Prayer for the Dead by David Wiltse Page A

he’s still alive at least twenty-five years later, or if he lives around here.”
    “We need something where a woman with a Scandinavian last name tells you she’s got a son at least twenty-five years old?”
    “Or vice versa. A form of some kind where the son gives his mother’s maiden name.”
    “Hell, John, that could be credit-card applications, job applications, a lot of things.”
    “Except I’m sure these men didn’t all apply for the same job. The army takes that kind of information, but only two of our men were in it.”
    “Social security?”
    “No.”
    “The goddammed census, I don’t know, what?”
    “The census is an idea. Tee, although I don’t think they take that kind of information, but I’ll check it out.”
    “You know the answer already or you wouldn’t be jumping me through the hoops. Where would you get the information?”
    “Insurance. There are other ways, but they’re harder and not local. The same insurance salesman could easily cover our four towns. And he doesn’t even have to sell you a policy to get the information. They offer to see if they can beat your present insurance rate, you know. Just fill out the form and they’ll get you a free quote, no obligation to buy.”
    “I always knew I didn’t like insurance salesmen. So we have to find out if the same insurance salesman talked to all of these men who disappeared?”
    “To begin with, we have to see if the same one talked to even two of them. That’s something to start with, but it won’t be easy to find out. Would your wife remember if you had a talk with an insurance salesman six months ago? A year ago? We don’t know how long this guy waits once he selects his victim.”
    “Victim? You’re sure that’s what’s going on?”
    “Nope. I’m still hoping it’s a case of mass amnesia. But in the meanwhile, I’ll stay cynical.”
    “But why the mothers? Wouldn’t it be easier to just pick men with Scandinavian names, if that’s what you were after?”
    “Easier, but it would make for an obvious pattern. I only stumbled onto this because of the actor. It wouldn’t show up in a routine scan of the victims’ case studies. It didn’t for you, did it?”
    “You think Mick’s dead, then?”
    “I think we should start checking out insurance salesmen.”
    “Damn it, Becker, I’m not Laurie! Tell me what you think. Is he dead?”
    “Did you get a ransom note?”
    “Of course not. Why would anybody kidnap Mick? He doesn’t have any money …”
    “You’ve checked hospitals, traffic fatalities … It’s not just Mick, there are eight of them. Christ, Tee, you brought this thing to me yourself. What did you think it was? Things like this go on. All the time, all over the country. Read the newspaper; there’s a new case every other month. The Hillside Strangler, the Atlanta murders, John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy. There’s some farm couple in Missouri in their seventies who killed at least twenty and counting. Sometimes I think it’s a national competition. And the newspapers are just interested in the big numbers. You never even hear about the creep in Arizona who got caught after three, or the one in Baton Rouge who … Maybe I’m wrong. Tee. Give me another explanation.”
    Tee was silent for a moment. Becker looked away, giving him the time in privacy.
    “Okay,” said Tee at length. ,
    “Sorry. Maybe I’m wrong.”
    “Okay.”
    “It’s my experience. Tee. My training. I look for the worst.”
    “I accept that it’s not UFOs … It’s just that Mick and I … okay.”
    “It’s not just about Mick, Tee.”
    “I know.”
    “It’s happening faster, his pace is accelerating. He took the first four in thirty months. He took the last four in eighteen. The time between Timmy Heegan and Mick was only two months. His appetite is getting ravenous, the need is consuming him.”
    “The need?”
    “That’s what it is. That’s what it becomes. Maybe not the first time; that could be accident or