I’m ruminating the possibilities when my phone trills. I look at the LCD display to see that the main switchboard is buzzing me. Absently, I hit Speaker. “Yeah?”
“Chief, you’ve got a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Me.”
The voice goes through me like a blade. I look up to see John Tomasetti standing at my office door. I shouldn’t be surprised; I knew he was coming. A flurry of emotions whip through me anyway. Shock. Pleasure. Uncertainty. All of which are followed by a thrill that feels like a thousand volts of electricity. For a moment I’m dumbstruck and can’t think of anything to say. Then my brain is flooded with a jumble of words, none of which are appropriate.
I finally settle for, “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious, and a nervous laugh escapes me. “You live a hundred miles away. You can’t just be in the neighborhood.”
He has the poker face of a card shark. I’m adept at reading people, but not Tomasetti. It’s unsettling not knowing what he’s thinking. He stares at me, unblinking, his expression as inscrutable as stone. “I thought you might like some help with the case.”
Silence reigns for the span of a dozen heartbeats. Tomasetti looks away, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and for a split second he looks as uncertain as I feel.
“In that case, have a seat.” I punctuate the words with a smile, then look down at my notes.
He takes the chair across from me. “So, what have you got?”
Relieved that we share the familiar ground of police work, I recap everything I know about the case.
“Do you think it’s possible this girl, Mary, embellished in the journal?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.” I fumble for the right words. “There was an earnestness to her writing. A na?veté that’s hard to fake.” I sigh. “She was in love with this guy.”
“So the lover is a suspect.”
“She was pregnant. A minor.”
“Could be a motive. Who else?”
“There’s Aaron Plank, but he’s not really a viable suspect at this point.” I glance at him over the top of my notes to find him staring at me intently. “That’s not to say he didn’t have issues with his parents. He was excommunicated when he was seventeen. That would have caused a lot of pain. Maybe even rage. Maybe he couldn’t let go.”
“Enough rage to shoot his brothers and torture his sisters?”
“That’s my stumbling block. I can’t see him doing that.”
“Okay, what else do you have?”
“Home invasion–type robbery. Things go bad. The killings could have been an afterthought. Or it could be a hate crime.”
“You’re keeping all your options open.”
“Nothing seems to be a good fit.”
“Yeah, well, our jobs would be a lot easier if murder ever made sense.” He picks up the journal from my desk. “She never names the lover?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t give us anything.”
“Sounds like maybe he told her to keep her mouth shut.”
“Probably. He was manipulating her. She certainly had cause not to tell her parents, especially after the way they reacted to Aaron’s announcement that he was gay.”
Tomasetti pages through the journal, then sets it back on my desk. “You develop any kind of profile on the boyfriend?”
“I think he’s English. Older than Mary. Twenty-five to thirty-five years old. Charming. Manipulative. Dabbles in drugs. Maybe some amateur photography.”
“Photography?”
“He took some photos of her.”
He arches a brow. “You mean porn?”
“Maybe. I think he may have drugged her, too. She writes about it, but it’s not real clear.”
“You check the Internet for pics?”
“I haven’t Googled ‘Hot Amish Chicks,’ if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. People have all sorts of strange fetishes. Nuns. Feet. Whips and chains.” He shrugs.
All I can think is that I should have already pursued that angle. I hit Speaker on my phone and dial T.J. He picks up on the first ring. “We think Mary Plank’s boyfriend might have been taking pornographic photos of her. He may have been posting them online. I want you to go out there and see what you can find. You might start with some of the search engines. Check out some of the porn sites. You might also check to see if any of them have an Amish slant.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to surf Internet porn sites? Jeez, this has gotta be a first.”
“Probably the last, too.”
He sighs. “Okay, I’m on it.”
I disconnect and look at John. He’s got penetrating eyes. The kind that are hard to meet. Harder to hold. Impossible to read. I sense there’s something going on with him. Some internal discord I can’t put my finger on.
“Tell me about the brother,” he says.
I give him the rundown on Aaron Plank. “He lives with his partner in Philly now.”
“Bad blood between him and his parents?”
“He says no.”
“With his entire family dead, what else is he going to say?”
“There is one person I can think of who might know something about family dynamics.”