“I’ll check with datt.”
“You need to be proactive about your personal safety. That means be aware of your surroundings at all times, Mattie. Keep your doors locked, day and night. Let me know if you need to go into town and I’ll either go with you or have someone accompany you. I’m going to get you a cell phone, too.”
“No cell phone, Katie. You know the Ordnung forbids—”
I silence her by raising my hand. “Don’t argue, Mattie. This is a serious situation. No one needs to know.”
Her mouth tightens, but she’s either too smart—or too scared—to argue.
“I’ll do my best to keep an officer here at the farm, too, but I can’t guarantee it.”
“I understand.”
I sigh. “Do you keep a firearm here at the house?”
“Paul keeps a shotgun in our closet. For hunting.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Katie, I haven’t fired a shotgun since I was ten years old and my datt took me quail—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes. I know how to use it.”
“What about shells?”
“There’s a box on the shelf, I think.”
“I want you to load it. Keep it out of David’s reach. But keep it loaded and handy. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand.”
I stare at her, hating it that she looks more frightened now than when I arrived.
*
It’s nearly dawn by the time the CSU arrives. I leave him with instructions to capture any footwear imprints from the path in the woods and the perimeter of the house, and to dust the back door for fingerprints. Twice, Glock suggested I swing by the hospital to have the cut on my cheek checked out. Twice, I tell him I’m fine. But by the time I climb into the Explorer and start the engine, my head is pounding.
At 6:00 A.M., I park in my driveway and let myself into the house. I barely notice the clutter that has accumulated over recent days or the stuffy air as I lock the door behind me. I’m hungry so I go directly to the kitchen. I find some mushy grapes and old cheese in the fridge. I’m in the process of cutting away the mold when I hear a scratch at the window. The orange tabby peers at me from his place on the sill.
Smiling despite the headache, I go to the pantry for the bag of cat food and fill his bowl. Back at the sink, I open the window and push open the screen. “Sorry I’m late, buddy.”
He ignores me and hunkers down to eat.
I shed my clothes on the way to the bathroom. I know better than to look in the mirror; somehow seeing the damage done to my face is only going to make it hurt more. I look anyway. The cut isn’t too bad, but the lump beneath is a hard blue knot. The area under my left eye is filled with fluid, and I suspect in the coming hours I’ll have a full-blown black eye.
Snagging a bottle of ibuprofen that expired two months ago from the medicine cabinet, I down four of them with a full glass of tap water and drag myself into the shower.
*
Ask for a lot, get a little.
That’s been my mantra when dealing with Painters Mill’s governing body, the town council. In the three years I’ve been chief, that philosophy has served me well. At 9:00 A.M. I’m standing before the six council members and Mayor Auggie Brock, ten minutes into my pitch for the allocation of funds so I can hire a new police officer. I’ve given them a summary of the Borntrager investigation, ending with my encounter in the woods last night. It took them less than a minute to shoot down my request, so I moved on to Plan B, which is additional budgeting for overtime.
Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m not above using whatever tool I have at my disposal to get what I want. That includes brandishing the hen’s-egg-size bruise on my cheek and my burgeoning black eye, both of which are in full bloom this morning. My wounds are drawing plenty of attention, and I make sure everyone gets a damn good look, because they are the biggest bullet in my box of ammo.
“Three members of the Borntrager family were killed,” I explain. “The incident is still under investigation, but the evidence gathered by the Holmes County sheriff’s office and my own department suggests this was no ordinary hit-and-run accident, but a deliberate act of homicide.”
Auggie gasps with the appropriate level of shock. “I’ve heard the rumors, but murder? My God, Kate, are you sure?”
I give him my full attention and decide to put my neck on the chopping block. “I’m reasonably certain Paul Borntrager and his two children were murdered.”
“Do you know who did it?” he blurts.
“Not yet, but the investigation is ongoing.”