“Damn, Chief. That’s bizarre. Why would someone want an Amish lady dead? I mean, an Amish mother with three little kids to take care of?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
The ambulance arrives, the red and blue lights flashing, no siren. I watch as the paramedics are turned away at the door and I sigh.
“Let me know if you figure it out.”
*
It’s a dangerous thing when a cop knows too much about a crime, especially if said cop possesses information that would be helpful to the investigating agency and doesn’t speak up. I don’t know if the bones found in the grain elevator will ever be positively identified. Seventeen years have passed. Investigators are reliant upon DNA or dental records, neither of which may exist. That doesn’t mean I’m home free. Not even close.
Rural areas have long memories when it comes to any kind of major crime, an inescapable fact that doesn’t bode well in terms of my avoiding getting sucked into the case. It was big news when Daniel Lapp went missing. Many believed he’d left town to escape the heavy hand of the Amish. But not everyone. Not his parents. Certainly not his brother, Benjamin.
By virtue of the timing alone, the police will question Benjamin. Once they learn Daniel was last seen at my parents’ farm, they’ll be knocking on my door, Sarah’s door, and Jacob’s door, asking questions none of us want to answer, just like they did seventeen years ago. This time, however, they’ll be wondering why I didn’t come to them first. I wonder if it would be beneficial for me to call Sheriff Redmon and start lying now, instead of waiting and letting them come to me.
I burn through an hour, stuck behind my desk, returning calls and e-mails and putting out fires. After receiving a slew of media inquiries earlier in the day, I ask Jodie to write a press release, a generic piece that basically rehashes the things everyone already knows. For now, it’s going to have to be enough. Best case, it will buy me some time, because this story has all the hallmarks of a sensational headline in the making. It’s Amish focused, includes a father and two dead children, and a mystery that expands with every new piece of information tossed our way.
At seven o’clock, Rasmussen returns my call. “Around-the-clock protection?” He laughs. “Are you kidding?”
“Not protection, exactly.” I hedge, knowing my request is so far out there, he’s well within his bounds to laugh at me. “Mattie might’ve been the target. I’d feel better knowing someone was out there, keeping an eye on things.”
“In a perfect world, we could do that. As you know, we don’t live in a perfect world.”
“Mike.”
“Look, I can have my guys drive by every so often,” he offers. “Round-the-clock is out of the question.”
“Can’t you spare one deputy?” I ask. “One shift?”
“Wish I could, Kate. I just don’t have the budget for O.T. We’re already operating on a skeleton crew here. I wish I could help, but I can’t.”
I sigh, only slightly peeved because I know he’d do it if he could. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Look, while I have you on the phone … I heard from the lab on that piece of wood Luke Miller found,” he tells me. “The indentation is, indeed, from a bolt. And it’s recent.”
“How recent?”
“Days or maybe even hours.”
“Is it from the sheared pin we found at the scene?”
“That’s the kicker. It’s not the same.”
“Do the lab guys have any idea what that pin is for?”
“They’re running some comps, but it’s going to take a while.”
“We’re relatively certain we’re dealing with a Ford F-250. I wonder if we should take both pieces to Ford? Or a local dealership?
“Since it was an after-market part, a Ford guy probably isn’t going to be much help.”
“Shit, Mike, you’re just full of positive offerings this evening.”
“Yeah, well, I try.”
For the span of several seconds, neither of us speaks, but I sense our minds working over everything we know about the case so far and how little we have to work with in terms of solid facts. “Will you do me a favor?” I ask.
“Well, since I owe you now…”
“Will you have one of your guys take that bolt to someone who knows about after-market parts? Someone who might recognize it? Maybe that custom hot-rod shop in Millersburg?”
“Worth a shot.”
I thank him and disconnect, then sit there for a moment, the exchange running through my head like a bad script. My stomach growls, reminding me the most nutritious substance I’ve put in my stomach all day is coffee.