On top of the cost of the medals, there are costs associated with framing them and handing them over in person - something Fike has vowed to do ever since that first return of Corrado Piccoli's Purple Heart. He can no longer return all the medals himself, but still travels across the country most weekends, sometimes spending the night in his car rather than paying for a hotel. "I try to pinch as many pennies as possible," he says.

All this has taken a toll on family life, and on his finances. His organisation relies entirely on donations, but occasionally Fike pays for medals out of his own pocket - he has spent thousands of dollars over the years.

There is a sense of urgency, particularly with World War Two medals, as the men who earned them, if they are still alive, may not be around much longer.

Joyce Fike still looks out for medals when she visits antique shops. She doesn't feel as strongly about the issue as her son does, and doesn't get into arguments. "You just buy it and do the right thing with it," she says. "I don't think that you're going to change their mind by talking to them. So you pay for it and say thank you and leave the store."

She is proud of what her son has done for soldiers' families. "He's given them peace because a lot of them just didn't have any information," she says. "They knew that their loved one had passed on, but they didn't know where and how, and he's answered a lot of questions for them."

Perhaps at heart Zachariah Fike is a detective of stories. He sits up half the night searching online for the clues that will link a medal to a soldier, and putting the thread of a narrative together - the battle, the injury, the torpedo or kamikaze attack survived, the act of bravery and the decorations that followed. He reconnects the medal with its story.

Then he tells that story as he returns the medal, and within the family - and sometimes beyond - that story is re-told, honouring the soldier, who may be alive, or long-dead.

"We're preserving history," he says, "through telling their stories."