CHAPTER 15.
Anyone who"s ever worked in law enforcement-or watched crime TV-knows the first forty-eight hours after a crime is committed are the most important in terms of solving it. Most cops work around the clock those first vital days, when the clock is ticking and their chances of achieving a solve diminish with every minute that pa.s.ses. My tactic on this case is no different. I"ve been chasing the clock all day, and despite my best efforts, there"s no way I"m going to make dinner with Tomasetti. A law enforcement veteran himself, he"ll understand. That doesn"t mean he won"t be disappointed. It won"t alleviate my own disappointment. It will, however, give me a little more time to decide how to respond if he pushes the issue of my moving in with him.
I call him on my way to the Borntrager farm and break the news.
He takes it like a man. "I guess I"m going to have to drink this bottle of wine all by myself."
I chuckle. "Don"t get too close to the pond. I"d hate to find the empty bottle on the bank and you floating facedown in all that moss."
"Anyone ever accuse you of having a dark sense of humor?"
"You"re the only one who appreciates it."
He pauses. "Any luck on the case?"
I tell him about my meeting with Armitage and we cover the same ground Glock and I covered earlier. "Will you do me a favor?" I ask.
"You know I will."
"Will you pull arrest records for hate crimes in the two-county area?"
"I"m all over it." In the background I hear a dull popping sound.
"What was that?" I ask.
"Breaking the seal. Going to let this breathe for a few minutes."
"I"m sorry I didn"t make it."
"Me, too."
I turn onto the dead-end road that will take me to the Borntrager farm. I can just make out the silhouettes of two buggies moving down the lane toward the house.
"If you can get away tomorrow," Tomasetti begins, "I"ve got a nice cabernet from California in the pantry."
"I"ll be there," I tell him. "Come h.e.l.l or high water."
"Hopefully it won"t come to that."
I"m smiling when I disconnect.
The Borntrager farm seems hushed as I park off the sidewalk at the rear of the house. The two buggies sit adjacent the barn. The barn door is open and I presume her neighbors have arrived to take care of the ch.o.r.es. Bishop Troyer is gone, probably home to rest and take care of his own affairs. Another family or neighbor will be looking after Mattie and David tonight.
I take the sidewalk to the back door and knock. A young woman wearing a gray dress with a white ap.r.o.n and prayer kapp answers. Her eyes widen when she spots my uniform. "May I help you?"
"Hi, I"m Kate Burkholder." I show her my badge. "I"m here to see Mattie."
Her mouth tightens with disapproval, and I wonder if people still talk about my abandoning my roots, or maybe someone has recently mentioned me in an unflattering light. "Mattie was very distraught after the funerals and is lying down upstairs."
She"s trying to find a way to deny my request without being openly rude. "I wouldn"t ask to see her at a time like this if it wasn"t important."
"Maybe you could come back later?"
I look beyond her to see a stout older woman with a dish towel draped over her shoulder marching toward us, her practical shoes like jackhammers against the floor. Recognition flickers and I realize I knew her back when I was a preteen; she was an a.s.sistant teacher at the school I attended. Mattie used to call her Leih, the Pennsylvania Dutch word for cow, mainly because even though she was only a few years older than us, she was already a large woman and enjoyed bullying anyone smaller or younger or weaker.
"Mattie is sleeping and asked not to be disturbed," she informs me in Pennsylvania Dutch.
"h.e.l.lo, Miriam," I begin. "Nice to see you."
She doesn"t smile. "Come back in the morning like a decent person."
I push open the door. Both women move back to avoid me when I step inside. The younger woman"s eyes widen as I brush past her. Miriam isn"t deterred and blocks my path. "You just hold your horses right there, Katie Burkholder."
"This is official police business," I tell her. "I"m not leaving until I speak with Mattie."
"In that case I"ll bring you a pillow and you can sleep on the porch."
In the back of my mind, I know this is funny. Especially because she"s serious and I"m getting p.i.s.sed. Under different circ.u.mstances I might have laughed, or at least enjoyed the comedy of it. But my sense of humor has shriveled to the size of a pea in the last couple of days and I"m tired of people making my job difficult. "Get out of my way or I will arrest you. Do you understand?"
"Where"s your sense of decency?" Miriam asks crossly. "Can"t you see the poor girl"s mourning?"
"Katie?"
I glance through the kitchen to see Mattie standing in the doorway, looking as pale as a ghost, as inanimate as a mannequin. She appears physically ill, depressed, and utterly lifeless.
Miriam casts me an I-told-you-so look. Her eyes don"t soften when they fall on Mattie and I wonder if she remembers the name calling from when we were teenagers. "Back upstairs with you," she says none-too-gently. "Go on now. You need your rest."
"It"s okay, Miriam." A tremulous smile touches Mattie"s lips. "Katie and I are friends."
The woman shoots me a disapproving look, her eyes lingering on my uniform. "Sie hot net der glaawe." She doesn"t keep the faith. Catching the eye of the younger woman, she motions toward the kitchen and then they leave us.
For several seconds, Mattie and I contemplate each other. She looks too raw to partake in a long question-and-answer session, especially when none of it"s going to be pleasant. I don"t have the luxury of sparing her.
"Leih," I whisper. Cow.
Mattie chokes out a laugh, but tears fill her eyes. "She"s only trying to help."
I nod, my temper fading. "I"m sorry to bother you so late and so soon after the funerals."
"It"s okay. I know you"re only doing your job." She tilts her head. "Has something happened?"
"I talked to Dr. Armitage at the Hope Clinic today. He told me you"re the one who usually takes the children to their appointments."
She seems confused by the statement, as if she doesn"t comprehend its significance. "Ja. That"s true."
"Is there a reason why you didn"t mention it?"
"I guess I didn"t think of it. I didn"t know it was important."
"Mattie, the crash that killed Paul and your children wasn"t an accident. Someone did it on purpose. We thought Paul might have been targeted. That"s why we were looking at people who might"ve had a falling-out with him."
"But I told you, Katie. He didn"t have any enemies."
"Mattie." I step closer to her, reach out, and take both of her hands in mine. Her fingers are cold and clammy; it"s like touching a dead person. "If you"re the one who drives the children to the clinic every week, you may have been the target."
"But ... I don"t understand. I"m a n.o.body. An Amish woman and her children? Why would someone do such a thing?"
"I don"t know." I study her face, but all I see is the weight of grief in her eyes, fatigue, and the sharp edges of a burgeoning realization.
"Mattie, I need to ask you all the same questions I asked about Paul. Do you have any enemies? Have you been involved in any disputes or arguments? Anything you can think of that might have led to this?"
"No, of course not."
"Any problems related to the children? Or money perhaps?" I think of her beauty and add. "Any jealousy?"
"No, Katie. None of those things."
"What about strangers? Have you seen any strange vehicles or buggies in the area? Driving by too often? Anyone watching you or the house or the children?"
"No. That"s just crazy."
Out of the corner of my eye I see Miriam peek at us from the kitchen, casting a reproachful look my way. I stare at her until she turns away. "What about in town?"
"Nothing like that has happened."
I stare at her for a second, noticing the pale, dry lips. Flesh the color of a bruise beneath her eyes. The part of me that was once her best friend wants to spare her these questions. I want to protect her from the likelihood that someone wishes her harm. But the part of me that is a cop knows I can"t. "Is it possible Paul was being unfaithful? Maybe there was a jealous husband?"
I know she"s going down an instant before her eyes roll back. Her knees buckle. Her head lolls back. I lunge forward, catch her beneath her arms just in time to keep her from hitting the floor. But she"s too heavy for me; her body is slack, dead weight in my arms. Though she"s small framed, the best I can do is break her fall.
"Mattie. Mattie!"
The two Amish women rush into the mudroom.
I position her on the floor so that she"s lying on her back. Miriam kneels beside her. "You and your Englischer ways." She snaps the words without looking at me. "What did you do to her?"
"She collapsed," I tell her.
"You are bad for her," she says nastily. "You were always bad for her and you still are."
I know better than to let the words affect me, but they hit some obscure bull"s-eye, that small part of me that, even after all these years, still longs to belong despite the fact that I"m not wanted. "Shut up, Miriam." I pull out my cell to call for an ambulance.
She hisses at me, bats my phone away with her hand. "She is fine." Miriam looks over her shoulder at the younger woman. "Bring me a wet towel and a pillow."
Leaning over Mattie, Miriam slips her hand beneath Mattie"s head and lifts it slightly. "Everything"s going to be all right," she whispers.
Dispatch responds to my call. "Ten fifty two," I say, giving the code for requesting an ambulance.
"She"ll be fine as soon as you stop badgering her with questions and scaring the daylights out of her," Miriam snaps.
Ignoring her, I give the dispatcher the address.
I"m in the process of clipping my phone to my belt when Mattie"s eyes flutter open. For an instant, she stares at me as if she doesn"t recognize me. Then she startles, gets her elbows beneath her, and tries to rise. "What..."
"You had a spell is all," Miriam coos.
"You fainted," I tell her.
"I"m ... fine," Mattie says quickly. "I just ... got a little dizzy."
The younger Amish woman arrives with a damp kitchen towel and an embroidered pillow from the sofa.
"You just lie still for a moment." Miriam sets the towel on Mattie"s forehead and then slides the pillow beneath her head. "Catch your breath." She orders the younger Amish woman to fetch a gla.s.s of water, then addresses me: "We don"t need an ambulance. What she needs is some peace and quiet, two things that don"t happen whenever you"re around, Katie Burkholder."
I direct my words to Mattie. "You should get yourself checked out at the hospital."
"It was just a dizzy spell, Katie. I"m okay ... just tired from everything that"s happened."
"We"ll take care of her," Miriam tells me. "She"ll be fine once you and your questions go away."
The words make me sigh. I shake my head, knowing that when the ambulance arrives, Mattie will probably refuse treatment. Still, I don"t cancel the call.
I glance down at her and offer a smile. She looks embarra.s.sed, not only because she fainted, but because her caregiver is being rude to me. "I"ll let you get some rest," I tell her.
She raises her hand to mine. I take it and squeeze. "I"m fine," she says, offering a tentative smile. "Don"t worry. Miriam will take good care of me."
I get the impression Miriam doesn"t much care for either of us, but I don"t say the words. "Will you do me a favor?" I ask.
"Of course I will."
"Keep your doors locked. Watch your back."
Miriam makes a sound of annoyance.
Mattie holds on to her smile, but for the first time I see an uneasiness that wasn"t there before. I know she doesn"t need anything more to deal with, but I also know there are times when fear is a healthy thing, when a look over your shoulder might be the only thing that saves your life.
While I"m sitting in the Explorer, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I pull out my cell and call T.J. "You in the mood for some O.T.?" I begin.
"I"m game. What do you have in mind?"
"I want you to camp out at the Borntrager farm tonight."
"Sure." He falls silent. "You think someone"s going to go after the wife, too?"