Page 44 of The Hidden One

“Yes, they are.” When he speaks again, his voice is so low I have to turn up the volume of my phone. “I shouldn’t be telling you what I’m about to tell you.”

“If you’re asking me if I’ll keep my mouth shut, the answer is yes.”

Another pregnant pause and then, “The investigator found human remains in that well. Bones.”

“They found another body?”

“Not a whole body. Just … hand bones.”

“Hand bones?” I mull the possibilities, come up short. “Who do they belong to?”

“We sent them to the lab up in Erie for DNA testing. It’s going to take a while, depending on how backed up the lab is.”

My cop’s antennae are cranked up and on high alert, my heart beginning to thrum. I know that even though the bones were sent to a police lab for identification, chances are the cops know more than they’re letting on or making public.

“You’re sure this is related to the Stoltzfus case?” I ask.

“You know it is.” The pause that follows is so long that for a second I think he hung up on me. Then he continues. “The detective in charge thinks those remains belong to Ananias Stoltzfus.”

“I thought his remains were found in the hayfield.”

“They were. Investigators never made it public, but the hands were missing.”

“Someone … ostensibly the killer … cut off his hands?”

“Both hands were severed at the wrists.”

I’m so gobsmacked that I can’t find my voice. I break the silence by posing the obvious question. “Why would someone do that?”

“No one has a clue,” he tells me. “I mean, usually when that sort of thing is done, it’s to hide the victim’s identity. You know, fingerprints or whatnot. But Stoltzfus was local and missing. With or without hands, he’d be identified the moment he was found. The whole thing’s a mystery.”

“What’s the theory on how the hands ended up in the well?” I ask.

“The general consensus is that Bowman panicked. He removed the hands thinking it would make the identification process more difficult.”

“But why would he hide the evidence on his own property?”

“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t make sense. Hence my call to you.”

“How did you guys know the bones were in the well?” I ask.

“I’m not privy to the details, but from what I understand an anonymous tip came in.”

“Kind of convenient, don’t you think?”

“I’m not calling you because I’m buying in to all of this, right?”

“Any idea who the tipster was?”

“No clue and no one’s talking.” He sighs. “The thing is, Chief Burkholder, the sheriff is up for reelection this year. Word has it, he wants a slam dunk on this case.”

“Whether he has the right man or not.”

“No comment. Look, I need my job. Word gets out that I called you and I’m done.”

I think about my conversation with Henry Stoltzfus. My mind trying to connect dots that simply don’t connect. “I understand Ananias Stoltzfus received a threatening letter from Jonas Bowman. Do you know anything about that?”

“Don’t know anything about a letter.”