“Don’t judge,” Win said.

“You don’t hunt.”

“I also don’t judge. You eat meat. You wear leather. Even vegans kill animals, albeit very few of them, when they plow out fields. None of us have completely clean hands.”

Myron couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve missed you, Win.”

“Yes. Yes, you have.”

“Have you been back in the States at all?”

“Who says I ever left?” Win pointed to the sound system. “I even saw this.”

Myron had his smartphone hooked up to the car’s sound system. They were listening to the soundtrack from Hamilton. Lin-Manuel Miranda was singing with raw, naked pain in his voice, “You knock me out, I fall apart.”

“Wait,” Myron said, “you saw Hamilton?”

Win did not reply.

“But you hate musicals. I was always trying to get you to go.”

Win put his finger to his lips and pointed again. “Shh, here it comes.”

“What?”

“The last line. Listen . . . now.”

The song dealt with Hamilton’s grief after losing his son in a duel. Win put his hand to his ear as the company sang, “They are going through the unimaginable.”

“That’s Brooke,” Win said. “That’s Chick. Going through the unimaginable.”

Myron nodded. This song broke his heart every time. “We need to tell Brooke what Fat Gandhi said.”

“Yes.”

“We need to tell her now.”

“In person,” Win said.

Myron was back in the driver’s seat. He didn’t drive like Win, but he could hit the accelerator when needed. They crossed the Delaware River over the Dingmans Ferry Bridge, putting them back in New Jersey.

“Something else is bothering me,” Myron said.

“I’m listening.”

“Fat Gandhi said he didn’t know Patrick, that Patrick didn’t work for him.”

“That’s correct.”

“Patrick showed up on his turf, got into trouble with some of Fat Gandhi’s thugs, and ran away when you intervened.”

“Correct again.”

Myron shook his head. “Then this whole thing has to be a setup.”

“How so?”

“Someone emails you anonymously. He tells you where Patrick is and when he’ll be there. You go. Patrick is there, probably for the first time. Because if he had been there before, Fat Gandhi’s thugs would have roughed him up back then, right?”

Win considered that. “Makes sense.”

“So someone wanted you to find him. Someone sent Patrick—if it is Patrick—to that spot so you would”—Myron used his fingers to make quote marks—“‘rescue’ him.”

“Makes sense,” Win said again.

“Any thoughts on who?”

“No thoughts. But there is something else we need to consider.”

“What’s that?”

“According to what you told me, Mickey and Ema seem to feel that the boy might not be Patrick.”

Myron nodded. “That’s right.”

“When will we have the DNA results?”

“Joe Corless said he was working on it, priority one. Should be soon.”

“Suppose this boy isn’t Patrick,” Win said. “What’s the play then?”

“I don’t know,” Myron said. “Suppose this boy is Patrick. What’s the play then?”

On the soundtrack, Leslie Odom Jr.’s Aaron Burr is furious that Alexander Hamilton has endorsed Thomas Jefferson.