who did not. But I had my reasons.
Footsteps on the stairs snag my attention. I look over to see two young boys wrestle down the steps. They notice Glock and me, and freeze, giving us dual deer-in-headlights looks.
“No roughhousing inside,” William scolds.
His wife gives me a weak smile. “Our boys, Billy and Isaac.”
“Do you mind if I ask them a couple of questions?” I know sometimes kids see things, know things parents do not.
For an instant, Alma looks alarmed, and I realize my being formerly Amish only goes so far when it comes to bridging gaps.
William calls the boys over and addresses them. “Billy. Isaac. Chief Burkholder would like to ask you a few questions.”
I almost smile when both boys’ eyes widen. “Just a couple of easy ones,” I say in an attempt to put them at ease.
Both boys have thick blond hair blunt cut above their brows. Isaac is younger and looks at me as if I’m about to drag him off to prison for the rest of his life. Billy appears to be about fourteen or fifteen. But there’s a childlike innocence in his expression that belies his age.
I offer my friendliest smile. “How old are you guys?”
“I’m eleven,” Isaac says, his chest puffing out a little.
“That’s pretty old.” I smile, but my attempt at juvenile humor falls flat. I turn my attention to Billy. “How about you?”
“He’s fifteen.” Isaac answers for his brother.
“Did either of you happen to see anything strange over at the Plank farm the last few days?”
“What do you mean by strange?” Isaac asks.
I shrug, noticing the younger boy is much more articulate than his older brother. “Any English cars? Or maybe a buggy you didn’t recognize? Strangers visiting? Anything like that?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything?” Glock asks. “Unusual sounds? Shouting? Crying?”
“No.” Isaac looks toward his parents for direction. “Did something happen to the Planks?”
“I saw Mary’s underwear!” Billy blurts the words, then slaps his hand over his mouth, his cheeks reddening.
The odd comment garners everyone’s attention. Only then do I realize that while Billy is older than Isaac, his mentality is that of a much younger boy. I discern a slight speech impediment. He rounds his Rs and skipped pronunciation of the D altogether. The incidence of mental retardation is slightly higher among the Amish in comparison to the general population. There are several theories on the cause, the most prevalent being the small size of the gene pool. The majority of Amish do not marry outsiders; very few non-Amish join the Plain life. The gene pool has been closed for about twelve generations.
“When did you see her, Billy?” I ask.
“I dunno.” When he looks up at me, I notice he suffers with strabismus, or crossed eyes. “One day. It was sunny. She was pretty.”
“Did you see any strangers?” I ask.
“No strangers.”
“What about cars or buggies? Did you hear any noises?”
“No.” Biting his lower lip, he looks at his father. “Is Mary okay,
I glance at William.
The Amish man grimaces, then sets his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Mary is in a good place, Billy. The whole family is.”
CHAPTER 6
John Tomasetti arrived at BCI Headquarters at the Rhoades State Office Tower in downtown Columbus at just before nine A.M. He should have been thinking about his agenda for the day: the presentation he was supposed to give to a group of sheriffs that afternoon at the Marriott in Worthington, an interview at the Franklin County Correction Center down on Front Street with a suspect involved in the shooting death of a kindergarten teacher.
But Tomasetti’s thoughts weren’t on the day ahead of him as he stepped off the elevator on the fourteenth floor and headed toward his office. He’d been thinking about Chief of Police Kate Burkholder since her earlier call and a case that would take him back to Painters Mill. They’d kept in touch, but he hadn’t seen her for almost two months. Things had been good between them—the friendship, the sex—but as was usually the case, distance had intervened. Or maybe things had been progressing a little too fast and with a little too much intensity. Kate was cautious, after all. That was one of many things he liked about her.
Tomasetti, on the other hand, had been dealing with other issues. Working through them. Trying to get his shit together. Or so he’d hoped. Regardless, he wanted to see her. He’d been looking for an excuse to drive down. They worked well together, and it sounded like she could use the help.
It bothered him that she’d hesitated to ask. Tomasetti knew what she was thinking. That he couldn’t handle it. That walking into a case where a family with kids had been murdered would hit too close to home. Maybe she was right. Maybe this case would be like walking into his worst nightmare. Or maybe this was just one more hurdle on top of a hundred others he still needed to scale.
He was ruminating his options when he found Special Agent Supervisor Denny McNinch waiting outside his office door, pretending to look at the sleekly framed circa 1947 photograph of downtown Columbus perched on the wall like an old piece of siding.
“Morning.” Denny shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tried to look innocuous. “You got a minute?”
Tomasetti had been around long enough to know there was nothing even remotely harmless any time Denny showed up at your office before nine A.M. “Sure. Come in. Have a seat.”
“In the conference room, John.”
Tomasetti made eye contact and smiled. “Do I need my lawyer?”
McNinch chuckled at the quip, but it was a humorless sound that conjured a deep sense of foreboding in Tomasetti’s gut. “Not even your lawyer can help you this time, partner.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
They walked side by side down the hall, past cubicles where pretty administrative assistants stared at computer monitors and French-manicured nails pounded keyboards. He could feel their eyes on him, their collective curiosities pricking him like knives. Good fodder for lunchtime gossip.
Tomasetti didn’t like the idea of walking into something unprepared. Since the Slaughterhouse Murders case ten months ago, he’d worked hard to clean up his act. He’d stopped taking the drugs his doctors had prescribed. He’d cut down on the drinking. He’d stopped thinking about putting his gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. His work on the Slaughterhouse case had earned him a commendation and gone a long way toward restoring a reputation of which he’d once been proud.
But it had been more than just the case that had saved him from self-annihilation. He may not have survived if it hadn’t been for Kate. Somehow, she’d managed to cut through the bullshit when no one else had been able to reach him. She made him want to be a cop again. Made him want to live. Made him want to be a man.
They reached the austere mahogany doors of conference room one. It was then that he knew this was no impromptu morning chat. He’d always known it was only a matter of time before his transgressions of the past caught up with him. When Denny shoved open the door, Tomasetti knew his day of reckoning had arrived.
Deputy Superintendent Jason Rummel stood at the glossy conference table, looking down at a smattering of papers spread out before him. He smiled when he saw Tomasetti. “Morning, John.”
