*
There are innumerable rewards that come with the closing of an investigation. First and foremost is the knowledge that a dangerous individual—in this case, two—has been taken off the street and won’t be harming anyone else. But there are other rewards, too. The personal satisfaction of knowing you did your job to the best of your ability; that the time and energy you’d invested paid off. Then there’s the intellectual reward of finally having the question of “why?” addressed.
That, more than anything, is the engine driving us as Tomasetti and I walk through the emergency entrance of Hillcrest Hospital in Mayfield Heights, a small community east of Cleveland.
We don’t speak as we ride the elevator up. The doors whoosh open to a brightly lit nurses station. A heavyset woman wearing pink scrubs sits at the desk, staring at a computer monitor. She glances up when we step off the elevator. She doesn’t speak, but her mouth firms into a thin, unpleasant line, and I suspect she’s not happy about the police questioning her new high-profile patients.
Beyond, a wide tiled hall is lined with doors. We don’t have to ask which rooms belong to the victims. Two Lake County sheriff’s deputies and a state Highway Patrol trooper stand outside rooms 308 and 312, drinking coffee and talking quietly, eyeing us with the territorial glares of a pack of dogs. Another local cop sits in a plastic chair, reading a magazine.
Since the crimes were committed in rural Lake County, the case falls under the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s office. But Tomasetti and I have been part of this investigation since the task force was formed. I don’t think there will be a problem with our sitting in on the interview.
All eyes fall on us as we approach. I recognize two of the deputies from the scene at the Mast farm earlier. Their expressions aren’t hostile, but they’re not friendly, either, and I’m reminded they’ve lost a fellow officer today.
Tomasetti slides his badge from his pocket, and I do the same. The deputy I don’t recognize steps forward and extends his hand. “I’m Ralph Tannin with the Lake County sheriff’s office.”
He introduces the other men, one of whom is with the Monongahela Falls PD, and then addresses me. “We want to thank you for what you did, Chief Burkholder.”
“I was at the right place at the right time,” I tell him.
“No one could have imagined what was going on out there at that farm.” He rocks back on his heels. “Goddamn middle age Amish couple.”
“You talk to any of them yet?” Tomasetti asks.
“The doc’s with the Fisher girl now.” Tannin indicates the room directly behind him.
“You guys find anything else at the scene?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Just those two skulls. But we’ve got a lot more to search.”
The door behind him opens. I look up and see a tall, thin man emerge. He’s wearing a white lab coat over SpongeBob scrubs and glasses with small square lenses. He’s young, maybe thirty, with a five o’clock shadow and circles the size of plums beneath his eyes, telling me he’s been on duty for quite some time. His badge tells me his name is Dr. Barton.
“How’s she doing?” I ask.
The doctor looks at me over the tops of his glasses. She’s “dehydrated, exhausted, traumatized. But she’s going to be okay.” He glances at Tannin. “Are her parents on the way?”
The deputy nods. “They got a driver and should be here within the hour.”
“Good,” the physician says. “She needs them.”
“Can we talk to her?” Tomasetti asks.
Barton gives a reluctant nod. “She’s been sedated, so she can get some rest tonight. Keep it short and try not to upset her too much.”
“What about Ruth Wagler?” I ask.
Dr. Barton shakes his head. “She’s not going to be talking to anyone for a while.”
Tomasetti jabs a thumb at Noah Mast’s room a few feet away. “We need to talk to him, too.”
“I’m going to examine him now,” the doctor replies. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Same rules apply. Don’t upset him and keep it short.” With that, he walks away and disappears into Noah Mast’s room.
Tannin looks at me. “I understand you spent some time with this girl in the tunnel.”
“Just a minute or so before I went for help,” I tell him. “And I stayed with the hostages while the locksmith cut off the shackles.”
“Did I hear right when someone told me you used to be Amish?” he asks.
I smile, but the expression feels tired on my face. “You heard right.”
“I’m not opposed to your taking her statement.” He looks from the deputy to Tomasetti and back to me. “She might be more comfortable if you ask the questions tonight.”