I finally shared a secret that has been a burden for more than 30 years.

My father and I weren't especially close, but for some inexplicable reason, he decided to share a secret with me and made me swear never to tell anyone. And I promised with sincerity.

In the small city in central Pennsylvania where he grew up, was a childhood friend. They kept in touch and my father always looked him up when he came to visit. His friend became a successful physician/surgeon.

Around 1985, his friend returned to his home and found his (second) wife murdered, brutally shot. And the secret was this friend's son from his first marriage had killed her. And I shouldn't tell anyone. (Not that I knew anyone who would have the most remote connection . . . . )

So, last week, I was "in town" while doing genealogical research. I couldn't remember the name of my father's friend. Fortunately, I recognized it in the front of one of the city's directories.

And while walking around the city's business district, I made a decision. I made an impromptu, cold call to the Police. I mean, what the hell. My father was dead. The friend was dead. It might be a cold case. And I had information.

I was warmly received by a detective. I showed him my identification and a copy of a 1922 City Directory to show my connection to the City and my relevance. I told him the second-tier hearsay that my father told me.

To my relief, the detective knew all about my narrative. He even filled in the blanks. Turns out the son drove to the woods of another town where he shot himself. The police have a video of the investigating officer going through the house after the murder.

The case was decidedly closed. And I felt much better, having the opportunity to unburden myself of this information.