soon as they were compared with the killer’s prints.
They were uneasy and highly suspicious, but Lomax
went first and that helped convince them that they were
not being singled out. As he wiped the ink from his
fingers, the others came forward one by one and let
210
HARD ROW
Denning ink their fingertips and roll each one across
the proper square on the white cards. Someone woke up
the man in the cot. Reeking of alcohol, he, too, shuffled
over to give his prints.
When Denning started to pack up their cards, Richards
said, “No. I told them they’d be destroyed as soon as
you did the comparison, so why don’t you go ahead and
do it now while we’re questioning them, okay?”
Grumbling, Denning went out for a powerful magni-
fying glass and his field microscope and set to work. He
had blown up the prints of the killer and marked the most
prominent identifiers on each print—the forks, eyes,
bridges, spurs, deltas, and island ridges that are easiest
to spot. From the position of the killer’s fingerprints on
the bloody axe handle, he was able to say which were
the three middle ones, which meant he could look for
conspicuous markers on one of the workers’ three right
fingers and see if they matched one on the killer’s.
While he squinted at the lines and ridges, Lomax un-
locked a nearby door that opened onto quarters for a
couple with children. It was marginally better than the
bunkhouse: a good-sized eat-in kitchen that also func-
tioned as a den with thrift store couch and chairs, two
tiny bedrooms, a half-bath with sink and toilet.
“Mrs. Harris comes out a couple of times a season to
check on things,” Lomax told Jamison and Richards.
“Makes sure the stoves and toilets and refrigerators
work. Has the Goodwill store deliver a load of furniture
every year or so. She’s good about that.”
“Even after their separation?” asked Jamison.
“Oh yeah. The big house isn’t part of Harris Farms,
but the camp and the sheds are. She was over here the
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MARGARET MARON
day we moved the others to Farm Number Three to see
what was going to need replacing or fixing.”
“Was Harris around?”
“Like I told Major Bryant, ma’am. I didn’t see him
after Sunday dinner at the Cracker Barrel. I figured he
knew she was going to be here, so he just stayed out of
her way. She’s got a right sharp tongue on her, if you
know what I mean.”
Despite their earlier friction, Jamison raised an eye-
