all this time, talking about that day, about what happened—what I did—and the domino effect that followed, can shake me so profoundly. “Probably more than you know.”
“Is that something I should be able to figure out?”
I stare at my beer. At the shot glasses. The tabletop. Anywhere but at him. I know it’s stupid, but I feel if I look at him, he’ll know.
He waits with a patience that makes me want to splash my beer in his face. I light a second cigarette, inhaling deeply, punishing my lungs, taking my time. I don’t realize I’m going to say anything until I hear my own voice. “Two months after Daniel Lapp raped me, I found out I was pregnant.”
My own words shock me. It’s the first time I’ve spoken them aloud and they seem inordinately loud. I glance quickly around to make sure no one else heard, but the place is nearly deserted. The jukebox plays on. McNarie stands at the bar, watching the television, drying glasses with his dingy white towel. No one is looking my way. The earth didn’t move.
Tomasetti isn’t easily shocked, but I can tell by his expression this shocks him. He doesn’t know what to say.
“I had an abortion,” I say quickly. “I couldn’t . . . have it. Didn’t want it.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus, Kate.”
“I never even considered having it. Not for one second. In the eyes of the Amish, that’s considered murder.”
“Not everyone sees it that way. Especially considering the circumstances.”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”
“A lot of weight to carry around all these years.”
I smile at him. “You and I, we have strong shoulders, don’t we?”
“Probably a good thing.”
I look down at my bottle of beer. “When I read Mary Plank’s journal, she became a real person to me. An Amish girl with a heart full of hopes and dreams. I was her once. All that hope. So many dreams. But I was lucky. I got my future. She deserved the chance to live her life. Long killed her twice. First he killed her innocence, then he took her life.”
“This case brought it all back for you.”
“I hadn’t thought about my pregnancy or the abortion in years. I never let myself go there. Not even once.” I’m alarmed when tears threaten. They are a female cop’s worst enemy. One that can zap credibility faster than bad police work or sleeping around or both.
Because I can’t look at Tomasetti, I put my face in my hands and sigh. “I know that in the scope of things, it’s not important. It’s over. Ancient history. The Planks are dead. Mary is dead. Long is dead.”
“It’s important.” He slides his hand across the table.
For a moment I’m afraid he’s going to take my hand. I’m relieved when he only runs his fingertips over my forearm. Too much kindness from him at this moment would crumple me.
“But life goes on,” he says. “It’s an unstoppable force. That was the hardest thing for me to accept when Nancy and the girls were killed. It’s the living who are left to suffer. A hard truth, but that’s the way it is.”
“Tomasetti, you’re not making me feel any better.”
“What are friends for?”
I manage to give him a small smile. “You probably came here to get laid, and I blabbered all over you instead.”
His laugh is deep and throaty. I like the sound of it, realize he doesn’t do it often enough. And a flush spreads over me like warm oil. “Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out.”
“Thanks for listening,” I say after a moment.
“I’m glad you told me.”
The bottle of Absolut sits half empty on the table between us. The jukebox has moved on to an old Neil Young rocker. I reach for the bottle and fill both shot glasses. There’s more to say, but we both know enough has been said for tonight.
Tomasetti picks up his glass. “Are we going to get drunk?”
“I think so.”
“You like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
I raise my drink. “Another thing we have in common.”
We slam back the vodka and set our glasses on the table with a little too much force. The alcohol runs like nitro through my blood now. I can feel it loosening my brain. A rusty faucet in my head breaking free, opening up.
“Do you think Long acted alone?” I ask after a moment.
He eyes me over the top of his beer. “Do you think there was someone else involved?”
“I don’t know. There seems to be a lot of loose ends.”
“What are you talking about specifically?”
I think about that for a moment. “How did one man subdue seven people? An entire family?”
“The Planks were Amish, Kate. They were pacifists. Maybe they didn’t fight back.”
“Sometimes the Amish do fight back. Instinct. Self-preservation.”
“There’s no way they could have known what he had in mind. They probably thought he was going to rob them. Once he bound their hands, it was too late.”
“How did he film and kill them at the same time?”
“Tripod. You saw the marks in the floor.” His eyes narrow. “Are you going somewhere with this?”
“I don’t think Long did the murders alone.”
“We have no evidence to support an accomplice.”
“What if Long didn’t commit suicide?”
“How many shots have you had?”
“I’m serious. What if someone staged the scene to make it look like suicide?”
“And you’re basing that premise on what?”
“Gut.”
Tomasetti frowns. “Not very concrete.”
“I think it’s worth consideration.”
“Maybe.” He sighs. “Do you have someone in particular in mind?”
“James Payne. He’s certainly capable.”
“We don’t have shit on him. No connection to Long.”
“And what about Barbereaux? I’m playing devil’s advocate here, but his name came up twice in the course of the investigation. We were able to connect him to Mary through the shop. And then there’s the wine bottle.”
“Pretty loose connections. And circumstantial, by the way.”
“I think it warrants looking into.”
“Kate, Painters Mill is a small town. People’s lives intersect. Lots of young people hang out at Miller’s Pond and drink.”
“I don’t think Long was smart enough to produce pornographic videos and sell them online.”
“You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to sell pictures of underage girls on the Internet. Any scum with a modem and an IQ over ten can do it. It’s sort of a seller’s market.”
Even through the haze of alcohol, frustration climbs over me like a clingy little beast. “How do you feel about the snuff angle? Do you think it’s viable?”
“I think it’s a theory with nothing to back it up.”
We sit there, thinking for a full minute, then I ask, “Did you get anything on the Web site owners?”
“We got as far as the Philippines. We’re waiting for more info, but I’m not holding my breath. They’re cooperating, but it could take a while.”
I shake my head. “I can’t see Todd Long walking into that farm house and killing seven people. That takes a certain kind cold-bloodedness. Long was a scumbag, a manipulator, a rapist, but he was a follower. I don’t think he had that kind of bold in him.”
I can tell by the hard set of his mouth, the way he’s looking at me that Tomasetti doesn’t buy into my theory. “Let’s say you’re onto something,” he says. “How many people do you think were involved?”
