Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

piling it on, depending on your point of view.” His voice is light, but he’s looking at me a little too closely. He’s worried about how I’m reacting to the discovery of Daniel Lapp’s remains, I realize, and what that discovery could mean if they’re identified.
    “You busy?” he asks.
    I roll my eyes. “Come in.”
    He enters the kitchen and goes to the table. I feel silly because I was expecting … something else. Pretending I wasn’t, I join him at the table.
    “I thought you might want to talk about those remains,” he begins.
    “You mean in addition to the possibility that I’m in deep shit?”
    He scowls at me. “Who’s the investigating agency?”
    “Coshocton County.”
    “You know them?”
    I shake my head. “I’ve met the sheriff, but I don’t know him. We’re not friends.”
    “We received a call from someone down there today,” he tells me. “Bones are already at the lab. They want DNA.”
    Of course I’d known that would happen. But hearing the words spoken aloud sends a quiver of anxiety through my gut. “What are the odds that they’ll get it?”
    “Seventeen years is a long time for DNA to survive, but it’s not out of the question.” He shrugs. “It depends on how well the bones fared. The pit is dry, and that bodes well for the preservation of DNA. If it was a wet, muddy area, probably not. There might be DNA in the teeth.” He gives me a direct look. “Since I’ve worked this area in the past, it won’t be deemed unusual for me to stay on top of it.”
    While it will be good to be kept abreast of any developments, forensic or otherwise, we both know there’s nothing we can do about the outcome.
    “Kate, do you think Lapp had dental records? I mean with him being Amish?”
    “The Amish generally don’t have a problem with going to the dentist if they’re having problems, like a toothache or something. That said, they’re not big on preventative tooth care. Daniel was young; I’m betting he hadn’t yet been to the dentist.”
    “That could work in our favor.”
    “Even if they are able to extract DNA,” I say, “don’t they need something to compare it to? A hair root or something?”
    “Or a close relative.”
    “He’s got a brother. Benjamin.”
    “Keep in mind that because of the relatively small gene pool, that kind of analysis could be difficult to interpret,” he points out.
    “Benjamin knows Daniel worked at my parents’ farm that day,” I tell him.
    “Are the parents still around?” he asks.
    “They passed away a few years ago.”
    He falls silent, thinking. “Do you know if they filed a missing person report when Lapp disappeared?”
    “They did, but waited almost forty-eight hours before going to the police.”
    “Why did they wait so long?”
    “Lapp was on rumspringa. I guess it wasn’t unusual for him to stay out all night. By the end of the second day, they got worried and started looking, went to the police when they didn’t find him.”
    “Was he a drinker?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Devout?”
    “Not really.”
    “So as far as anyone knows, anything could have happened to him. He could have fallen in with bad company. Gotten involved with drugs. Met with a bad end somewhere else.”
    I nod, understanding. “There was talk that he’d wanted to leave the Amish.”
    He considers that for a moment. “Do you have access to the file?”
    “Yes.” I don’t tell him I’ve pulled the file a hundred times over the years, that I’ve memorized every detail and if he asked, I could recite every word of it verbatim.
    “Don’t take this the wrong way, Kate, but you know you can’t alter that file in any way, right?”
    “I can’t believe you felt the need to say that.”
    “Just covering all our bases.”
    I realize he’s only trying to help me, that he’s taking a certain risk himself by getting involved in this mess. But I need for him to know there are certain lines I wouldn’t cross. Compromising my ethics is one of them.
    “Tomasetti, for God’s sake, I’m not a criminal.” I raise my hands to my temples and massage at the headache that’s beginning to rage.
    “I know what you are and what you aren’t,” he says, unsympathetic.
    “I killed a man. That makes me a murderer.”
    “You defended yourself from a rapist. You give that to any court in the country and you’ll be acquitted.”
    I want those words and the vehemence with which he spoke them to make me feel better, but they don’t. We both