the chief before he thinks you fell in!" he said, and hastily disconnected the call.

*****

"Consider yourself one of the employees as of right this minute." The captain reached to shake Frank’s hand once again. "I’ll get someone in here now to show you around – get yourself acquainted with everything." He lifted the telephone receiver, punched a few buttons, and in a few moments requested a Corporal Walker to "report immediately" to his office.

While they waited for Walker’s arrival, Captain Lee asked, "I notice you’ve got a little frog in your throat – I hope you’re not coming down with a cold, or something! We can’t have you getting sick right when you’re supposed to be working here!"

"No, no – it’s not a cold," Frank hastened to assure the other man, suppressing the urge to bring his hand up to his throat. "I get allergies to pollen in the spring, and it’s sort of settled in my throat this year." Darn it, this thing with my voice makes me way too noticeable! But the captain seemed to accept his explanation with no further questions.

When Corporal Walker appeared, Frank’s first reaction was bleak: Oh brother, what a dork! This guy’s an MP? In contrast to the strict military correctness – but complete politeness – of the gate guard, and the genial cordiality of Captain Lee, Walker looked resentful and out of sorts. He was on the small side, being only about 5’8", and thin. His sandy hair seemed to stick out in odd tufts, despite being close-cropped, and his watery hazel eyes held a hostile expression. His uniform looked to be too large for his reedy frame. Frank held out his hand when the two were introduced, but Walker pretended not to notice.

"I’ll show you around, Harris." he said curtly, saluted Captain Lee, and walked stiffly towards the office door. Frank, somewhat surprised, turned back for a hasty farewell of the friendly captain, who winked knowingly, then quickly followed his guide into the hallway.

A whirlwind tour of the facilities followed: the restrooms, the copy room/print shop, the employees’ break room – where the air was so choked with cigarette smoke that it irritated Frank’s sore throat, and he nearly gagged – the various offices of what Walker referred to as the "top brass." Then they took the elevator down to the bottom floor, where the locker room and the detention cells were located.

"You can have one of these lockers to keep your things in." Corporal Walker waved a hand at a wall of large lockers. "Just pick one – any of the ones with a key in the door are available."

Frank chose a locker at random, and hung his jacket inside. He locked the door and removed the little key, putting it in his pocket. "Where do we eat?" he asked, then.

"There isn’t a cafeteria on the base." Walker admitted, leading the way out of the locker room. "Everyone either brown-bags it, or goes to that little restaurant across the street. You saw it?"

"Yes," Frank nodded.

"And there’s always the snack machines." The corporal sounded contemptuous, as if the idea that Frank might choose to eat something from the vending machines was an insult. The elder Hardy was beginning to feel decidedly antagonistic to Corporal Chris Walker, and hoped that his contact with the young man would be held to a minimum.

When he returned to Captain Lee’s office at last, Frank bade an almost-too-enthusiastic goodbye to his guide, but the feeling seemed to be mutual; Walker didn’t seem anxious to spend any more time in Frank’s company than necessary.

The second Walker left the room, the Captain stuck his head around his office door. "Harris, I have a job for you to start on, if you’re feeling settled in." Frank nodded. "There’s an enormous backlog of personnel information that needs to be updated on these computer files. Think you can handle it?"

Frank smiled. He could update personnel data in his sleep, he suspected—and suddenly he realized just what he was being offered! Access to all the personnel files, just like that! I don’t even have to look for them, they’re being handed to me on a silver platter! Captain Lee escorted him to a small office cubicle just off his own, and Frank settled down happily with his computer.

For a couple of hours, Frank concentrated on doing exactly what he was supposed to, and made good headway in updating the files. By mid-afternoon, when Captain Lee popped his head in to check on his new employee, Frank had accomplished so much that the captain’s eyes widened in surprise and admiration.

"Harris, you’re a real whiz at this! You’ve gotten more done than I ever anticipated! Good job, son – keep up the good work!" He went back to his own office, nearly chuckling with delight. Frank grinned; it was sort of nice to be appreciated, he thought.

At last daring to take a break from his assigned duties, Frank decided to do a little work on the real reason he was there. He asked the computer for a list of all personnel with the initials ‘T A’ – the mysterious initials engraved on the lighter. Horrified, he groaned as the screen filled with line after line of print. Whoa, way way too big! he thought.

He stared over the top of the monitor, cudgeling his brain for a way to narrow the parameters and make his search feasible. It occurred to him then that the murderer’s initials might not be ‘T A’, but they could denote a family member – a girlfriend, a wife, a husband – the possibilities were endless. He couldn’t afford to write any employee out of the equation. What to do…?

Absently, he focused on a notice board on the wall, where various bulletins and printed notices were tacked. After several moments of blank staring, he began to actually read what he was looking at…and an idea began to form in the recesses of his mind.

Thoughtfully, he began to type instructions into the computer once again. This time he asked for a list of personnel who had recently been on a tour of duty in Australia…then asked for a similar list of people who had been in England. Thinking hard, he requested listings of as many of the murder locations in Con Riley’s information as he could recall.

When all the data had been assembled, he restricted the list yet again. The final list was still unwieldy, but at least more manageable – perhaps 50 names stared back at him from the screen. Frank realized he didn’t have time to go through them all now, and quickly emailed the file to his laptop. I’ll compare this list to the murder dates—maybe there’ll be some correlation.

He glanced at his watch and was startled to see that it was nearly five o’clock. The afternoon had flown by on wings. Frank tidied up his desk as best he could, then shut down the computer system and put away the finished file folders. He was just shutting the last file cabinet drawer when Captain Lee popped his head into the cubicle again.

"Time to call it a day, Mr. Harris….How did it go?" the genial man asked with a smile.

"Just fine, sir." Frank replied. "I’ll be here first thing in the morning." He smiled in genuine pleasure. You don’t have any idea just how ‘fine’ it went, Captain Lee! "Do I need any identification to get back in, tomorrow?" he asked, then.

"I’ve had your name added to a list of authorized personnel." the captain informed him. "And here’s an identification tag for you." He handed Frank a square plastic ID card on a lanyard, with an imprinted bar code, and the name ‘Andy Harris’ printed on it. "Just show the gate guard this when you arrive, and there shouldn’t be any problem."

"Thanks, Captain. I’ll just get my jacket from my locker, and be on my way, then. Goodnight."

Frank left the office and headed once again for the elevators. The locker room was deserted, and he wondered just when there were people there; it had been empty when he and Corporal Walker had been in it earlier that day. Taking the key from his pocket, Frank was about to open his locker when he paused and looked a little closer. The metal around the lock was scratched. Was it like that earlier? Surely it must have been…who would have any reason to break into my locker; all there is in it is my jacket – and this is a Military Police base!

Still slightly wary but unable to come up with any good reason for an intrusion, Frank unlocked the door and put on his jacket. He patted the pocket to make sure the car keys were still there; Joe would absolutely murder him if a second set were lost! He was careful about relocking the compartment, though again he couldn’t imagine anyone who would have wanted access to his locker. The only people who even know I’m here are Captain Lee and Corporal Walker, after all!

Frank walked through the parking lot in the soft April twilight. He reached the Saturn and unlocked the door with Joe’s keys – wondering again where on earth his keys had disappeared to! He was about to settle into the driver’s seat when he spied a folded piece of paper lying on the passenger seat.

What the? – that wasn’t there before! Frank leaned through and snatched up the paper. It was a small, torn-out sheet from a notebook, and printed on it in block letters was an unnerving message: GET OFF THE BASE AND STAY OFF – OR YOU’LL BE VERY SORRY!

Frank jerked himself out of the car and leaned over the door lock, trying to see if there were any signs of tampering. In the fading afternoon light, it was difficult to see any marks on the door. He bent closer, squinting closely at the mechanism.