Chapter 3:

"So Jill's going to pose as a fangirl? A 36 year old marshal is going to pass for someone about half that age?"

"No, Jill's going to pose as a fangirl's mother, and when they come, we'll arrest the fangirls and charge them with conspiracy in the Fremont murder. If they sign over all their records, we let them go." McClellan, stroking his beard, made that claim.

"Where were you based out of?"

"Mauville."

"Let me tell you this is the dumbest idea ever, and that this can't be solved by marshal brute force. You know the trainer clubs?"

"Not really, except for shoving fans away from League events."

"Then you'd know that the Fremont case would be ridiculously more difficult if it had happened someplace other than an apartment building full of people who weren't in the club. We can get the more innocent fans, but they're not the ones who're going to reach Red in person-if any else are. Only other option I can think of is leverage the ones who get caught in unrelated crimes, but that could go wrong too."

Like if we catch the fan of some leader or leader-to-be.

Charlie smiled briefly. "Nah, I say Slateport is a dead end. We need someplace where they're more respectful and less tough. Getting put in a work camp for a week is something a Slater can do without a fuss-but do it to some Lilycove rich kid living off her father's eight-figure salary."

Martell interrupted. "But then we have her eight-figure defense lawyer, and other issues like maybe she's politically connected. We can't risk something like that. What we can do is start monitoring them, so I'm ordering as much surveillance as I can get."

I shuddered. Surveillance? Sitting listening for 30,000 ohwowdidyouseehims in hopes that one of those is Red?

"How do you know it's going to be out of Slateport?"

"Because it started here", was all Martell had to say to my question. "We're getting psychologists to see what kinds of people would most idolize Red, but until then we go from this trail."

"Major?"

"Yes, Detective Tally?"

"Can I do what I was going to do regarding the Fremont murder-try and talk to Lynn's friends? I mean, that's a personal issue, not some great League search effort with paramarshal helicopters hovering overhead."

"You can. Everyone else will be on basic surveillance."

That was a relief. Of course, getting to one of Fremont's best friends wasn't too hard. Just talk to her family-who knew all about the "stupid trainer fights", but nothing about who their daughter called, then talk to her friend. So rather than trying to scare her with armored goons, I figured I'd talk to her over lunch.

"Ms. Steele?"

"Look, Detective. I know Shelly shot Lynn."

"So do I. I'm asking if Shelly had ever told anyone about how Red and her talked in person."

"Oh, we all do that sometimes. But a lot of the time it's just gossip, silly bragging."

"Still, you know anyone else who claimed that they managed to call Red?"

"Oh, I think all of us have, at one point or another. Usually it's just some sort of secret-like 'I called this guy and he called Red and then I called him again and he said Red said thanks."

"Any idea who "this guy" is?"

"Wait, why is this about Red?"

"Because we have reliable information that Shelly's trying to find him too, so it's the best way to find her."

"Uh-ok. But yeah, most of it's crap. Sorry, that's all I know,"

"Anyone who said they spoke to him directly?"

"I don't know. Like I said, it's all gossip anyway."

"Tell Shelly that her sentence will be reduced to manslaughter if she turns herself in, and"-I said, passing her a card, "call the department if you can get anything more."

I knew she probably wouldn't, and the Meowth was out of the bag. If these girls were proper Slaters, they'd be in full lockdown after this. To a veteran, this was not unexpected in the slightest. After that, it was time to type a report and tell Martell what little I'd gained. Nothing save for the fact that contact with Red may be done through an intermediary.

The next day was spent driving around aimlessly, putting names on the board and following what Red fanatics we knew. One girl had her driver-yes, even the daughter of a struggling maintenance man at the shipyard can sometimes still afford a nice foreign driver, go in eight circles before she went home. Another just walked right up to the van and asked if the police could give her a ride to the candy store. What this said about the ability of the team to remain incognito was not good.

Then there was the wiretap, with a ton of non-pertinent information. There was a bit of swooning over another famed trainer coming to town, but nothing about Red. Then a bit about "my dad's in the Sea Marshals and he said that they're going to be putting all their new ships in this yard", which I knew not to be accurate, but still told us that one or two of these urchins might have had connection.

There were two "circles" of Red fans we'd identified as liking him more than the other trainers, and doing so consistently. Neither would break unless we arrested all of them, and if we did, they'd probably resist anyway. Maybe we could check their homes, but they knew we were coming and would have, save for the sloppiest of them, destroyed everything of importance. Furthermore, once we did so, Red would, if he had any knowledge of the events, never talk to anyone from Slateport again.

I tried to get the courage to tell Martell this, but got the feeling he already knew. One does not spend over a year as chief of the Port Investigators without knowing Slateport, and knowing how impossible it really is. Sure enough, he ordered surveillance to stop, but said he had a plan that might get them somewhere. "I have an idea."

The idea was simple. Recruit a moderate fan from across Hoenn as a confidential informant, and have her make calls to the circles of Red fans across the region. Then monitor the calls and see if someone slips. With luck, another trace of Red, or at least an intermediary, could be found.

As bad as it was, it sure beat what we'd been doing before.