Town councilwoman Janine Fourman speaks up. “Chief Burkholder, with all due respect to you and your department, murdering a family of Amish people with a truck seems rather far-fetched and, frankly, an odd way to kill someone.”
She’s in her midfifties, with dyed black hair, shifty brown eyes, and a body as short and round as a milk-fed heifer. We’ve butted heads a dozen times in the years I’ve been chief. Still, I give her points for making it this far in a town that still has a boy’s-club mentality. I suspect she’s got her sights set on the mayor’s office, an ambition that would be detrimental to not only me, but my department.
“She’s got a point, Kate,” Auggie says. “A hit-and-run seems like a roundabout way to go about it. And what would the motive be?”
I bullet-point everything we’ve uncovered so far, beginning with the lack of debris at the scene and the bogus invoice, and ending with the attempted breakin, the foot chase, and ensuing struggle last night.
Councilman Stubblefield grimaces. “Is that how you got the tattoo there on your face?”
I nod, let him take a good, long look at it. “I believe the suspect I chased is the same person who killed Paul Borntrager and those kids. I believe Mattie Borntrager was his target. If I hadn’t been there last night, he might have killed her and her young son.” I pause to let that sink in and look from member to member. “I think he’ll try again.” I make eye contact with Auggie. “I need eyes on that house twenty-four–seven, Auggie. That means a budget for overtime.”
The mayor’s expression twists as if he’s in the grip of a stomach cramp that’s going to end badly. “Kate, I know you’re stretched thin—”
“I’ve been stretched thin for three years,” I cut in.
“Painters Mill isn’t exactly New York City.” Bruce Jackson pipes up for the first time.
I don’t look at him, don’t let my annoyance alter my expression.
Auggie spreads his hands, a generous king who’s run out of bread for his starving peasants. “You’re already over budget.”
“The budget allotted the police department wasn’t adequate to begin with,” I point out.
“You signed off on it,” Janine interjects.
I ignore her, knowing that if I speak I’ll overstep the boundaries of civility, which won’t help. “My officers can’t even take a vacation day without my having to call someone in to cover. This woman and her son, and the community as a whole, deserve better than that. They deserve protection.”
I can’t tell if they’re moved by my argument or if this is just another business-as-usual meeting. They are, after all, politicians. Best case scenario, they’ll sanction additional budget for overtime. Worse case, they’ll send me off with a pat on the hand and a warning to get my labor cost under control.
I look at Auggie, but he glances down at the notepad in front of him, pretends to jot something. I let my eyes rest on each member of the council. Dick Blankenship. Ron Zelinski. Bruce Jackson. Norm Johnston. Janine Fourman. They are citizens, like me, doing their best with the resources they have. At least that’s what I tell myself as I wrap it up.
“We appreciate what you’re up against here, Chief Burkholder,” Zelinski says earnestly.
“But if the funds aren’t there, they’re not there,” Norm Johnston puts in.
“We simply don’t have the money,” Janine adds.
“Hold on.” Auggie steps in, taking control, aware that this is his show and he’s the star. “Kate, let me get with the bean counters, see if there’s anything they can do, okay? I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
Everyone at the table nods, looking pleased with themselves, and for an instant I struggle not to laugh, because they look very much like bobbleheads.
*
On the short drive from the council meeting to the police station, I can’t help but think of all the pet projects to which monies were allocated as a result of political back-scratching, and I kick myself for not pointing them out. But I know it wouldn’t have mattered; it definitely wouldn’t have helped my cause. The last time I took on the council, I was accused of not being a team player. The fact of the matter is, they were right; I’m not a team player. If I can do something better on my own, without having to rely on someone else—especially if there’s a life at stake—fuck the team. If I want to keep Mattie and David safe, I’m going to have to do it myself.
I’m still angry when I walk into the station. Mona looks up from her place at the switchboard. Her mouth falls open when she notices my black eye. “Whoa.”
“Whatever you do,” I mutter as I head toward the coffee station, “don’t tell me I look like shit.”
“Actually, Chief, I was just thinking you look kind of good roughed up. I mean, in a badass kind of way.”
I can’t help it; I laugh. “I love you, Mona.”
Lois emerges from the hall with a box of office supplies in her arms. She nearly drops a ream of copy paper when she notices my face. “Janine Fourman didn’t do that, did she?”