“I have his full confession.” I turn my attention back to Hoch. “I know what happened to your mother. Some of this will be difficult for you to hear, but I think there are some things you need to know.”

He opens his mouth, but no words come. For an instant, his lips quiver, like a mute man trying to speak. “It’s terrible?”

“It’s bad,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”

Hannah sinks into the chair next to him, sets her hand on his forearm again, and squeezes so firmly, her knuckles turn white. “We value the light more fully after we’ve come through the darkness,” she murmurs in Pennsylvania Dutch.

Bolstered by her words, Hoch looks at me and nods.

As gently as possible, leaving out most of the sordid details, I convey to him the account of events that Blue relayed to me earlier. “She passed away two months ago,” I finish.

He blinks at me, hurt and confusion twisting his features. “But if she was alive, why didn’t she come back?”

“We may never know.” I shrug. “Maybe she suffered a traumatic brain injury. Sometimes those kinds of injuries can affect memory, and in some cases, the patient’s personality. She may not have remembered who she was or even her name.”

“Blue Branson did that to her?” he asks, incredulous. “Forced her and then left her for dead?”

“Yes.”

Next to him, Hannah lowers her head and puts her face in her hands. “She is with God now. At peace. We can take comfort in that.”

The Amish man sets both elbows on the table and looks down at the untouched mug of cider in front of him. “She was alive. All this time.”

“Hoch, I know this is difficult, but there’s more.”

“There’s more than that?” He raises his gaze to mine. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Was your mother with child when she disappeared? Had she mentioned it?”

“With child? No.” He says the word with a defensiveness that tells me he knows where I’m going with this.

“I believe your mother had a child. A daughter.”

“What? But … When?” Making a sound of distress, he sets his fingers against his temples and massages. “I have a sister?” He raises his head. My heart twists when I see a tremulous smile on his lips. “A sister.”

“Hoch, it’s more complicated than that. We’re looking for her. We think—”

“Looking for her? You mean the police? But why?”

“I’m sorry, but I think she may be involved with these murders.”

He goes still. “You think she killed those three people?” His gaze searches mine. In their depths, I see his mind digging into all the dark crevices of the past. Remembering things he’s been trying to forget. “How old is this woman who claims to be my sister?”

“She’s about thirty-five years old.”

Hannah goes to the sink and begins to wash her mug.