17
Mitch glanced at his watch; it was nearly midday but felt like it should be five p.m. already. He could see Benjamin Hoefer sitting in a window seat of the coffee house waiting for them. Mitch shook his head.
“Why doesn’t he put a name tag on? Given he’s in danger, the least he could do is move inside out of sight,” Mitch said.
“He wouldn’t think of that I suspect,” Ellen said. “Not everyone thinks like us.”
“Really?” Mitch looked at her, surprised. “That explains a lot.” His phone rang and he saw Nick’s number come up. He quickly answered.
“Hey what’s up?”
“We need a hairbrush or comb that belonged to his father or something that might have some DNA on it,” Nick said. “He might have kept them out of sentimentality.”
“I’ll ask the question,” Mitch said.
“Yeah, good luck with tha
