Long Lost by David Morrell Page A

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 a while 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