I’m in the process of pouring coffee and laugh so hard I slosh some over the side of my cup. “She would not survive the attempt.”
Lois reaches the desk and sets the supplies next to the switchboard. “Judging from the look on your face, I’m assuming the council meeting didn’t go well.”
“That would be an understatement.”
Passing the headset to her counterpart, Mona meets me at the coffee station. I try not to notice that she’s looking at me with a little bit of awe in her eyes. “There’s ice in the fridge in the back, Chief, do you want me to make you an ice pack?”
“If you don’t mind, that’s probably not a bad idea.” Armed with coffee, I head toward my office.
My computer has gone through the lengthy process of booting up, and I’ve just opened my e-mail software when I hear a tap on the door. I look up to see Mona standing outside my doorway, ice pack in hand.
I motion her in. “Thanks.”
Waving off my gratitude, she hands me the pack and takes the chair opposite my desk.
Gingerly, I set the pack against my cheek. “Your shift ended an hour and a half ago,” I point out.
“I stayed late to work on tip-line stuff.” She shrugs. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“You know I can’t pay you overtime.”
“I know it’s not for lack of trying, Chief.” Blushing, she looks away. “We know you go to bat for us.”
My chest swells with unexpected force. “Thanks for saying that. I needed to hear it.”
Shrugging off my thanks, she shoves two sheets of paper at me. “I put the tip-line stuff into a spreadsheet. Twenty-two calls so far. I thought you might want a peek.”
I take the papers and find myself looking at a table with column headings for the date and time, the name and contact information of the caller, and the particulars of the tip. I’m impressed by the level of organization and attention to detail, and I feel a little guilty because she’s good at what she does and I haven’t done much to recognize it. I’m reminded of her interest in becoming a police officer and I realize should the budget ever materialize, I’ll consider her as a candidate.
“Most of the callers didn’t leave contact info?” I ask.
“They wanted to remain anonymous.”
“Damn Amish,” I mutter.
She snickers.
“I’m surprised we didn’t get any alien calls.”
“We did,” she tells me. “I didn’t put them on the list.”
I flip the page and my eyes are drawn to the final call, which came in late yesterday. An Amish woman, who refused to give her name, claims one of her children saw Mattie Borntrager on the road in front of her farm late at night, arguing with an unknown male.
“Do you have anything else on this anonymous Amish woman?” I ask.
Mona shakes her head. “She wouldn’t leave her name.”
“Huh.” But the simple fact that the caller saw or heard the argument is telling. If the incident took place late at night on the road in front of Mattie’s farm—a dead-end road no less—the caller would have had to be walking or driving by, or else she lives nearby. Considering the late-night hour, I’m betting on the latter.
“This is good work, Mona. Thank you.”
She beams. “You want me to follow up on any of these?”
I don’t believe any of the other calls are viable, but I say, “Why don’t you give Mr. Oren a call and get an alibi?”
“Sure.”
“Then why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”
She grins. “I’ll do it, Chief. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I return her smile. “I’ll let you know when the number crunchers get the hell out of the way.”
CHAPTER 19
I’ve just pulled into the gravel lane of Mattie’s neighbors to speak with Martha Schlabach and, hopefully, get the details on the alleged argument between Mattie and an unidentified male, when my cell phone vibrates against my hip. I glance down, recognize the number as the Amish pay phone on the edge of town, and I pick up on the third ring.
“Katie?”
Something in my sister’s voice makes the muscles at the back of my neck go taut. “What is it?” I ask.
“Two policemen just left,” she tells me. “They were asking all sorts of questions about Daniel Lapp.”
My foot hits the brake even before I realize I’m going to stop. All the while my sister’s words echo in my ears.
They were asking all sorts of questions about Daniel Lapp.
“Which policemen?” I ask. “When?”
“Twenty minutes ago. I hitched the buggy and drove right to the phone to call you. Katie, I told them what you told me to say, but I was nervous. I don’t think they believed me. They kept looking at me as if they thought I was lying.”
You were, I think. “Which policemen were there? Did you get their names?”
“The sheriff from Coshocton County. Redmon was his name, I think. There was a deputy, too. I don’t remember his name.”