"So, how did you say you heard about my place again, Detectives?"
The slight mocking wasn't left unnoticed by Mike as they strolled toward the back of the property where most of the animal pens were located. At just over six feet tall, Alfonso the Great fit the name quite well, judging by his broad shoulders and muscular chest and arms. Although much of the rest of his body was hidden beneath the blue overalls, it was safe to say that his physique resembled that of a bull more than that of a human.
His wrists were thick as gear shafts and an old injury had left his right hand missing a couple of fingers, the rest of them strong and sinewy like industrial cable. Mike shuddered at the thought of how easily the man could have snapped his partner's neck, had he not intervened soon enough.
And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered just how sincere Al had been when joking about burying bodies.
"One of our resources in San Francisco told us.", the Lieutenant said calmly, keeping his explanations comfortably vague.
A snort would be their only response for several long moments, as they followed an old two track leading around the perimeter of the property, several of the cows and ponies in the nearby pasture walking along with them, eager for food.
Risking a brief glance back at his partner, Mike noticed that Steve's attention was solely focused on the man ahead of them, his instincts telling him to treat Al like a dangerous foe to be kept at arm's length the entire time.
After the young Inspector's encounter in the barn, Mike couldn't fault him much. And yet, there was a strangely peaceful aura exuding from the older man, an undeniable serenity that somebody with a past like his was strongly drawn to.
"You must have some strange resources then.", Al countered and turned around to face the detectives, both hands on his hips, "I don't know any Roy Sullenger and this isn't some fancy VIP resort, if you haven't guessed that yet. This is a place for people to find themselves, become one again with nature. We have no TV's here, no radio, nothing that connects you to the modern world. Just critters."
"How many people do you…do you help here on a regular basis?"
Mike's prying was duly noted and the other man looked him up and down, before shaking his head with a slight chuckle.
"Will you quit treating this like a crack house, Lieutenant? You and I both know it isn't. It's merely a place to get away from a reality that can be quite overbearing for some of us sometimes. You look like you've seen your fair share. Army or Navy?"
"Marines.", Mike answered, his eyes turned to tight slats against the sunlight in the western sky, "I was a Sergeant."
"I was a Lieutenant in the Army, served until the mid-late 60's. It was some filthy business back then, let me tell you. Nothing like risking your guts for your country and then having some punk kids greet you with hate posters as you come off the plane. That's enough to turn your stomach. Listen, you look old enough, you went to the Pacific, didn't you?"
A slight nod was all that was needed when the other man reached forward, clenching both of his shoulders tightly.
"I thought I was sensing a kindred spirit, Lieutenant. That hell hole was enough to make men out of boys, and…well, monsters out of men. And now you're in the police force? What are you, glutton for punishment or something?"
With a smile, Mike accepted the strong hands shaking him for a few moments, then letting go again as Al gestured toward the paddocks.
"Well, I guess, your background and current occupation should allow you to appreciate the need for a place like this, Lieutenant. I've dreamed about it the entire time I was in 'Nam slitting throats and bombing Charley. I wanted something that could pull my mind out of the dark abyss that is war, allow me to stay busy and be constructive, rather than turn into a burden to society."
"Hold it, I thought you were working with the circus, training animals?", Steve interrupted, his curiosity answered with a scolding glance.
"That was in between my deployments, and just for a short time, Kid. Seems to me you've got your info all wrong. The most contact I've had with them was to work their animals for a few months here and there, just for the fun of it. I grew up on a farm back in Wyoming, I know how to wrestle goats and horses and stuff like that. Plus, they paid well. It was an honest side job. And then, when they shut down, I took in the bulk of their critters. They wouldn't let me have elephants here or I'd have grabbed those too."
At those words, Steve glanced up at Mike for a brief moment, sharing the same confusion, before he turned toward the man in question again, pulling their victim's picture out of the breast pocket of his beige overcoat.
"Mister Marietti, you said you have never met Roy Sullenger. How about this man right here, have you met him before? Has he ever visited your farm?"
Mike raised his eyebrows at his partner's cunning strategy and watched in great surprise, when Al nodded.
"Well yeah, this is Earl Potter. He's been a regular here for a few years. Nicest guy ever. How does he fit into this picture?"