Pray for Silence

“Excellent.” His cheeks flush red with excitement. “When do you want me to run it?”

“This afternoon. In time for dinner.”

“Gonna be tight.” He glances at his watch, frowns. “That only gives me a few hours.”

“Can you do it?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to have to hustle. I’ve got some ads and other stories I can use for fill.” He’s thinking aloud now. “I’m going to need to call in a few people. Ad girl. Layout guy. Typesetter. Circulation. Route people.”

I look at my own watch. Almost one P.M. “How soon can you get it out?”

“Going to need at least four hours. That’s pushing it.”

“We need it out by five P.M. Grocery stores. Bars. Convenience stores. Doctor offices. All of your subscribers.”

Heaving another sigh, Ressler looks at his watch. “Okay, okay.”

“I don’t have to tell you this is strictly confidential, do I, Steve?” I ask. “You can’t tell anyone I was your source. Not your wife. Not even your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog,” he snaps. “Who the hell has time for a damn dog?”

Glock and I hold back grins when we walk out.

Dusk at an Amish home is a special time. Sunlight slants through the windows, washing the rooms in golden light. Dust motes spiral and dance in the glowing shafts. Quiet falls and shadows lengthen. It is a time when the chores are done. The heat of the day is fading to cool comfort. Everyone’s tired and looking forward to the evening meal, conversation, prayer and rest.

It’s strange to walk the rooms of a farmhouse so much like the one I grew up in. Around me the house is so quiet I can hear the breeze hissing through the open windows, the tap of the curtain hem weights against the sills. The occasional creak of a century-old house settling. Sparrows chatter in the maple tree outside.

I’m standing in the kitchen and my memories are keeping me company. Some of those memories are good. There’s laughter. A keen sense of belonging. The kind of security I felt knowing I was part of a family unit. But some of the memories are bad, too. I was introduced to violence in a pretty country kitchen much like this one. That single event forever changed my life and set me on a path I have not veered from to this day.

Despite the peacefulness of the house, an edginess creeps over me. The kind of dark anticipation you feel right before a storm. The thought that my plan won’t work is a cloud that has shadowed me all afternoon.

I look down at the plain dress, apron, kapp and stockings folded neatly in my hands. I haven’t worn traditional Amish clothing for about thirteen years, and it’s disconcerting to contemplate wearing them now. It’s the small, everyday things that take me back. Donning these clothes will be like stepping into a time machine and being thrust back to a time I’m not sure I want to revisit.

The special edition of The Advocate went out as scheduled two and a half hours ago. My copy was still warm from the presses when I swung by the diner and picked it up. Steve Ressler did a good job with the information I gave him.

With the apparent suicide of murder suspect Todd Long, everyone believed the Plank case was solved. But in a shocking turn of events, The Advocate learned from an anonymous source inside the Painters Mill Police Department that a new witness has materialized. This unidentified witness claims there was an accomplice.

A call to Chief of Police Kate Burkholder netted a stern “no comment.” The Advocate has since learned from a source inside the PD that an unidentified Amish boy witnessed the crimes and may be able to identify a second man responsible for the murders of the Plank family. In a videotape obtained from an anonymous source, the boy can be seen looking in a window, ostensibly at the Plank farmhouse on the night of the murders.

When confronted, Chief Burkholder verified the information, but told The Advocate that the Amish parents will not allow the boy to speak with the “English” police. “We believe the boy will eventually cooperate and identify an accomplice,” she said yesterday. “Because of obvious safety issues, we’re keeping his identity confidential.”

The Advocate attempted to locate the Amish parents, but was unsuccessful.

I called dispatch a few minutes ago and was told the phone lines were lit up like Christmas tree lights. The grapevine is abuzz with the news that a killer lurks somewhere in this peaceful little town. Alone at the Zook farmhouse, I don’t believe the situation will stay peaceful for long.

In the main bathroom, I change into Alma’s clothes. Most Amish do not use buttons or zippers, and I’d forgotten how tedious the pins are. Alma is larger than me, so I have room for the Kevlar vest. It’s uncomfortable and hot, but I know better than to let myself get caught unprepared.

Since the Amish don’t use mirrors, I have a difficult time with my hair and end up using a dozen bobby pins and tucking the loose strands beneath the kapp with my fingers. The feeling of deja vu is overwhelming and strange as I walk back into the living room. I entered the bathroom as a cop; I walked out as the Amish woman I might have been.

Back in the kitchen, feeling conspicuous in the clothes, I pick up my radio. “Skid, are you in position?”

“That’s affirm, Chief. Fuckin’ stinks out here.”

The apt description makes me smile. I positioned him in the barn where he has an unencumbered view of the house, the driveway as well as the back and side yards. “Might be more tolerable in the hayloft.”

“Better vista, too. I’ll head up there now.”

“What about you, T.J.? Any movement?”

“Just me and the mosquitoes.”

Since my Explorer is the only four-wheel-drive vehicle in the fleet, I put T.J. in it and sent him to a small parking area under the Painters Creek Bridge. People go there to fish. It’s relatively close to the farm, yet out of sight from the road. The only thing I don’t like about the location is that he can’t actually see the Zook house, which means we’ll have to rely completely on our radios for communication. But if I call for backup, he’ll be able to get here quickly.

“Keep your eyes open, guys.”

“Roger that,” comes Skid’s voice.

“You think he’s going to show?” T.J. asks.

“I’d hate to have to smell these damn pigs all week.”

All of us know the livestock is the least of our problems. “Let’s hope so.”

I disconnect, and the silence presses down on me. Outside the kitchen window, birdsong is slowly giving way to the night sounds of crickets and frogs. An edgy energy runs like mercury through my veins. But impatience and a lowgrade anxiety dog me. I’ve never been good at waiting, but I have a feeling I’ll be doing plenty in the next few days. It’s going to be hard because in the back of my mind, I know there’s a high probability my plan will fail. The killer won’t show.

That he’ll kill again . . .

A glance at my watch tells me the newspaper has been in circulation for almost three hours now. I wonder if the killer has read the story. I wonder if he’ll take the bait. If he’ll review the video and identify the face in the window. If he’ll come here to silence the only living witness . . .

It’s not easy getting into the mind of a psychopath; they don’t think the same way the rest of us do. I envision this going down any number of ways. The killer waits until nightfall. He’s armed and wears a mask, does a quick and violent home invasion with plans to kill the boy in his bed. Another scenario is that the killer will use a stealthier plan. Wait until dark. Sneak in. Take the boy from his bed. And either kill him there or make it look like an accident. A fall from the loft in the barn would do the trick.

More than likely the killer will scope out the place first. Tonight, it’s my goal to let him know the Zook family is home, totally unaware. They are vulnerable to attack. Come get us. . . .

Tomasetti has been on the periphery of my mind since he left. I’m not sure why I’ve put off calling him. Maybe because I know he’s got enough on his plate at the moment. Or maybe a part of me fears he’ll find fault with my plan, and I know that no matter what he says, I won’t scrub it. Still, I want to talk to him. I want to hear his voice. I want him to make me laugh. The vehemence of those feelings scares me a little. One of many hazards of a