The urge to tell him I plan to do just that is strong, but I don’t because I know better than to make some emotion-driven promise I may not be able to keep. “How well did you know Paul?”
“He was a great guy. Quiet. Religious. To tell you the truth, he had a pretty wicked sense of humor for an Amish guy.” He chuckles as if remembering. “I only met him a handful of times, but he was terrific.”
Something pings in the back of my brain. “I was under the impression that he had a standing appointment here at the clinic.”
“Mattie was the one who usually brought in the kids. Every week like clockwork. For bloodwork, mostly. The children were on medication offered for free as part of a clinical trial. I like to keep a handle on the levels in the bloodstream. And the neutrophils, of course. We also discussed nutritional needs. Every month or so, I had a psychologist come down from Wooster and we did some problem solving and IQ testing.” He gives a nod. “Mattie was great with them. Attentive. Gentle with discipline. Good instincts. Patient.”
“How well do you know her?”
“Well enough to know those kids were her life. ‘Gifts from God’ is the way she referred to them. I can’t imagine what this did to her.”
We fall silent, and for a moment the only sound comes from the chatter of sparrows from the canopy of the maple tree. “Did either of them mention any disagreements or problems? With other family members or neighbors? Friends or acquaintances?”
“Neither of them ever mentioned any conflicts of any kind. They were the type of folks who seemed to get along with everyone.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about the family, Dr. Armitage? Any insights you can offer? Or general observations you can share?”
He takes a moment to consider the question, then shakes his head. “Not that I recall. But they were very private people. Not the type to confide. Our relationship was of a doctor-patient nature. When they were here, it was all about the children.” Then he gives me a candid look. “I’m reading between the lines, Chief Burkholder, but it sounds as if there’s something going on here that I haven’t read about.”
“I hate to leave you in the dark, Dr. Armitage, but since it’s an open investigation, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details just yet.”
“I understand.” He sits back in his chair and huffs out a sigh. “It’s such a senseless, unimaginable tragedy. Frankly, it pisses me off.”
My smile feels wan on my face as I rise. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me, Dr. Armitage.”
“I wish I could do more.” He gets to his feet and we shake hands again. “If you need anything else, Chief, please come see me.” His mouth twists into an ironic smile. “I’m usually here working until ten or eleven p.m.”
I’m midway to the door when he calls out my name.
I stop and turn to see him striding toward me, his expression troubled. “One more thing,” he says, and stops a few feet away. “This may or may not be relevant to the case, Chief Burkholder, but you asked, so I’m going to skate uncomfortably close to stepping over the physician-patient privilege line and tell you about an observation I made early in my relationship with the Borntragers.”
I feel myself go still inside, silencing my thoughts and the clutter in my brain, the way you do when you know you’re about to hear something important and you don’t want to miss a single word or gesture or the manner in which it’s delivered.
“Let me preface by saying that Paul and Mattie are good and loving parents. Of that, I’m certain.” He sighs, looks down at the floor as if he’s debating how to broach the subject at all. “The first time I examined David, I found a handprint on his behind. A red welt in the shape of a hand with some bruising beneath the skin. It was evident someone had spanked bare skin with a good bit of vigor. When I asked David about it, he said his datt smacked him for stealing a pie and then lying about eating it. As you know, David is overweight, which is typical of children suffering with Cohen syndrome. I must admit, I was a little taken aback. I know corporal punishment is an acceptable form of discipline in many households. But the fact that this spanking left a bruise gave me pause. I’m sure you know that, as a physician, I’m mandated by state law to report any indication of child abuse.”
“I’m aware of the statute,” I say.
“I debated whether to file an official report. In the end, however, I elected not to. After much personal deliberation, I drew the conclusion that the discipline was administered in a manner consistent with the Amish culture. In addition, I surmised the bruising was probably a result of the neutropenia, that’s a common attribute of Cohen syndrome.” He offers a grim smile. “You’re not going to tell me I did the wrong thing, are you? Because let me tell you, I lost sleep over it.”
“My gut tells me your judgment didn’t steer you wrong.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“I used to be Amish,” I say.