“I am not sure. I do not believe hard. The commission had directions. Many details. He was near a road.”
“Near a road?” asked Dean. “How would I say that in Vietnamese? Let me think.”
The translator in the Art Room gave him the words.
Vuong said again, Tolong’s body had been found very close to the road.
“Why wasn’t he found soon after he died?” asked Dean.
“During the war?”
The doctor shrugged.
“There were landmarks,” suggested Dean.
“Memory is the problem. It was said a friend bury,” noted Dr. Vuong. “Descriptions, jungle, war.” He finished his thought in Vietnamese.
“The war shook many memories,” said the translator, explaining. “It took some away, and it changed others. Some things I cannot explain. He was near the road, you have a point, but…”
“Anything is possible, huh?” suggested Dean.
Dr. Vuong nodded.
“I know this is an odd question,” said Dean, “but was any money found with the body?”
“Money?”
“American dollars?”
The doctor shook his head. Dean repeated the question in Vietnamese to make sure he understood.
“You have a good vocabulary,” said the doctor. “With more practice, you could speak very well.”
“Thank you,” said Dean. “Could you locate the spot where he was found on a map for me? I’d like to take a look.” He ignored Rockman when the runner told him it wasn’t necessary.
Dean studied the map as Qui drove, comparing the terrain and twists in the road to the paper as they made their way to the spot where Tolong’s body had been dug up. Dean had an extra advantage — the exact spot where the dead Marine had been recovered was recorded by a GPS reading, and the Art Room told him when he was getting close.
“Pull over there,” said Dean as they came over a rise in the road. “It was to our right.”
Fallow fields lay on both sides of the road. Dean got out of the car and began walking in the direction of the grave site.
“A little more to your left,” counseled Rockman. “You got it.”
Dean wouldn’t have needed Rockman’s guidance. Though the vegetation had reclaimed the land, the ground was in-dented where the recovery team had dug two years before.
Dean turned around. It was only ten yards from the road, if that.
“I didn’t think you were a fortune hunter, Mr. Dean,” said Qui.
“How’s that?”
“You came to Vietnam for lost treasure?”
“No.” He smiled faintly, then began walking around the edge of the area where the body had been found. There were several other excavations, all farther from the road.
The body should have been easy to find.
Dean glanced back toward the car and saw that Qui wasn’t there. He found her a short distance down the hill, standing next to fallen tree limbs.
“There was a village here during the war,” said Qui. “It’s gone. It must have been Catholic.”
“How do you know?”
She pointed to some rocks a short distance away. They were the foundation of a small building. Beyond it, Dean found several stones laid flat — gravestones. There were other signs — an overgrown path that went to the road, scattered pieces of wood and branches, worked stones that would never have appeared here randomly.
“When the VC took over, some loyal villages were razed,” said Qui. “I would imagine this was one.”
“That’s a shame.”
“The whole war was a shame,” said Qui. “To the victors, the spoils. To the losers, death.”
“We fought very hard,” said Dean, suddenly feeling that he had let her down by not saving her country.
“I’m sure you did. But someone always loses.”
94
Chief Ball’s house was dark when Lia got there. She got out of her car and walked toward the front door, not quite sure what she was going to say to him until she pressed the doorbell.
She rang twice before she saw a light flick on inside and heard footsteps.
A short, frumpy middle-aged woman dressed in a red terry-cloth robe opened the door. She stood behind the screen door, eying Lia warily.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking for Chief Ball,” said Lia.
“The chief isn’t here right now.”
“He’s not here?” said Lia. “Where would he be?”
“I don’t know,” said the woman, eying her up and down.
“Who are you?”
“Lia DeFrancesca. I’m with the federal marshals.”
“Is there trouble?”
“I have to discuss something with him, about a case.”
“I can have him call you in the morning.”
“I’m here, Elizabeth,” said a voice behind her. “Thank you. Go back to bed now.”
The chief appeared behind his wife. She glanced at him as if she was going to say something, then moved away. Ball opened the door and stepped outside. He’d taken the time to dress, even putting on his shoes.
“What is it you want?” he asked Lia.
“Amanda Rauci. She’s disappeared. We’re hoping to track her down.”
“Rauci is who?”
Lia’s explanation leaned fairly heavily on the possibility that Amanda might have run away because she was somehow involved in murdering Forester, and hinted that she might have retrieved some evidence from the area. Lia left out the fact that Rauci had done a credit check on Ball roughly six hours before.
“Rauci.” Ball squirreled up his face. “Was she the one in my office this afternoon?”
“Was she?”
“Well, it was someone. She was a Secret Service agent, right? Wouldn’t tell me what the hell it was about.”
“Did she have a notebook with her?”
“Notebook. Maybe. The one you asked about?”
“Did she have it?” Lia asked.
“She might have. I didn’t take inventory.”
“What did she want?”
“She asked whether I’d spoken to Forester before he died.
I told her the same thing I’ve told everyone else. No. You people don’t seem to take no for an answer.”
“Do you?”
Ball frowned. “You telling me she’s missing?”
“She’s in this area.”
“How do you know?”
“She used her credit card locally.”
“So why do you think she’s missing?” asked Ball.
“No one’s seen or heard from her in days.”
