Sworn to Silence

It wasn’t until weeks after the incident that I found out Jacob and my father buried the body. Horrific nightmares had been plaguing me. One night I woke screaming in my bed, certain the man who’d tried to kill me was in my bedroom. But my big brother came to my side. Jacob held me, and in the warm comfort of his arms, he revealed that Datt had buried the body in a defunct grain elevator in the next county, and he would never hurt anyone again.

“You know where he is buried,” Jacob says. “I told you.”

I know the place. The old grain elevator has been abandoned for twenty years. I’ve driven by it hundreds of times. But I’ve never stopped. I’ve never looked too closely. I rarely let myself think of the secrets buried there. “I need your help.”

“I cannot help you.”

“Come with me. Tonight. Show me where.”

His eyes widen. I see fear in their depths. My brother is a stoic man, which makes his reaction even more profound. “Katie, Datt did not take me inside. I do not know where—”

“I can’t do it alone. The elevator is a big place, Jacob. I don’t know where to look.”

“Daniel Lapp could not have done this terrible thing,” he says.

“Someone killed that girl. Someone who knew details about the murders that were never released to the public. How do you explain that?”

“I cannot. But I saw . . . his body. There was blood . . . too much for him to have survived.”

“Was he still bleeding when Datt buried him?” Dead men don’t bleed. If Lapp was still bleeding at that point, he was alive. He could have dug his way out of a shallow grave and survived . . .

“I do not know. I do not wish to be part of this.”

“You already are.” I step closer to my brother, invading his space. This surprises him, and he steps back, looking at me as if I’m a dog with contagious mange. I raise my finger, shove it to within an inch of his nose. “I need your help, goddamn it. I need to find the remains. There’s no other way.”

He stares at me, as stoic and silent as a statue.

“If I don’t stop this son of a bitch, he’ll kill again.”

Jacob winces at my language, and a small, twisted sense of satisfaction ripples through me. “Do not bring your English ways into my home.”

“This has nothing to do with Amish or English,” I snap. “This has to do with saving lives. You stick your head in the sand and more people could die. Is that what you want?”

My brother drops his gaze to the dirt floor, the muscles in his jaws clenching. When he raises his eyes to mine, they seem ancient. “For sixteen years, I have asked God for His forgiveness. I have tried to forget what we did.”

“You mean what I did, don’t you?”

“What all of us did.”

The barn falls silent, as if in reverence to the secret that’s been revealed. I knew he would be reluctant, that I would have to push. But I hadn’t anticipated a refusal.

Words I need to say stick in my throat like a dull razor blade. I can feel the veins pulsing in my neck. My cheeks growing hot. I remind myself that I’m a cop working a case. But deep inside, I’m still a child cowering from unfathomable brutality. A girl crushed by secrets no one should have to bear. A teenager shocked by her own capacity for violence.

“If you go to hell it won’t be because of what you did that day.” My voice quivers. “But because of what you didn’t do today.”

“I will be judged only by God, not you.”

A hot rush of anger propels me to him. I can hear my teeth grinding, the blood roaring like a freight train in my head. “If he kills again, you’ll have another death on your conscience. An innocent woman will suffer unspeakable torture before her throat is cut. Think about that tonight when you’re trying to sleep.”

Dark emotions thrash inside me as I spin and start toward the door. I want to crush the pretty mailboxes and birdhouses my brother has so painstakingly built. I want to lash out and hurt him, the same way he is hurting me. I cling to control, telling myself I can do this on my own.

I hit the barn door with the heels of both palms and send it flying open. I’m midway down the path when I hear Jacob’s voice behind me.

“Katie.”

Under any other circumstance, I’d keep going. Or revile him with a few choice words that would illuminate just how far I’ve strayed from my Amish roots. I stop and turn only because I’m desperate. Because I’m scared. Because I don’t want anyone else to die.

“I will do it.” He utters the words, but his eyes tell me it is with profound reluctance. “I will help you.”

The words bring hot tears to my eyes. Emotions I don’t want to feel rise inside me. Because I don’t want him to see those vulnerabilities, I turn away and continue on toward my vehicle in the driveway.

“I’ll pick you up after dark,” I say over my shoulder, and leave him staring after me.

CHAPTER 6

The curtains at the kitchen window part as I slide into the Explorer. I see Irene in her plain dress and kapp, standing in her overheated kitchen. I think of my nephews, and I suddenly feel depressed. Irene waves, but I pull away without responding. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.

I can breathe again as I zip down the lane at a too-fast clip. Only then does the breadth and width of the situation grip me. I’m frightened of my secrets and the lengths I’ll go to keep them. I’m afraid of what my brother and I will or will not find in the grain elevator tonight. But, it is the thought that I won’t be able to stop this killer before he strikes again that fills me with terror.

I call T.J. on my way to Connie Spencer’s apartment. He answers with a rough. “ ’Lo?”

“It’s me,” I say, realizing I woke him. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. What’s up?”

“Doc Coblentz says our killer wore a condom. Lubricated. I want you to hit the grocery stores, pharmacies and that carryout on Highway 82 and see if the clerks remember anyone buying lubricated condoms.”

“Why do I get all the fun assignments?” T.J. sounds less than thrilled.

It surprises me that I can smile. But it reminds me I’m a cop, not a helpless fourteen-year-old. “See if the person used a credit card.” There are two grocery stores, two pharmacies and one carryout in and around Painters Mill. “I think the carryout has a security camera. If they sold any condoms in the past week, get a copy of the video.”

“I’m on it, Chief.”

“I’ll see you at the station,” I say and disconnect.

Connie Spencer lives in an apartment above a furniture store on Main Street. My boots thud dully against the ancient steps as I ascend to the second floor. I knock, but no one answers. I stand in the dank hall, the smell of old wood and stale air filling my nostrils, and I realize she’s probably at work.

Back at the Explorer, I dial Glock. “Any luck at the bar?”

“I found Amanda Horner’s Mustang in the parking lot.”

My heart jigs. “You take a look inside?”

“Yup, but we got nada.”

“Shit.” Frustrated, I rap the steering wheel with the heel of my palm. “Process the car. See if you can get some latents.”

“Okay.”

“You talk to the bartender?”

“He remembers serving her cosmos.”

“Does he remember if she was with someone?”

“Says they were busy.” Glock sighs. “Any luck with the friend?”

“I’m at her place now, but she’s not home.”