Page 31 of Sworn to Silence (Kate Burkholder #1)

I enter the classroom to find the Augspurgers huddled at the back window, staring at me as if I hold the secret of the universe in the palm of my hand. Tomasetti stands a few feet away, looking expectantly at me.

Ezra’s eyes beseech mine as I cross to them. As if forgetting her place, Bonnie pushes past him. Within the pale depths of her gaze, I see a tangle of desperation and hope laced with the kind of fear a mother should never have to feel.

“The body of a young woman was discovered this morning.” I pass the faxed photo to Ezra. “She has a mole on her left ankle.”

His hand shakes as he reaches for it. Bonnie puts her hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t smother the sound of anguish. Ezra stares at the photo, the paper rattling violently.

Murder is rare in the Amish community. Most often, death is from natural causes.

It’s viewed as a final surrender to God and is received gracefully.

Grief is a quiet and private event. The sound that erupts from Ezra Augspurger’s mouth reminds me that not all Amish are stoic.

They are human beings, and the loss of a child begets unbearable pain.

His cry of outrage and grief goes through me like cold steel.

Bowing his head, he presses the photo to his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” I touch Ezra’s shoulder, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

Bonnie sinks into a chair and puts her face in her hands.

Feeling my own emotions winding up, I turn away to find Tomasetti staring intently at me.

His expression is grave, but he’s not moved the way I am.

But then he doesn’t know the kindness that was inside Ellen Augspurger’s heart.

He doesn’t know this community. He doesn’t know the innate goodness of the Amish the way I do.

I think of the trip this grieving couple must make to the morgue.

I think of the questions they’ll ask and how unbearably painful it will be to answer.

They’ll want to take Ellen’s body home, dress her in white and place her in a simple hardwood coffin.

I’ll inform them beforehand that an autopsy was performed.

The procedure clashes with basic Amish values, but they won’t complain.

“How did she pass?” Ezra’s ravaged eyes bore into mine.

“She was murdered,” I reply.

Bonnie gasps. “Mein gott.”

Ezra stares at me as if I’m lying. I’ve known him most of my life. He’s a decent, hardworking man who’s had more than his share of hardship. But I know he’s got a temper.

“I do not accept that.” Though the room is cold, I see sweat on his forehead. Red blotches climbing up his neck.

“I’m sorry,” I offer.

He bows his head, places his fingers against his forehead and presses, as if he’s trying to shove his nails beneath the skin.

“Ezra, who is the bishop of your district?” I ask.

“David Troyers.”

A church district is made up of about twenty to thirty families. A bishop, two or three preachers and a deacon share leadership roles within each district. I know David Troyers. And I know he’s one of the few Amish who has a telephone.

Ezra raises his head and struggles to compose himself. “We want to bring Ellen home.”

“Of course,” I say in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“Where is she?”

“The hospital in Millersburg. ”

“I want to bring her home.” A sob escapes him even as he struggles to square shoulders bowed beneath the weight of unbearable grief.

“Let me drive you to the hospital,” I say.

“No.”

“Ezra, Millersburg is nearly ten miles away.”

“No!” He shakes his head. “Bonnie and I will take the buggy.”

He is so immersed in grief, I doubt he realizes the round-trip will take hours. I look at Bonnie for help; she stares back. Unshed tears glitter in her eyes. She has her hand over her mouth as if trying to hold in the screams that echo inside her.

“It’s twenty degrees outside,” I say. “These are special circumstances, Ezra. Please, let me drive you.”

Bonnie rises abruptly. “We will go with you.”

“No!” The Amish man slams his fist down on the desktop. “We take the buggy!”

***

I’ve had plenty of bad days in my life. For the most part, I take the bad with the good and hold close the belief that in the end it all balances out. It’s going to take a lot of good days to zero out today.

I couldn’t convince Ezra to let me drive them to the morgue.

So I did the only thing I could and followed them in the Explorer.

The trip and the identification of Ellen’s body took over three hours.

It’s after midnight now. I’m tired and discouraged and so cold I can’t imagine ever being warm again.

I should go home and try to get some sleep, but my mind is wound tight.

I have no desire to waste precious hours tossing and turning.

“Notifying next of kin is always the worst.”

I glance at Tomasetti in the passenger seat and frown.

He doesn’t notice. “When you see some dipshit gangbanger lying in pieces on a gurney, you think the world’s a better place. But something like this…”

“That’s cynical,” I reply .

“Yeah, but it’s the truth.”

“I don’t share your view.”

“You just haven’t been a cop long enough.”

Tomasetti has been my shadow tonight. A quiet presence I resent more than I should. The irony that I will be the one to bring him up to speed on the case doesn’t escape me.

“You going to follow them home, too?” he asks.

“The roads are bad. I don’t want them out on a night like this.”

He turns his attention back to the window where winter-dead cornfields crowd the road. The night is clear and still, with the temperature falling to near zero. The stars play peekaboo as high clouds skid across the sky.

I called David Troyers, the Augspurgers’ bishop, on the way to the hospital.

One of the things I loved about being Amish was the support families receive from their neighbors, especially when tragedy strikes.

It comforts me knowing there will be a family waiting for Ezra and Bonnie when they arrive home.

Tomorrow, that family will assume the farm and household chores, feeding the livestock and cooking meals and helping to plan the funeral.

Ezra’s horse maintains a steady clip all the way to the Augspurger farm. When the buggy turns into the long lane, I flash my headlights in farewell and head toward town.

“Where to now, Chief?”

I glance over to see Tomasetti looking at me with those dark, intense eyes.

Eyes that are difficult to meet, but once you do it’s even more difficult to look away.

I see damage in those eyes, and I wonder briefly about its source.

I wonder if mine reveal the same thing. It’s tough to be a cop without sustaining some kind of damage.

I’m certain I’ve never met him before tonight, but his face is familiar. “I can take you to your motel or back to the station,” I say. “Your choice.”

“The station’s fine.”

“You a night bird? ”

His mouth twists. “Insomniac.”

I’m used to dealing with all sorts of people, but Tomasetti makes me vaguely uneasy. I want to think I’m immune to his weird thousand-yard stare, but I’m not. Not tonight, when my secrets are in the forefront of my mind.

“So who called you in?” I ask after a moment.

He answers with the nonchalance of a man discussing the weather on a sunny day. “Norm Johnston. The mayor. And the woman with the big mouth.”

Janine Fourman. I nearly smile at his apt description. “The Three Musketeers.”

“They gunning for your job?”

“They want the murders to go away.”

“Is that why they left you out of the loop?”

I cut him a hard look. “They left me out of the loop because they don’t want these murders scaring away the tourists.”

“I’m glad you cleared that up for me,” he says.

The sarcastic sneer in his voice pisses me off.

I’ve known a lot of cops like him over the years.

Veterans, usually. Older. They have experience, but they lack the humanity that would otherwise define them as good cops.

The more they see, the less they feel. The less they care.

They become cynical and bitter and apathetic. They give all cops a bad rap.

“So how long have you been chief?” he asks.

“Two years.”

“You a cop before that?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I didn’t work at the Cut and Curl, if that’s what you’re asking.”

One side of his mouth curves up. “This your first murder?”

“Norm Johnston tell you that, too?”

“He said you were inexperienced.”

His candor surprises me. “What else did he tell you?”

He looks amused. “Are you pumping me for information? ”

“Just the truth.”

“Telling the truth usually gets me into trouble.”

“I get the feeling you don’t mind.”

He looks out the window for a moment, then turns his attention back to me. “So what’s your experience?”

I lift a shoulder, let it drop. “I was a cop in Columbus. Six years in patrol. Two as a detective. Homicide.”

Even in the dim light from the dash, I see his brow arch. “They didn’t mention that.”

“Didn’t think so. What about you?”

“Narcotics, mostly.”

“Detective?”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Since dinosaurs roamed the earth. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m one of them.” He smiles.

I resist the urge to smile back. “You look familiar.”

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to that.”

I’m not sure what he means. “Get around to what?”

“You’re not up on your pseudo-celebrities, are you?”

A vague memory tickles the back of my brain. A newspaper or television story out of Cleveland or Toledo about the murder of a cop’s family. Home invasion. A decorated cop going rogue…

I can’t hide my surprise when I look at Tomasetti.

“Yeah, I’m him.” He looks amused. “Lucky you, huh?”

Unable to meet his penetrating stare, I look back at the road. “Toledo? Last year?”

“Cleveland,” he corrects. “Two years ago.”

“I followed the story some.”

“You and half the state.”