Page 80 of The Hidden One

I let out a breath, hear it shudder. I know he hears it. I know he’s going to ask before he does.

“You still love him?”

“No, but I care. Too much. I feel guilty for … what happened. To him. His family. The role I played. I want to make it right. I’m not sure how. It might be too late.”

Another pause, part thoughtful, part baffled. He’s usually grumpy first thing in the morning. He’s the guy you don’t talk to pre-coffee unless you want a smartass reply. He knows this is an important moment. He’s being kind.

“It was a long time ago,” I tell him. “But I needed to get it off my chest.”

“Just so you know,” he says. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

“I trust you, Kate,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

He sighs. “That said, I’m pretty damn glad you’re not in love with another dude.”

“That would have really complicated things, wouldn’t it?”

We laugh and some of the ugliness loose inside me scampers back into its hole.

“You sound exhausted.”

“And weird, I know.”

“So what’s going on?”

I tell him all of it, leaving nothing out, ending with my happenstance visit to the Triangle Bar and Grill and my conversation with Bob the bartender.

“I know it seems unlikely,” I say, “but it would explain just about everything.”

“Text me the image of the badge,” he says.

I put him on speaker, find the pic and send it. “I feel like all of this is pretty far out there.”

“Timeline is right. In terms of his age, anyway.” He falls silent and I know he’s looking at the image. “Let me take a closer look.”

“Thank you.”

“There aren’t many of these war criminals left, Kate. They’re in their nineties or older now. Most are dead. But I know there are a couple of organizations that are working to identify remains, both perpetrator and victim. Do you know if there’s DNA?”

“The remains found in the field are at a forensic lab in Erie. I don’t know if they were able to extract DNA.”

“They use the Erie Regional Laboratory,” he says. “Let me make some calls.”

“Do you have any contacts in Pennsylvania?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“All of this seems like a long shot,” I tell him.

He makes a sound that’s not quite a laugh. “That might be a little optimistic.”

“Even if the DNA identifies Stoltzfus as another individual, it can’t tell us who killed him.”

“No, but it opens up a new field of possibilities,” he says.