of them was married, but yes, her husband might could
do it. A gal from El Salvador. Said her name was Strella.
I think her husband’s name is Ramon. Mr. Lomax can
tell you. They live in the migrant camp on the other side
of the field. She was here twice last summer. First time
was to help me turn all the mattresses and he came in
and saw her. Second time, I guess she was stretched out
on one of the mattresses.”
“Who else, Mrs. Samuelson?”
Reluctantly, she gave up two more names. “Both
of ’em white, but I haven’t seen either of them in this
house in over a year. Mrs. Smith pretty much had a lock
on him.”
They all looked up as Denning came to the kitchen
door. There was a smudge of fingerprint powder on his
chin, more on his fingers. He crossed to the sink to
wash his hands and Mrs. Samuelson immediately rose
and tore off some paper towels.
“Thanks,” he said, drying his hands.
“Any luck?” Dwight asked.
“It’s a match. No question about it. The state lab can
take a look if you want, Major, but it’s Harris.”
153
MARGARET MARON
While Mrs. Samuelson showed Richards and Denning
over the house and the nearer outbuildings, Dwight
called Reid Stephenson as he had promised and asked
him to notify the Harris daughter before it hit the news
media. “And you might as well tell Pete Taylor so he
can pass the word on to Mrs. Harris.”
Then he and Jamison drove along a lane that was a
shortcut over to the farm manager’s home. Trim and
tidy, the white clapboard house appeared to date from
the late thirties and sat in a grove of pecan trees whose
buds were beginning to swell in the mild spring air.
No one appeared when Dwight tapped the horn, but
through the open window of the truck, they could hear
the sound of tractors in the distance and they followed
another lane past a line of scrubby trees and out into a
forty- or fifty-acre field. Two tractors were preparing
the ground for planting. A third tractor seemed to be
in trouble. It was surrounded by a mechanic’s truck,
two pickups with a Harris Farms logo on the doors, and
several Latino and Anglo men.
As the two deputies drew near, a tall Anglo detached
himself from the group.
“Mr. Lomax?” Dwight asked. “Sid Lomax?”
The man nodded in wary acknowledgment. He wore
a billed cap that did not hide the flecks of gray at his
