John had always been a suspicious son of a bitch. Once upon a time that was one of the traits that made him a good cop. He didn’t give a damn where those suspicions took him. He’d arrest his own grandmother if she crossed the line. He supposed that was why it came as a shock to realize he didn’t like the suspicions creeping over him when it came to Kate Burkholder.
Experience had taught him that people let you see only what they wanted you to. Whether they succeeded in that all too human art of deception depended on a couple of things. How good an actor they were. And how good you were at judging character. John had always considered himself a damn good judge of character.
By all accounts, Kate Burkholder seemed like a straight shooter with just enough edge to make the hard choices when the chips were down. But John sensed a thin layer of ambiguity beneath that girl-next-door exterior. She might project an air of moral resolve, but his gut was telling him there was more to the formerly Amish chief than met the eye. If it hadn’t been for the note, he might have let it go. Now, he couldn’t. He was pretty sure she was hiding something. But what? The question rolled around inside his head like a lone die as he jacked the speedometer to eighty.
“Right at the stop sign,” she said.
He braked hard and made the turn, tossing a sidelong glance at Kate. “You might want to get on the horn and get some of your guys out there,” he said. “Our man might still be in the vicinity.”
Shaking herself as if from a dream, she hit her lapel mike and quickly set up a perimeter. “Turn left.” She directed him to a narrow back road that had yet to see a snowplow. John drove too fast and the Tahoe obliged by fishtailing around a curve.
“Slow down.”
“I got it.”
“I don’t want to end up in the ditch,” she said testily.
“I don’t do ditches.” The Tahoe bumped over a snowdrift. John slowed for a turn, caught sight of the Dead End sign ahead and let off the gas.
“Here. Stop.”
The Tahoe skidded to a halt two feet from the weathered wood guardrail. Tomasetti scanned the area. No cars. No tracks. “How far to the scene?”
“Quarter mile.” She pointed. “There’s a path through the woods.”
“We’ve got to hoof it?”
“Shortest route.”
“Shit.”
They disembarked, both pausing to look for tire tracks. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here,” he said.
“There’s another road on the other side of the field.” She fumbled the radio on her lapel. “Glock. I’m 10-23. Hogpath Road. Use Folkerth. If this guy’s still around you might be able to cut him off there. Watch for tracks.”
Kate led him to the mouth of a path cut into the trees.
“There’s another way in?” he asked.
“If you have a snowmobile and wire-cutters, you could go in from any direction and not be seen.”
With Kate in the lead, they set off at a jog. At one time in his life, John had been in good physical condition. He’d lifted weights and run ten miles a week. But the self-destructive lifestyle he’d indulged in for the last two years had taken a toll. A hundred yards in, he was breathing hard. Another fifty and he got a stitch in his side that felt more like a heart attack. Kate, on the other hand, seemed to be in her element. Long strides. Good form. Arms pumping in perfect cadence with her feet. A runner, he thought. He noticed something else about her, too. The tempo of her footfalls actually increased the closer they got to the scene.
Around them, the trees and snow cast them into a weird black-and-white twilight. John tried to listen for their quarry, but all he heard was the roar of blood in his ears and his own labored breathing. Just when he thought he was going to have to stop, the trees opened to a clearing. Beyond, a large frozen pond reflected a slate sky. Three people huddled a few feet from the bank. A man in a denim jacket, a woman in a down coat and a girl wearing ice skates.
Kate pointed. “That’s them.”
“Any reason we should be suspicious of them?”
Shaking her head, she started toward them. “They’re a nice family.”
John knew even nice families kept secrets.
Kate reached them first. Though everyone seemed to know everyone in this town, she showed them her ID and identified herself. The woman and girl were crying, their cheeks red from the cold. The man stood stone-faced. Despite the temperature, John saw sweat on his forehead.
“Where’s the body?” Kate asked.
The girl raised a mittened hand and pointed. “By the c-creek.”
“Did you see anyone?” John asked.
“A m-man. On a s-snowmobile.”
“Where?”
“Down by the creek. In the trees.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?” Kate asked.
The girl’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. “He was too far away.”
“Was he wearing a jacket or coat? Do you remember what color it was? Or maybe his helmet? The snowmobile?”
“Blue, maybe. I d-don’t know. I only saw him for a second.”