David Morrell - Long lost

"How much less power?"

"With the nine-millimeter? Let's put it this way, it gets the job done. Actually, the only reason the magazine in this nine-millimeter holds only ten rounds is that in the mid-1990s, Congress passed an anti-assault weapon law that limits the capacity of handgun magazines. But before the law…"

"Yes?"

"There's a gun show in town Saturday. I'll introduce you to a friend who's willing to sell a prelaw Beretta nine-millimeter that holds fifteen rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber."

"That's a lot."

"You bet. Don't misunderstand. There's nothing illegal about him selling the weapon. The law only forbids manufacturing or importing magazines that hold more than ten rounds. But because my friend bought his before the law was enacted, it's legal. That model doesn't come on the market often, so I expect you'll have to pay extra."

"Naturally."

"But after that…" The clerk looked uncomfortable.

"After that?"

"No offense. You're obviously new to this. So you don't shoot your foot off, you might want to take some lessons."

In the darkness beyond my window, the first snowstorm of the season gusted, but I hardly paid attention, too busy using Internet addresses that Payne had given me: sites that he said the FBI favored for researching places. Next to my new laptop computer, I had dictionaries and thesauruses to help me find words associated with redemption. Most weren't promising. I couldn't imagine anyone calling a place Atonement, Propitiation, Mediation, Intercession, or Judgment, for example. As it turned out, a village in Utah was called Judgment.

On the wall to my right, I'd attached a large map of the United States. Periodically, I got up and stuck a labeled thumbtack where a place's name had a religious connotation. After several hours, there were tacks all over the country, but no pattern. None was in Montana. I was beginning to understand why Gader hadn't wanted to investigate my theory.

My discouragement increased when I suddenly realized how many places had been named after saints. More thumbtacks got added to the map. I soon didn't have any more.

"How does a person create a false identity?"

Payne considered my question while tapping fish food into the tank. His chair creaked when he settled his weight into it. "The way it used to be done, first you pick a city where you've never lived."

"Why?"

"To prevent your real identity and your assumed one from contaminating each other. If you were raised in Cleveland, you don't want the character you're creating to have come from there, too. Otherwise, someone investigating your new identity might go there, show your photograph around, and find someone who remembers you under your real name."

I nodded.

"So you go to a different part of the country. But avoid small communities where everybody knows everybody else and can tell an investigator immediately whether someone who looks like you ever came from there. Pick a city; there's less continuity; memories are shorter. Let's say you choose Los Angeles or Seattle. Go to the public library there and read newspapers that came out a few years after you were born. You're looking for disasters-house fires, car accidents, that sort of thing-in which entire families were killed. That detail's important because you don't want anyone left alive to be able to contradict your story. Study the obituaries of the victims. You're looking for an ethnically compatible male child who, if he had lived, would be the same age you are now."

"And then?"

"Let's say the victim you choose to impersonate was named Robert Keegan. His obituary will probably tell you where he was born. You send away for a copy of his birth certificate. Not a big deal. People lose copies of their birth certificates all the time. Public-record offices are used to that kind of request."

"But…" I frowned. "If Robert Keegan died, won't there be a note about it on his birth certificate, some kind of cross-reference?"

"Not in the days before computers became an essential part of our society," Payne said. "The year that you were born, information wasn't exchanged efficiently. The authorities would send you the copy of Robert Keegan's birth certificate without giving it another thought. Wait awhile so that a further inquiry about Robert Keegan won't attract attention. Then contact the hall of records for a copy of Robert Keegan's death certificate. The reason I mentioned Los Angeles and Seattle earlier is that the states of California and Washington put Social Security numbers on their death certificates. Many parents apply to get a Social Security number for their children while they're filling out birth certificate forms in the hospital, so the odds are Keegan had one, even though he died young. With his birth certificate and his Social Security number, you can get a driver's license, a passport, and any other major identification that you need. You can get a job, pay taxes, and open a bank account. In short, you can assume his identity." Payne gave me a long look. "But we're not talking about you."

"No, we're talking about my brother. If Lester Dant were dead, could Petey have assumed his identity the way you just explained?"

Payne kept studying me. "Before your brother was first arrested, photographed, fingerprinted, and booked as Lester Dant? Theoretically."

"Then I'm not crazy." I let out a long breath. "Petey and Dant could be the same person. Dant could be Petey's alias."

"But it didn't happen," Payne said.

"What?"

"Your brother didn't assume Lester Dant's identity."

"How can you be so damned sure?"

"Because earlier this morning, I paid a visit to Gader. We knew each other when I was with the Bureau. For old times' sake, I asked to be allowed to review Dant's file."

I felt uneasy about what Payne was leading up to.

"The file was very revealing," Payne said. "You were so insistent that your brother and Dant were the same man, Gader had Dant's background double-checked. There's no death certificate anywhere. Moreover, Dant didn't even apply for a Social Security number until he was a teenager. The signature on the application is consistent with the signatures Dant had to give at the various times he was arrested. Dant and your brother are two different people."

"No."

"It's the truth," Payne said.

"That means my wife and son are dead!"

"Not necessarily. Without evidence to the contrary, there's always a reason to hope."

"Without their corpses, you mean."

Payne didn't reply for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mr. Denning."

I stared toward the fish tank. "You didn't see the look in Petey's eyes when he told me about the goldfish that he and I had buried in the backyard and how the neighbor's cat dug it up. He didn't say it as if he were remembering something he'd heard. His eyes had the clarity of someone who'd been there. That was Petey talking to me."

"Perhaps. But I haven't the faintest idea how you can prove it." "I will." I stood. "Believe me, somehow I will." "Before you go, I've been meaning to ask you something." I stopped at the doorway and looked back at him. "From my years with the Bureau, my nose is sensitive to the smell of cordite. That smell is on my right hand from when we shook hands when you came in. Have you been using firearms, Mr. Denning?"

"Ready on the firing line!" the female instructor barked.

We straightened.

"Ready on the right!"

We checked in that direction.

"Ready on the left!"

Through safety glasses, we checked in that direction, making sure that nobody was doing anything careless.

"One," the instructor yelled, "grip your holstered weapon! Two, draw and aim from the waist! Three, raise your weapon to your line of sight! Four, press the trigger!"