Outside Fargo, North Dakota

Kinch checked his watch and cursed the snow. While the highway from Bismarck to Fargo was well maintained, the snow kept piling up, making the drive slower and more treacherous than Kinch had time for.

Three days. Kinch was three days behind Hochstetter. Too long. Much too long. Hochstetter had a short fuse and, even if he intended to keep Carter alive– which Kinch doubted– three days was enough for Hochstetter to lose his patience with him.

"Moorhead isn't far," Sergeant Russell said from the driver's seat, as if reading Kinch's mind. "It might as well be part of Fargo, to be honest. I guess the state line gets in the way."

After talking it over, they had decided to go to Moorhead, rather than Halstad to investigate the murder. Considering how small the beet farming community was, it was doubtful Halstad had any police with the capacity to investigate a double homicide. Likely help had been brought in from Moorhead or even Minneapolis.

Kinch still wasn't sure what good going there would do. From what he had read in the paper, the only witness, a child, hadn't seen the actual murder or murderer. But the timing couldn't be a coincidence. Kinch was sure Hochstetter was the murderer which meant, at the very least, he had crossed the border into Minnesota. So, even if they couldn't gather any useful information, they were that much closer to Hochstetter's trail.

Sort of.

This part of the country was big and sparse. Hochstetter could be hiding anywhere. Hell, he might not even be in the country. Canada was just a hop, skip, and a jump away and it was even bigger and sparser. What if Hochstetter had gone there? The murder and the license plate on Hochstetter's car all pointed to Minnesota, but it wasn't one hundred percent guaranteed.

No. Hochstetter wanted to be found, Kinch reminded himself. So he couldn't be impossible to find. Of course, Hochstetter wanted to be found on his own terms. But, if he was insisting on communicating through newspaper ads, that would take time. Time Carter didn't have. Kinch was determined to find Hochstetter, somehow, someway, on his own, without relying on Hochstetter's game.

"You really should have slept," Russell said, glancing over at Kinch. "You look like hell."

Kinch rubbed his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. Russell wasn't wrong. He had been on the go since getting word of Carter's kidnapping on Saturday morning. It was now well into Monday afternoon and, while he had slept on his travels, he hadn't slept well. How could he, knowing that Carter was in danger?

"There's time for that later," Kinch replied.

"Guess you guys didn't get much sleep during the war. Although… I can't imagine you left camp very often. I don't remember you leaving at least."

"I stayed in camp a lot," Kinch conceded. "But I was always at my radio, sometimes long after everyone else went to bed."

Russell nodded thoughtfully. "You know, I still can't get over that operation you guys had. A radio to talk to London? A barber shop? Manicures?! I tell you, I lived better there than I did when I got home!"

"You certainly ate better," Kinch said with a wry grin.

Russell chuckled. "Yeah, that's true. But can you blame me? I had gone almost a year without a decent meal and that little chef of yours did wonders with SPAM! Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about his cooking while trying to choke down my wife's food."

"He's got his own café now," Kinch mused. "I haven't been able to go back to Europe since the war, but from what I gather, it's pretty successful."

They had had so many plans, right after the war, to meet back up together. For Christmas. For anniversaries. For weddings. But the realities of time and distance had splashed cold water on all those plans. Kinch and Hogan had made it to Carter's wedding and Carter had returned the favour by attending Kinch's, but the cost for Newkirk and LeBeau had been too great. In the beginning, they had written to each other often, but their communications had grown more infrequent as the years went by. Though they would always be bonded together, they each had their own lives to live and other things to occupy their time and energy.

Kinch frowned at the thought that this would be what finally got them all together in the same place. And, hopefully, it really would be all of them. But three days was already a long time for Carter to hold out, and Kinch wasn't even close to finding him.

"Sergeant Kinchloe?"

Kinch realized he had been staring out the window while Russell had continued to speak.

"Hmmm?"

"Never mind," Russell said. "We're almost to Fargo. Once we cross the bridge, we'll be in Moorhead. Do you… Well, do you have any idea what we're supposed to say to the cops? I doubt they're just gonna discuss their investigation with a couple of strangers. Especially a stranger who's…" Russell's voice trailed off as he waved to Kinch.

Kinch frowned. Russell had a very good point. "We'll tell them we're journalists," Kinch said after a few moments of thought. "From Bismarck. We'll let them know about Hochstetter and tell them we think Carter's kidnapping is connected to the murder."

Russell tilted his head as if considering the ruse and then nodded. "Yeah, okay. I think I can go with that. Should we use our real names?"

Kinch nodded. "I don't see why not."

At that, Russell looked disappointed. "Nuts."

"Looking to play spy?" Kinch asked.

"Well," Russell drawled sheepishly. "Maybe a little."

Kinch was torn between being amused and frustrated. This, after all, was no game. Carter's life hung in the balance. At the same time, he couldn't blame Russell for being excited at the prospect. After all, it wasn't every day an average Joe like him found himself hunting down a Nazi. It was like something out of a fiction book.

"Sorry. I know it's no game," Russell said, as if reading Kinch's thoughts. "I just… I kind of feel like James Bond? Have you ever read those books? I heard there's a new one coming out this year."

Kinch shook his head. "Haven't gotten around to it, yet."

"What about those Frank Chambers books?"

At that, Kinch's eyebrow shot up. "By Louise P. Cargan?" Oh yes, he was very familiar with that series of books. In fact, he had an unfinished manuscript somewhere at his shop that he needed to finish before his publishers got on his case. That, of course, was at the bottom of his priority list right now. "Yeah, I've read them. He's more of a detective than a spy, though."

Russell shrugged. "I guess, but I think this is something he'd get tangled in." Kinch nearly choked. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Kinch replied, waving away his concern. "How much longer?"

"We still gotta drive all the way through Fargo. Listen, close your eyes for a minute. I'll let you know."

Kinch wasn't sure he could really sleep, but the thought of resting his eyes, if only for a few minutes, seemed like a good idea. It was hard enough to operate during normal life on little sleep, never mind trying to track down a Nazi. Kinch leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep because before he knew it, Russell's hand was shaking him awake.

"We're at the Moorhead police station," Russell informed him. Kinch blinked and looked out the window at the building.

"Good." Kinch rubbed his eyes and opened his door.

"Am I coming with you?" Russell asked tentatively.

"I doubt they'll listen to me otherwise," Kinch said warily. Together, the two men exited the car and hurried into the station. Inside, the lobby was mostly empty, with only two people sitting on a bench while an officer sat behind a desk. "You better lead on this. Think you can handle it?" Kinch asked quietly.

"I'll try," Russell said. He took a breath and then walked up to the desk. "Officer?"

The officer looked up from his paperwork. "Yeah? How can I help youuuu…" He looked over at Kinch and raised an eyebrow. "You gentlemen?" He leaned forward, darting his eyes to Kinch before settling his gaze on Russell. Kinch noticed his hand go for his holster. "Are you in any trouble, sir? Is this–"

"Oh, it's okay, Officer," Russell said with a nervous chuckle. "This is my associate."

The officer wasn't mollified. "Associate?"

"My partner," Russell said. "We're reporters. For the, um, Bismarck Tribune."

"Reporters, huh?" The officer straightened a little and let his hand fall.

"Yes, I'm Del Russell and this is Mr. Kinchloe. He's a, uh… cub reporter. Kind of my shadow."

"He's a shadow, all right. Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Russell?"

"We're here about the Halstad murders," Russell said.

"Oh, yeah. Tragic. What about them?"

"We think we know who committed the murders," Kinch said. From his inside breast pocket, he pulled out the folded up front page of the newspaper and handed it to Russell who then held it out to the officer. The officer unfolded the page and scanned it, before looking up and arching an eyebrow.

"A Nazi? C'mon."

"We're serious," Kinch said. Russell nodded emphatically.

"All right, hold on." The officer still sounded skeptical, but he picked up his phone anyway. "Yeah… Is Sergeant Meyers in?... Sarge, I need you up front. There's a couple of guys who think they've got something for you. Yeah. Yeah, it's wild. You better take a look though just in case. Yeah. Thanks." He put down the phone. "He'll be up here in a minute. Have a seat."

Kinch and Russell nodded and then sat down on the bench. The man there eyed Kinch warily, while the woman scooted over as far as she could.

"I suppose you're used to that," Russell said quietly.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Kinch acknowledged.

They waited impatiently but were soon rewarded when another officer came into the room, a stern look on his face. He spoke momentarily to the officer at the desk who pointed out Kinch and Russell.

"You the guys with information?" Sergeant Meyers asked as he approached. Both of them stood and nodded. Russell held out his hand, which Meyers shook.

"Yes sir. I'm Russell, this is Kinchloe. We're reporters for the Bismarck Herald."

Kinch tried to hide his reaction at the slip-up and quickly spoke up, just in case the officer at the desk had noticed. "Have you heard about the kidnapping in Bismarck?"

"Yeah," Meyers drawled. "Kind of hard to miss something like that. What about it?"

"Well, we think the same guy who kidnapped Mr. Carter is the same guy who murdered those folks in Halstad," Russell said anxiously. "See, it was a Nazi with some sort of grudge against Mr. Carter from the war and we think that he's taking him to some hide-out somewhere and he had to pass through Halstad. Maybe he killed those folks because they saw too much!" He had become very animated as he spoke, apparently getting caught up in the excitement of his role.

"I gotta say, the thought did cross my mind," Meyers admitted. "We don't get a lot of crime around these parts and it was just too much of a coincidence to overlook."

"I'm almost positive it was him," Kinch said.

"Oh you're positive?! Well then!" Meyers exclaimed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Look, this Nazi's name is Hochstetter," Kinch said, ignoring Meyer's tone. "Wolfgang Hochstetter. He was a Gestapo agent in Germany during the war. He's extremely dangerous."

"No kidding," Meyers said, again unimpressed with Kinch's statement. "The double homicide didn't clue me into that little fact."

"He signed into the Grand Pacific Hotel in Bismarck under the name of… of…" Russell snapped his fingers.

"Logan. Robert Logan. It's a play on Robert Hogan, who's the guy he's really after," Kinch said. "He was in a car with Minnesota plates."

"A black 1953 Buick?" Meyers asked.

Kinch and Russell exchanged looks. "Uh, we actually don't know. Why?"

Meyer grimaced. "Look, I'm not about to release information about an on-going investigation to the likes of you, so if you'll excuse me–"

"Wait," Kinch said as Meyers turned to leave. "At least reach out to the police in Bismarck. The FBI is there. If these cases are linked, they could help you and you can help them." Kinch wanted to find Hochstetter himself, but it didn't really matter who found him first. What mattered was saving Carter.

"I will," Meyers said as he again went to leave.

"You can't tell us anything about the car?" Russell asked hopefully, stopping Meyers from leaving.

"The hotel clerk said Hochstetter's shoes had cow dung on them," Kinch quickly added. "Does that mean anything to you? Maybe there was some on the car?"

Meyers shook his head. "Sure. But there are lots of ranches in these parts. Could have come from anywhere. It could have come from a rail yard or a slaughterhouse, or hell, just from the street! "

"I don't suppose you have a list of ranches we can look through?" Kinch asked.

Meyers was silent, his brow furrowed with annoyance. "Try the phone book," he said finally. This time, he actually did leave. Both Kinch and Russell blew out a long breath.

"Well that was little more than useless," Russell scowled.

"I'm sure if I hadn't pressed so hard he would've been more cooperative," Kinch grumbled.

"Yeah, but you'd think he would want to hear what we had to say," Russell said. "He's got a murder to solve, after all!"

"He'll reach out to Wetzel and the FBI," Kinch said. "In the meantime, we have a clue, at least. Not a good one, but a clue nonetheless."

"We do?"

"Yeah. Come on. Let's go find a phone book."

Sorry. Investigations can be painfully slow, especially back then. Honestly, I don't know how anyone got anything done before the internet.

Also, as Kinch stated, he is three days behind Carter and Hochstetter. So Kinch was still on a train heading to St. Paul, Minnesota while Hochstetter was interrogating Carter in the last chapter.

For those who need a bit of a score card because it's not super clear in the text (SORRY!):

Friday evening- Carter kidnapped

Friday night- Hochstetter stops in Halstad

Saturday morning- Hochstetter leaves Halstad and drives to Minneapolis

Saturday morning- Kinch gets the call

Saturday evening- Hochstetter arrives at Rader Stockyard

Saturday evening- Kinch stops in Chicago

Sunday morning- Hochstetter interrogates Carter in shed. Elsa hears a gunshot.

Sunday Morning- Kinch goes to St. Paul Minnesota

Sunday evening- Kinch travels to Bismarck

Monday morning- Kinch arrives in Bismarck