Prayer for the Dead by David Wiltse

became an actor and changed his name to Sal Jensen because there was another actor in Actors’ Equity named Sal D’Amico and they have a rule about that kind of duplication.”
    “You mean all these guys changed their names? Because Mick didn’t.”
    “D’Amico is the only one who changed his name, but it was how he changed it. He did what a lot of actors do, they tell me. He didn’t just make something up the way they used to do in Hollywood. And he didn’t just add a middle initial—apparently all the actors with middle initials? It’s because someone else has registered their name.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “No reason ever to think about it. It’s only an actor’s problem. But what D’Amico did that was significant was to take his mother’s maiden name, Jensen. Do you know Mick’s mother’s maiden name?”
    “Her maiden name? That’s Gloria’s brother’s wife, Julie, and she came from Hartford and they’d already been married for about ten years before I even met Gloria—I don’t know. I can find out.”
    “It’s Peterssen.”
    “Right. That sounds kind of familiar. I think I met her father in Hartford once. So, it’s Peterson. So what?”
    “No flash of insight? No light bulb over your head?”
    “Give me a break, John. If I had flashes of insight, would I stand here and let you insult my stupidity?”
    “They are both Scandinavian names. They are all Scandinavian names.”
    Becker pushed another key and eight names came up on the screen.
    “Eight of them,” he continued. “Eight of them with mothers with Scandinavian names. Not their own names. Their mothers. Only two of them had Scandinavian names themselves.”
    “Wait a minute. Peterson could be English, couldn’t it?”
    “If you say it aloud, yes. The s-e-n ending and the s-o-n ending sound the same. You have to see it written to know the difference. And s-e-n is Scandinavian. Primarily Danish or Norwegian, although it could be Swedish as well. With two esses it could also be Icelandic.”
    “Icelandic?”
    “Look at the names. Tee. Peterssen, Jensen, Cederquist, Nordhohn, Dahl, Lmd, Hedstrom, Nilsson.
    Each of those is definitely Scandinavian. Not maybe, not could also be German or Dutch or English. Definitely Scandinavian.”
    “How do you know this crap?”
    “I have a library card.”
    “So what’s going on? There’s some secret meeting of Danes and everyone is sneaking out to it, or what?”
    “They’re not going on their own. Someone’s taking them.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I don’t believe in cabals. Tee. I don’t believe in secret summonses or mysterious inheritances or a gathering of the trolls or aliens. I don’t look for fancy explanations. Maybe it’s just a predisposition because of my training, but this stinks all over the place. If they have anything else in common, I can’t find out what it is. They range in age from twenty-five to thirty-six, they’re male, they live around here, and that’s it.”
    “Except for their mothers.”
    “Except for their mothers’ names. The mothers don’t have much in common, either, although I need to look at that further. It’s not as if they just got off the boat from Copenhagen. Most of the families have been here for many generations. Their only link to Scandinavia is the surname.”
    “Who would care if they had Scandinavian names? What difference does it make?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “And who would even know the surnames?”
    “Bingo, Tee. No wonder you’re the chief. Who would know the names? You didn’t know your nephew’s mother’s maiden name. And not only know the names, but know them correctly, by spelling. Someone with access to records, obviously. And what kind of records have women’s maiden names?”
    “Marriage records.”
    “Correct, but marriage licenses don’t tell you if the woman has or had or will have a child.”
    “Hospitals, birth certificates.”
    “Which will tell you a child was born, but not if