I put my chin in my hand, exaggerated Rodin Thinker. “You’re right. This morning when I mentioned that I’m in town looking for Emerald Ferring, you didn’t react. You must not have realized that Lucinda Ferring was her mother. Not a common name, but perhaps you didn’t know your lab tech’s surname.”

“You came to me with wild questions about my daughter. Forgive me if those seemed more important than someone who worked for me decades ago.” Kiel’s voice dripped heavy sarcasm.

I nodded judicially: good point. “Did you stop at the hospital to see your daughter on your way here? I know it’s hard for you and Mrs. Kiel to get over there, but I visited her at the end of the afternoon.”

“How is she doing?” the young man, Pinsen, asked.

Again the nagging thought crossed my mind that I’d seen him before, but it came and went so quickly I couldn’t hold it.

“Not well. She’s breathing on her own. That’s the best the ICU nurse could tell me.”

“The dead woman at the farm,” Roswell said. “How did you know to look for her?”

I stared at him, astonished. “Why do you care?”

His leathery skin darkened. He didn’t answer immediately but seemed to be fishing for words. “Her land abuts one of our experimental farms. If a killer is running loose, I want my farmhands to be on the lookout. The sheriff tells me it was the black kid from Chicago who killed McKinnon.”

“You’re sure you don’t want a drink?” the colonel interjected.

“I’m over my limit, and my dog is waiting for me,” I said. “The black kid from Chicago, Sheriff Gisborne said? There’s a specific youth he knows about?”

“Don’t play games, Warshawski,” Kiel said. “You’ve broadcast all over town and the university that you’re here hunting for a fugitive couple.”

“People tell me you’re a careful and knowledgeable scientist,” I said. “So you know how important it is not to use language carelessly. The people I’m looking for have disappeared. They are fugitives, but not from justice. Their friends believe they are in danger, either from a trigger-happy lawman or from the people who killed Ms. McKinnon.”

I turned to Roswell. “Why did the sheriff report Ms. McKinnon’s murder to you? As far as I can tell, the story hasn’t even made the local news. Are you some kind of special deputy or Gisborne’s nephew?”

Roswell swirled what was left of his drink and drank it down. “Dr. Kiel has already said you like to butt into other people’s business, and I see what he means. Why the sheriff chose to call me has nothing to do with you, but if you know where your missing friends are, you’d do well to produce them.”