The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Millay’s chapter and noticed the sender was Professor Billinger. He’d sent her an enormous attachment, and she could only hope that he’d discovered something useful. The moment she read his message, she knew that he had.
    Dear Olivia,

    I hope this note finds you well. Excuse the clichés, but I have been burning the candle at both ends in search of more information on the ill-fated lovers. After exhausting the documents at the North Carolina Museum of History, I traveled to DC and began hunting there.
    I won’t bore you with the details, but within the seemingly endless archives of the Library of Congress, I found a treasure trove of documents and photographs on the prison camps of North Carolina. There were dozens of photographs from Camp New Bern, including the one I’ve attached featuring our mutual friend, Heinrich Kamler. Unlike the photo you saw in my office, this one shows his face quite clearly, and as you can see, Kamler stands apart from the rest of the prisoners.
    I’ve also attached images of his watercolor rendition of the camp and some shots of the men taking exercise and engaged in other daily tasks. I still have many letters and military reports to wade through and will be in touch if I stumble across anything that could be of use to you.
    Please let me know if you’ve made any fresh discoveries. I believe we make an excellent research team.

    Affectionately yours,
Emmett Billinger
    Olivia scrolled down, her finger hovering over the mouse as her eyes drank in the black-and-white photograph showing a group of uniformed prisoners standing on a row of wooden bleachers. A baseball game was in progress, and the spectators were facing the camera, relaxed and grinning.
    The caption indicated that Heinrich Kamler was the last man in the second row, and Olivia immediately understood what Billinger had meant by his comment that Kamler stood apart from the others. He was a head taller than the rest of the men and had a lean, wiry body and the kind of chiseled, handsome face that would be at home on a movie screen. His eyes gazed into middle distance, but the unmistakable look of longing struck Olivia to the quick. She had seen the same expression in those very eyes. Recently.
    Her mouth went dry.
    She stared at the square jaw, the smooth brow, and the straight, proud nose and wanted to put her head back and cry out in misery. Instead, she hit the print button, pacing back and forth in front of the printer as it strung the pixels together into an image. An image that would shake the entire community.
    Haviland watched her with anxious eyes, but Olivia was too lost in the picture emerging from the printer to pay him any heed.
    The machine completed its task and the image fell neatly into a tray. Olivia snatched it up and carried it to the window. There was no denying it. The eyes gave him away.
    Olivia leaned against the glass, pressing her right cheek against its cool surface as she glanced out at the ocean for a long time, desperately needing to be soothed by the dips and swells of blue.
    It failed to comfort her.
    She turned her stunned gaze on the interior of her house, her eyes staring at the well-known patterns of tile and wood flooring and carpet. It was as if she didn’t know where she was. Her surroundings, her town, and the people in it seemed to have turned inside out, and all that she knew had become cold and strange.
    And no matter how much she wanted to, she could not avoid knowing what she now knew. There was no way to deny the truth that burned her lungs and brought hot tears to her eyes.
    Olivia knew the identity of Heinrich Kamler. She’d known him for years and cared for him deeply.
    The doorbell rang. Olivia leapt backward like a startled doe.
    Haviland began to bark and raced into the kitchen. Olivia followed him slowly, like a sleepwalker. When she opened the door to Rawlings, she could not speak. She merely shook her head, again and again, clutching the photograph of Heinrich Kamler in her hand.
    “Shhhhh,” the chief hushed her and gently pried the paper from beneath her fingers. He studied the image in silence and then touched her cheek. “Olivia, I’m sorry that it has to end this way. Raymond Hatcher is innocent of Nick Plumley’s murder. Heinrich Kamler is the killer.”
    Mutely, Olivia averted her gaze, but Rawlings put a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. “I came to tell you before I picked him up. It’s against every rule and regulation, and