“I know you were at the Hochstetler farm the night Willis Hochstetler was shot and killed. I know the others were there, too. You went in to steal cash. It should have been an easy hit. Amish family. Pacifists. A quick in and out. But something went wrong, didn’t it?”

Shock resonates in his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no words come.

“I’m sure you’re aware that there’s no statute of limitations on murder,” I tell him.

“I think I’d like to call my lawyer.”

“I think you’re going to need one.” I look down at the file in front of me, letting the silence work. Then I ask, “Do you know who murdered the others?”

“No.”

“What happened to Wanetta Hochstetler?”

A ripple moves through his body. His fingers twitch on the table in front of him. But he doesn’t reply.

“Did you kill her, Blue? Was it an accident? Did you bury her body somewhere? Leave her for dead?” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “I will get to the bottom of it. You help me now, and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

Setting my hands on the table between us, I partially rise and lean toward him so that my face is only a foot away from his, close enough to smell the meaty odor of his skin. “I have a witness who can put you at the scene. It’s over. You’re done. Do you understand?”

He stares at me, saying nothing.

I move away, work the handcuffs from the compartment on my belt. “Stand up and turn around. Give me your wrists.”

Blue Branson rises and turns his back to me and offers his wrists. I thought I’d draw some small sense of satisfaction from this moment—solving a thirty-five-year-old open case and taking a killer into custody—but the only thing I feel in the pit of my stomach is a great deal of emptiness.

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Someone always knows something.

When I was a rookie patrol officer in Columbus, I partnered up with a veteran cop by the name of Howie Sharpe. He was old school and just six months away from retirement. I worked my first major case with Howie. A six-year-old girl, little Melissa Sussman, had gone missing, and the entire police department worked around the clock to find her. Like so many missing child cases, Melissa’s story didn’t end happily. But I learned more in the course of that case than at any time in my career. Howie always told me: “Someone always knows something.” It was one of his favorite idioms, and that case proved it true, albeit too late for the child.