Sworn to Silence

“Your brother.”

“Daniel?” His eyes widen. “Do you have news of him?”

“Do you?” I push past him.

Stepping back, he watches me as if I’m some dangerous animal that’s ventured out of the woods. The house smells of wet dog and cow shit. The darkened kitchen is straight ahead. A shadowy hall beckons to my right. Beyond, stairs lead to the second floor.

“When’s the last time you saw Daniel?” I ask.

Another blink, owlish and sleepy. “A very long time.”

“How long?”

“I haven’t seen him since the summer he disappeared. Over fifteen years, I think.”

I stare hard at him. “You sure about that? He hasn’t been here or in town?”

“I am certain of it.”

“Has he contacted you?”

“No.”

“Have you sent him money?”

His brows knit.

“Don’t lie to me, Benjamin. I can check.”

“Why do you ask these things? Do you have news of Daniel?”

Ignoring his question, I step closer, letting some attitude slip into my voice.

“You know better than to lie to the police, don’t you?”

“I do not lie.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“I do not know.”

“Tell me about the last time you saw him.”

“I told the English police—”

“Tell it again,” I snap.

He scratches his temple with two fingers. “He did work for your datt that summer. He helped Dwayne Bargerhauser put up a fence for his cattle. He left in the morning and never came back.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“I do not. Datt and I talked to everyone Daniel worked for, but no one saw him after that day. We do not know where he went or why he left.”

I stride to the kitchen and shine my light around the room. I see one cup on the counter. One flat-brimmed hat on the wood dowel. One coat on the rack. The place is a mess, but there’s no sign more than one person has been here. I walk down the hall, do a quick search of the bathroom and downstairs bedroom, checking the closet and under the bed.

Benjamin follows me to the foot of the stairs as I take them two at a time to the top. “Why are you doing this?” he calls out.

Using my flashlight, I quickly clear the top level of the house. The first bedroom I pass is totally vacant. No clothes in the closet. No suitcases. The second bedroom is almost as sparse, with a single twin bed, a night table and dresser. The closet holds plain clothes for a single man. In the bathroom the single towel is damp. One toothbrush sits on the sink.

I descend the stairs to find Benjamin holding the lantern up and squinting into the semidarkness. “What are you looking for?”

I shine my flashlight in his face. I’m so close I see his pupils contract. “If I find out you’re lying, it won’t matter that you’re Amish. I’ll come down on you so hard you’ll wish you were in prison.”

“I have no reason to lie.” He looks offended. “Then tell me about your brother! Why did he leave? Where did he go?” My rapid-fire tactics work. For the first time Benjamin’s composure falters. “Perhaps Daniel wanted to leave the simple life.”

“Why would he do that?”

His gaze drops. “Perhaps he could not abide by Gelassenheit.”

Gelassenheit is a German word that encompasses the Amish spirit and ideals: yielding to God, putting others before yourself, and leading a content and modest life.

I don’t want to believe him; nothing would please me more than for Daniel Lapp to jump out of a closet so I could pump a round into his forehead. But my instincts tell me this man is telling the truth. Another dead end.

I knew coming here was a long shot, but my disappointment is keen. “If Daniel was in trouble, is there somewhere else he would go?” I ask. “Did he have other friends or family he trusted?”

Benjamin shakes his head, his gaze meeting mine. “Why are you asking these questions?”

“I’m following up on some information I received.”

He doesn’t believe me. I see suspicion in his eyes. There’s nothing I can do about it. “If he shows up, Benjamin, you come get me. Day or night. It’s important.”

He nods.

I start toward the door.

“Is my brother in trouble?” he calls out.

Yanking open the door, I step onto the porch. “We’re all in trouble,” I whisper, and start toward the Explorer.

The scents of vanilla potpourri and yesterday’s garbage greet me when I arrive home. I’m not the world’s greatest housekeeper, but my place is clean and comfortable. After enduring the day from hell I’m unduly glad to be home.

Flipping on the living room light, I toe off my boots and leave them by the door. I shed my coat and toss it on the sofa as I head toward my bedroom. In the hall I unbuckle my holster, setting it and my .38 on the console table. In the bedroom, I kick off my uniform trousers and unbutton my shirt, letting both drop to the floor. The bra comes next and I fling it onto the bed as I pass.

Shrugging into my robe, I shove my feet into slippers and head toward the second bedroom, which is my office. My laptop is ancient, the dial-up painfully slow, but it will get me to OHLEG, the Ohio Law Enforcement Gateway system. Created by the Ohio attorney general, OHLEG is an information network that provides local police agencies access to nine law enforcement databases.

While the computer boots, I go to the kitchen. I should eat something, but food isn’t what I crave. I find the bottle of Absolut in the cabinet above the refrigerator and set it on the table. I toss ice into a tumbler and pour. I know better than to drink alone when my mood is so dark, but I take that first dangerous sip anyway.

The alcohol burns all the way down, but I drain the glass and pour again. The things I saw today hover in the forefront of my mind. Amanda Horner’s savaged body. The agony in her mother’s eyes. Jacob and I digging for the remains of a man I spent half of my life believing I’d killed. I know alcohol won’t solve my problems, but if I’m lucky, it will get me through the night.

Back in my office, I log in to OHLEG. I’m not familiar with the system, but I stumble around until I find what I’m looking for. The search engine is capable of querying numerous data sources from a single interface. I type in the name: Lapp, Daniel, enter the county and hit Return. I know it’s a long shot, but if he’s been arrested, convicted, fingerprinted or added to a sexual predator list anywhere in the state, I’ll get a hit by morning.

I’m in the kitchen topping off my glass when a scratch at the window startles me. Spinning, I reach for my sidearm only to realize I left it on the console table. A laugh escapes me when I see the orange tabby on the brick sill. I’m no fan of cats, particularly scraggly-looking strays. But this particular cat has skillfully appropriated my compassion. He’s pushy, vocal and has no idea he’s the ugliest thing to hit Painters Mill since Norm Johnston’s mug shot. The cat has been coming around since Christmas. Because he was so damn skinny, I began putting out the occasional bowl of milk. That, of course, led to the occasional bowl of cat food. Tonight, with the temperature hovering around zero, I’m no doubt obligated to bring him inside.

I pad to the back door and open it. The tabby darts in with a burst of cold and looks at me as if to ask “what took you so long?”

“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter.

The cat purrs at the sound of my voice, and I wonder how he can still trust human beings when he’s evidently