He jabs the rifle at me. “Do it!”
His voice booms through the structure. Until this moment, I’d seen him as a frail, sickly old man confined to a wheelchair and in need of constant care by his long-suffering wife. All of it was a lie. The wheelchair. His failing health. All to protect him from what he’d done. To keep his secrets from coming to light. The thought sends a chill through me.
“Put down the rifle.” Hoping to buy some time, I raise both hands and sidle toward the door. “I’ll do whatever you say.” I look at Abigail, urging her with my eyes to obey him and get back to the house. She’s standing slightly behind Kaufman, so that the old man is between us, forming an irregular triangle of sorts. She stares back at me, her expression chillingly blank.
Kaufman tilts his head, looks at me the way a scientist might look at some small animal he’s about to slice open. His face is devoid of emotion. There’s no tension. No fear. Just the cold resolve of a man determined to save his daughter, his family, and his own neck. In that instant I realize I’m not going to be able to talk him down.
Keeping my hands at shoulder level, I sidestep closer to the door and try another tactic. “Abigail told me Leroy Nolt fell into the pen. I know it was an accident. I know she wasn’t there. I know you had no part in what happened. No one’s going to hold either of you responsible for something you didn’t do. If you put down that rifle, both of you can walk away from this.”
The Amish woman’s head jerks toward me. “They murdered him, Chief Burkholder. All of them. Jeramy. My brother. My father.”
I don’t look at her, keeping my eyes on Kaufman, waiting for an opportunity to pull my sidearm and stop the threat.
Kaufman shifts his gaze to his daughter. “Sei ruich.” Be quiet.
“The truth has been kept quiet long enough,” she tells him.
“Leroy Nolt was Mennisch.” Mennonite. He hisses the word, but his hatred echoes with crystal clarity.
“And you’re a maddah.” Murderer.
“I did it to keep you from burning in hell.”
“Leeyah.” Liar. “What about your bastard grandson?” she hisses. “How are you going to save Levi’s soul?”
Kaufman opens his mouth, his lips quivering. The rifle quivers in his hands. “Sei ruich!”
In the instant his attention shifts away from me, I yank out my revolver and fire twice, center mass. Kaufman jolts, red blooming just above his hip. The rifle clatters to the floor. He goes to one knee. I’m in the process of holstering my .38 when he launches himself at me, catching me off guard. His shoulder rams my midsection. I reel backward, nearly go down. With stunning speed, he snatches up the rifle, brings it up. But I’m faster, and I grab the barrel and stock with both hands, ram him with it. He’s not much bigger than me. Despite his age and at least one gunshot wound, he’s stronger. I yank the rifle toward me, try to topple his balance. He stumbles forward but doesn’t fall. I twist the rifle right, try to wrench it from him. He counters by twisting left. I lose my grip on the muzzle. He swings it toward me. His finger slips into the trigger guard.
In the periphery of my vision, I see Abigail moving. I hear a shout, but I can’t make out her words. A high-pitched zing! sounds from the rafters above. I glance up, see the hay pulley quiver.
Kaufman looks up. Too late, I see the massive load of hay barreling toward us. I try to get out of the way, but I’m not fast enough.
The hay plows into us like a giant battering ram. It strikes me in the face and chest and knocks me off my feet. My boots leave the floor. And then I’m falling backward into nothingness.
CHAPTER 29
The first thing I’m aware of is the sounds of the hogs all around. Wet concrete against my back. Not quite knowing where I am. The stench of manure. The shuffle of cloven hooves against the ground. I’m cognizant of pain, but I can’t pinpoint its exact location. My head. My left wrist. The small of my back …
I open my eyes. For an instant, I’m not sure what I’m looking at. But as my senses return, I recognize the load of hay dangling twelve feet above me. Around me, hogs scamper about, rooting around and eating the fallen stems. My presence has caught the attention of the animals. A big boar with a single tusk. A large sow with a bloody stump for a tail and a chunk of flesh taken out of her rump.
I grew up around farm animals—cattle, hogs, horses, and sheep—and I’ve never been afraid of them. But I don’t like the looks of these hogs. They’re skinny and feral looking. Judging from the enthusiasm with which they’re eating the fallen hay, they’re hungry, too.