Pray for Silence

pic? If there’s a birthmark or something, we might be able to make a positive ID.”

“I’ll get it couriered this morning.” He focuses his attention on me. “You check out Long’s alibi?”

“Warner panned out. Seems pretty solid. But get this: he sold some folk art to Evelyn Steinkruger at the Carriage Stop.”

“So you can tie him to the shop.” He thinks about that a moment. “Does he know the Plank girl?”

“Says no.”

“What about the other truck owner?”

“Robert Allen Kiser.” I glance down at my notes. “Glock talked to him. Kiser was at the Lion’s Club meeting and reception that lasted until one A.M.”

“Substantiated?”

“By about a dozen witnesses.” I sigh. “After the reception, Kiser went home with his wife.”

“What’s Glock’s take on him?”

“Said he seemed like a pretty solid guy.”

“Everyone’s a solid fuckin’ guy.”

I don’t like the cynicism in his voice, but I feel that same sentiment growing inside me. I reach for the Speaker button and dial the switchboard.

“Mona, get me contact info and addresses for Glenda Patterson, will you?” Patterson is Scott Barbereaux’s girlfriend. “Work and home.”

“You got it, Chief.”

I end the call and sigh. “You know a case is going to shit when you spend time checking the alibis of the alibis.”

Across from me, Tomasetti is looking at the photos. His usual poker face has given way to raw disgust. “You ever work vice?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Went straight to homicide from patrol.”

“It sounds weird, but I’ve always thought vice was somehow worse. A lot of nasty stuff. Prostitution. Drugs. Porn. Especially when there are kids involved.” He shoves the photos into the file and closes it. “The thing about homicide is that the dead are dead. Gone. No more suffering. The living go on. They keep on suffering. Some keep on repeating the same tired cycle over and over again.”

“The living always have hope,” I reply.

He shakes his head. “Sometimes they don’t.”

My cell phone vibrates against my hip. I pull it out. My heart jigs when I see the sheriff’s office of Lancaster County pop up on the caller ID.

“This is Deputy Phelps with Lancaster County. Corporal Rossi said I should give you a call when I located Bishop Fisher.”

“You’re there with him now?”

“Standing on his front porch, drinking a cup of coffee.”

“Can you put him on the phone for me?”

“Sure can.”

I put my hand over the phone and glance at Tomasetti. “I’ve got Aaron Plank’s bishop on the line from Lancaster County.”

“Nice work.”

I smile and then Bishop Fisher comes on the line. I greet him in Pennsylvania Dutch, identify myself and then I ask him about the Plank family.

“It pained me greatly to hear about the passing of Amos and Bonnie Plank and their children.” The bishop has the slow, thick accent characteristic to many Midwestern Amish. “But I know they believed in the divine order of things and the will of God.”

“Did you know them well?”

“Yes. I conducted their wedding ceremony. I spoke to them many times over the years.”

“Do you know why they left Lancaster County?”

For the first time, he pauses. “There were some problems a few years back with their son, Aaron. An Englischer was involved. Problems developed between Bonnie and Amos. Some members of the community could not condone Aaron’s . . . relationship with this outsider, nor the way Amos and Bonnie handled it. In the end, Amos decided a fresh start in a new church district would be best, so he moved the family.”

“What can you tell me about the problems?”

“Bonnie loved her son very much. She was a very tolerant woman. Willing to abide by almost anything to keep her son. Amos was not as tolerant. Neither was the community as a whole.”

“So it caused a rift between them?”

“Between Bonnie and Amos as well as the Plank family and some of the community. Aaron was not repentant and refused to confess his sins. The Ordnung prohibited this relationship, particularly with an outsider.”

“The community objected to a gay relationship?”

“There was a lot of talk.” The old man’s sigh is tired. “Wer lauert an der Wand, Heert sie eegni Schand.” If you listen through the wall, you will hear others recite your faults.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard the old adage. If the Amish as a whole have a fault, it is that at times they can be judgmental. “So the Planks left for a fresh start?”

“A fresh start in a new church district in Ohio.”

“What can you tell me about Aaron’s relationship with his family?”

“It was a stormy union. Troubled. Amos was a good father, a hard worker who provided well for his family. But he was not a patient man. Aaron was headstrong.”

“Did they argue?”

“Often.”

“Did either of them ever become violent?”

Another tired sigh. “There was a fight or two.”

“Tell me about that.”

“It happened about the time Aaron decided he would not be joining the church. Amos was upset and forbade Aaron to see the Englischer. One night, he caught the outsider in the barn with Aaron. I don’t know what happened, but Amos lost his temper and went after the Englischer with his fists.”

“And Aaron?”

“He picked up a pitchfork and used it against his datt.”

There’s no doubt in my mind why Aaron didn’t mention that part of his juvenile record. “How badly was Amos hurt?”

“The wounds required surgery.”

“Aaron was arrested?”

“The English police were called. He was arrested and taken to jail.”

“But tried as a juvenile.”

“I do not know the English laws, but I believe that was the case.”

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Bishop Fisher.”

“I will say a prayer for the Plank family.”

“I think they would like that very much.”

“Gott segen eich.” God bless you.

I disconnect to find Tomasetti staring intently at me. “Sounded like an interesting conversation.”

“Aaron Plank attacked his father with a pitchfork when he was seventeen years old.”

“Must have been pretty pissed off to do something like that.”

“He didn’t mention it when I talked to him.”

“Maybe we ought to give him another chance to fess up.”

“If he’s still in town.”

“Since there’s only one motel, that ought to be pretty easy to figure out.”