Conspiracy

129

“Why would they need DNA?” Mrs. Ball asked Lia. Her lip trembled. “Is he… did they find him… is he…?”

“He’s still missing, Mrs. Ball. It’s just a general precaution.” Lia struggled to find the magic formula that would get the DNA sample she needed voluntarily, without having to take out the warrant. Doing so would surely tip Ball off, if he wasn’t tipped off already.

“It’s how they identify bodies.”

“They can also use traces to see if someone was at a certain place,” said Lia. “You’d be surprised — sweat from a finger on an elevator button. I don’t think they have anything specific, but they want to be prepared.”

“Maybe in his comb,” said Mrs. Ball finally. She led Lia upstairs to the bedroom.

“Does he have any places he liked to go to be alone?” Lia asked. “A place people might not think of, a park or something? Somewhere he might be contemplative?” Some place where he might bring a nosey investigator, Lia thought, though she didn’t say.

“I don’t know. He wasn’t — he didn’t contemplate.” Mrs.

Ball went into the bathroom and returned with a comb. Lia took out the plastic Baggie she’d bought at the supermarket and put the comb inside. Then she pointed to the medal she’d spotted yesterday and asked about it again.

Mrs. Ball shrugged. Her head was drooping. Lia thought she was resigning herself to her husband’s death. She probably thought Lia was lying to protect her, and that he really had been found and they wanted to cinch the identification before telling her.

Lia turned to another photo on the wall, one that showed Ball about twenty years younger, a rifle in his hand and a deer at his feet.

“Does he like to hunt?” Lia asked.

“Oh yes, of course. Every year he gets his deer. After a few weeks I’m quite sick of venison.” Mrs. Ball smiled, her mood lifting slightly.

“Where does he hunt?”

“A few places. The Castro farm down in Clinton. Then there’s Irv Burdick’s property along Stissing Mountain.

That’s pretty good. Irv keeps one of the old farm houses in decent shape up there for some hunting friends, and the chief used to spend the night for a very early start. Car noise spooked the deer. Hasn’t had to do that in a while, though — more deer than he can shoot. Plus, I think his back bothers him if he doesn’t sleep on a thick mattress. Irv was a little cheap about that.”

“Could you point out those properties on a map for me?” Lia asked.

“He wouldn’t be hunting this time of year.”

“Probably not,” said Lia. “But maybe he’s up there thinking.”