Sworn to Silence

Denny McNinch entered the deputy superintendent’s office to find Jason Rummel leaning back in his leather executive chair like a king presiding over his adoring court. Human Resources Director Ruth Bogart sat adjacent his desk. Denny hoped this wouldn’t take long; he was supposed to meet his wife for dinner in fifteen minutes.

“Denny.” Rummel motioned toward the vacant visitor chair. “Sorry for the short notice.”

Short notice was a stretch. Car keys in hand, Denny had been on his way out the door when Rummel called. “No problem.”

“We received an RFA this afternoon from the town of Painters Mill,” Rummel said. RFA was BCI-speak for “Request for Assistance.”

Denny shifted, glanced at his watch, waited.

“The town council believes they have a serial murderer on their hands.”

Denny stopped fidgeting. “Serial murder?”

“Apparently, there’s a history of a killer working the area. It’s been a while, fifteen or sixteen years. The councilwoman I spoke with said the general consensus is that the killer is back.”

Dinner forgotten, Denny leaned forward.

Rummel continued. “Painters Mill is mostly rural with a population just over five thousand. Amish country, I’m told. The small police force is overwhelmed. The chief is small town. Female. Inexperienced.”

Usually, it was Denny who was contacted by local law enforcement. It was, after all, his responsibility to assign RFAs to agents. On the outside chance the RFA found its way to Rummel’s desk, he would normally reroute it back to Denny. He wondered why Rummel was handling this one. He wondered why Ruth Bogart was there, since field cases didn’t fall within her realm of responsibility. He wondered why the hell he was here when this could have been handled over the phone.

“I’m assigning the case to John Tomasetti,” Rummel said.

That was the last thing Denny expected him to say. “Tomasetti’s not ready for field work.”

“He’s a field agent drawing a paycheck every week.”

“With all due respect to John, he’s a fucking train wreck.”

“This isn’t a day care. We’ve offered him a sweet retirement deal and he turned it down. If he’s going to continue working here, he’s going to have to pull his weight.”

“To be perfectly honest, I have some concerns about his emotional stability.”

“He’s been given a clean bill of health.”

Denny wondered if he should point out the drug use issue or, more importantly, John Tomasetti’s reputation. The Cuyahoga County grand jury might have given him a free pass, but Denny had been a cop long enough to know how to read between the lines. He’d heard the rumors about what Tomasetti did in Cleveland. Nothing had been proven, but it was the general consensus within the Division of Police that after the murder of his partner and family, Tomasetti had taken the law into his own hands and gone rogue.

“He spent two weeks in a psycho ward,” Denny said. “I don’t think you want to turn him loose on the public.”

Rummel got up and closed the door. “John Tomasetti is dead weight. He’s a liability to the agency. A liability to this office. A liability to me. The only reason he’s still around is because of the threat of litigation if I fire him.”

Denny was starting to connect the dots. He didn’t like the picture they made. “Tomasetti can’t handle a case right now.”

Rummel leaned forward. “I’m speaking to you off the record here, Denny. If any of what I’m about to say leaves this room, I’ll have your ass in a bag. Are you clear on that?”

Heat crept up Denny’s neck. “I understand.”

Rummel gave Ruth Bogart a pointed look. “Ruth?”

Crossing her legs, she glanced down at her notes. “We’re well aware of what John went through,” she began. “Our hearts go out to him. As you know, we offered him a deal, including full medical benefits. He turned it down. If we terminate him, he’ll sue us, and he’ll probably win.”

Rummel cut in. “We want him gone, Denny. We’ve tried reasoning with him. We’ve been more than fair. This is the only way.”

Denny almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Almost. But he’d known Rummel for three years now. He knew the man played dirty to get what he wanted. If you were on Rummel’s hit list, you may as well hang it up because you were going down.

“If you play it this way, there’s a chance you’re going to have collateral damage.” Denny looked from Rummel to Ruth Bogart. “Tomasetti isn’t going to be much help to this town. If there’s a serial murderer operating there, I don’t have to tell you more people could die.”

Bogart spoke up. “Best-case scenario, the RFA alone will compel him to reconsider the retirement deal. On the outside chance he accepts the assignment, he won’t last. We’ll get complaints from local law enforcement. That will give us grounds to terminate him with no repercussions.”

“Everyone wins,” Rummel added.

Everyone but John Tomasetti and the citizens of Painters Mill, Denny thought.

“I want you to get him dispatched ASAP,” Rummel said. “I want everything done by the book. You understand?”

Denny couldn’t imagine assigning John Tomasetti a major case. The man was teetering on a precipitous edge. One shove and he’d tumble into an abyss he might not be able to climb out of. “If we assign Tomasetti this case, it’ll push him right over the edge.”

Bogart looked down at her notes.

Stone-faced, Rummel held his gaze. “We’re counting on it.”

Full darkness has fallen by the time I leave the police station. The night sky is so clear I can see the Big Dipper. The weatherman promised temperatures would plummet to below zero by morning. Not a good night to be prowling an old grain elevator looking for a corpse.

I finished the press release and handed it off to Lois on my way out. She was gracious enough to stay late for some final editing, and agreed to fax it to Steve Ressler before heading home to her husband and children and the kind of normal life I can only imagine.

I need a shower and a few hours of sleep. I should have already questioned Donny Beck. Those things are going to have to wait until Jacob and I search the grain elevator fifteen miles away in Coshocton County. If we find Daniel Lapp’s remains, I’ll know without a doubt I’ve got a copycat on my hands. If we do not find any remains, I’ll know Lapp survived. The focus of my investigation will shift, and I’ll begin working the case from that perspective.

I turn into the gravel lane of Jacob’s farm to find the windows dark. Parking in the same spot I did earlier in the day, I start toward the door. I’m midway there when I see Jacob striding toward me, holding a lantern of all things.

“I’ve got flashlights,” I say.

“Quiet,” he snaps in Pennsylvania Dutch, then douses the lantern and sets it in the snow.

I wonder if he’s sneaking out of the house. “You didn’t tell Irene?”

His head jerks toward me, and I realize he’s not sure of the meaning behind my question. “She knows nothing about this.”

I ruminate on that as we start toward the Explorer. I’ve always wondered if he told her what happened all those years ago. The way she looks at me sometimes . . .

We climb into the Explorer. Tension fills the cab as I start the engine and head down the driveway. I sense an array of emotions radiating from my brother, the most powerful being resentment. He shouldn’t be riding in the car with me, especially since I’m under the bann. But I sense that isn’t the main source of his discontent. He doesn’t want to help and begrudges me asking him for it. I don’t understand that. Once upon a time we were close. He was loving and protective and would have done anything for me. All of that changed the day I shot Daniel Lapp.

“I saw Sarah today,” he says after a moment.

Sarah is our sister, the middle child. Married with a baby on the way, she lives on a farm a few miles away.