I find myself chomping at the bit to speak with Wayne Kuhns. Finally, I have a possible motive. It wouldn’t be the first time a stalker had acted on some dark impulse. One of the first objectives of the stalker is to isolate his victim. Eliminate their support system in the hope they will turn to him. In Mattie’s case, he would have also eliminated his competition: her husband.
I call Lois on my way to the station and ask her to run Wayne Kuhns through LEADS. I’m not surprised when he comes back clean. But even seemingly decent, God-loving people can have a hidden dark side, especially when it comes to lust.
Normally, when dealing with the Amish, I prefer to do it alone, for the simple reason that they’re more apt to speak openly to me, if only because of my background. But because of my past friendship with Mattie, I want an objective opinion, so I swing by the station and pick up Glock. I give him the details of my conversation with Mattie on the way to Kuhns’s house.
“You think Kuhns was stalking her?” he asks.
“I thought we might ask him.”
“Damn.” He whistles. “The kids. That’s cold blooded.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time some obsessive narcissist took out his competition.”
“Takes a sick son of a bitch to do something like that.” He motions right. “There’s the street.”
I make a hard right and park at the curb in front of a nondescript frame house with white siding and small concrete porch in the front. From where I’m sitting, I see a one-car detached garage off the alley. The overhead door stands open and yellow lantern light spills into the backyard.
Most Amish in the area live on farms. But with a limited amount of land, and the cost of owning it increasing, some have adapted their lifestyle to keep up with the times. Glock and I take the sidewalk to the front porch. The sound of hammering draws my attention and I realize someone is in the garage off the alley. Instead of going to the front door, we take the sidewalk around the side of the house toward the rear. An old chain-link fence stops us, but there’s no dog in sight, so I open the gate and we continue toward the garage.
I’m a few yards from the door when the sound of sawing reaches me. Through the window, I see Kuhns hunched over whatever project he’s working on. The smells of sawdust and kerosene greet me when I enter. The shop is organized and well lit. A lantern burns from atop the workbench behind him. A second lantern hangs from an exposed beam overhead. Kuhns glances up from his sawing, but takes the time to finish his cut. He’s wearing typical Amish garb: gray trousers with suspenders, a blue work shirt, and a straw hat. I guess him to be in his midthirties. Physically fit. Attractive.
He doesn’t look surprised to see us as he straightens and sets the saw on the workbench. He’s building a doghouse, I realize. A nice one with stained trim, faux shutters, and a roof that opens for easy cleaning. Indoor/outdoor carpet lines the interior.
“Looks like that’s going to be a nice doghouse,” I begin.
He glances at his creation and I see a quick flash of pride in his eyes. “It’s a custom order for one of Mrs. Steinkruger’s customers.”
“Are you Wayne Kuhns?” I ask.
“Yes.” His eyes sweep to Glock and back to me. “What’s this about?”
I show him my badge and identify myself, then we shake hands. Glock hangs back, unobtrusive, but I know he’s watching the other man closely.
“I’m working on the Borntrager case,” I tell him. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
He physically recoils when I mention the Borntragers, and I know instantly that while Wayne Kuhns is either a wannabe adulterer or a stalker, he’s not proud of it, and he’s not very good at hiding his emotions.
“Did you know Paul?” I ask.
He nods. “I met him several times. At worship. The horse auction. Helped him a few times at the farm.”
“What about Mattie?”
He looks down at the floor. I give him a moment, but he doesn’t answer. I’m aware of Glock moving around, looking at the workbench, peering into the trash container.
“Mr. Kuhns?” I say.
“I know Mattie.”
“How do you know her?”
No reply. I don’t know if he doesn’t want to answer or if he’s so upset he can’t.
“How do you know Mattie, Mr. Kuhns?”
“I haven’t seen her for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Six months or so.”
“What was the nature of your relationship?”
His gaze flicks toward the door and I wonder if his wife is inside. I wonder if she knows he’d recently had his sights set on another woman. His silence is telling.
“I know you approached her about a relationship,” I tell him.
He winces as if I slashed him with a blade. “I wasn’t … I mean I didn’t … we didn’t…” He lets the words trail as if he’s not sure how to finish the sentence. “I figured that’s why you’re here.” He doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Were you stalking her?”
“Is that what she told you?”
“I’d appreciate it if you would just answer the question.”
“No. I would never do such a thing.”
I glance over at Glock to see him shake his head. “Do you own a vehicle, Mr. Kuhns?”
“I don’t drive. I have no use for a vehicle. If I need to travel, I hire the Mennonite down the street.”