“Although?”

Matthews was frowning a little, clearly troubled. “Is it important, Agent?”

“It could be very important.”

“I was just going to say that from all I’ve seen, Danny has always seemed pretty much . . . absorbed in his own concerns. Not very interested in mixing with others. His family has always been the sort to—as the saying is around here—keep themselves to themselves. They were never active in the Hales family real estate business, except that they own a considerable number of rental properties and land they lease to farmers, which provides an income for them.”

“Danny doesn’t have a job?”

“He handles the properties for his mother, I understand.”

Hollis studied him, her head still tilted to one side. “So not a job with regular business hours, I take it. Does he have hobbies that you know of?”

“He likes to hike. Always out roaming in the mountains.”

“I see.” She focused without really being aware of what she was doing, reaching deeper than what she could see and hear. “Reverend . . . what is it about Danny that makes you uneasy?”

He looked somewhat startled. “Uneasy?”

“Yes. Something about him disturbs you. What is it?”

“It’s—it’s nothing I know firsthand, Agent. My father, Lucius Matthews, was pastor of this church before me, twenty years ago, and he had certain reservations about Danny. But Danny was only a child then, and it was so long ago.”

“What sort of reservations did he have?”

“I gather it was more a matter of temperament than anything else. He thought Danny was too quick to strike out at other children when he didn’t get his way. He was especially prone to do that whenever any other child took something that belonged to him. Apparently there were some troubling scenes during Bible school one summer.”

DeMarco was also studying the reverend, his gaze intent. “What happened after that, Reverend?”

“What happened? I don’t know what you mean.”

“What did your father do? About Danny?”

Matthews frowned. “He didn’t do anything. He was going to talk to Angela Dryden, suggest that a therapist might help the boy deal with his temper.”

“Why didn’t he talk to her?”

“Because he died, Agent.”

Hollis exchanged glances with her partner, then said, “I’m sorry if this is painful for you, Reverend, but how did your father die?”

Somewhat stiffly, Matthews said, “It was an accident. In this very office, Agent. He was cleaning one of his guns, and . . . There was no question of suicide, I promise you. His cleaning supplies were all out on the desk, his shotgun cleaned and set aside. We never knew for certain why it happened, but somehow one of his target pistols went off. He was shot in the head.”

“Do you have a picture of your father here, Reverend?”

Looking a little bewildered now, Reverend Matthews pointed to one of the walls, where a large grouping of photos hung. “There, in front of this church. It’s the last photo we have of him.”