I dry heave and spit.
He waits a moment before speaking. “Those remains. Do you know who it is?”
I close my eyes, squeeze them tight. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Lapp.”
“Who’s Daniel Lapp?”
“An Amish man.”
“How long has he been dead?”
“Sixteen years.”
“How did he die?”
“Shotgun blast.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Yes.”
He pauses. “Who?”
“Me,” I say and the tears come in a rush.
CHAPTER 26
John had experienced a lot of bizarre moments in his years as a cop. He’d even partaken in a few he didn’t like to spend too much time dwelling on. This one took the cake. An admission of murder was the last thing he expected when he followed Kate Burkholder here tonight.
He had pretty good instincts when it came to people. Perhaps to a lesser degree when it came to women, but then who the hell knew. He was too jaded to be shocked by much of anything. Still, this shocked him. Worse, he didn’t know what to do about it.
Setting his hands beneath her shoulders, he helped Kate to her feet. “Come on. Up and at ’em.”
She seemed almost weightless, and for the first time, he realized there wasn’t much to her; most of her bulk was coat and a perception of largeness he attributed to the force of her personality. She hadn’t struck him as a crier. Up until this moment, she’d handled the stress like a pro. She’d been tough and focused despite the ugliness of the case. But he knew the dam was breaking. There was no wailing or theatrics, but the look of misery on her face was so profound John could feel it creeping into his own psyche.
Taking her shoulders, he turned her to him. “Kate, what the hell is going on?”
“Johnston was right,” she choked. “I . . . blew th-the c-case. Because of . . . this.”
He wished he’d never followed her here. He didn’t need this. Didn’t want to deal with it. Wasn’t even sure he cared. His life was complicated enough without throwing a dead body into the mix.
“Pull yourself together,” he snapped.
She met his gaze, jerked her head.
“We need to talk about this.”
“I know.” She wiped frantically at her cheeks, and he wondered how long it took for tears to freeze on skin.
“Is there someplace warm we can go?” he asked.
“The bar. My place.” She shrugged. “Or you could just speed things along and take me right to jail.”
“Your place.” He looked around, wishing he were anywhere but here. “I have a feeling we’re going to need some privacy for this.”
“You have no idea.”
As he handed her the keys, the possibility that she might make a run for it crossed his mind. “You wouldn’t do anything stupid, would you?”
She gave him a sage look. “I’ve already used up my quota for stupid,” she said and started toward the Explorer.
She lived in a modest brick ranch on the edge of town. There was no glowing porch light to welcome her. The driveway had yet to be shoveled. He parked curbside and watched Kate pull into the driveway. She started toward the front door without waiting for him.
The thought that his being here could get the tongues wagging drifted through his mind, but John didn’t have a better idea. Besides, it wasn’t as if the chief of police and the investigating field agent didn’t have anything to talk about while they were in the midst of a serial murder case.
He got out and cut across the yard. She’d left the door open, so he stepped inside and closed it behind him. The living room was furnished with an eclectic mix of furniture. A brown contemporary sofa contrasted nicely with a cream-colored chair. An antique cabinet in need of refinishing held an assortment of vases and bowls. The house smelled faintly of candle wax and coffee.
Kate stood at the coat closet and hung her parka. She wore a navy police uniform that was badly wrinkled from wear, as opposed to a lack of pressing. Bending, she began unlacing her boots with small, competent hands. The uniform wasn’t tight, but he could see enough of her to know she was put together nicely. He guessed her to be about five feet six inches tall. Athletic. Maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds. She was wide at the hip, but it was the kind of wide that made his male interest flare.
Crossing to the closet, he hung his own coat, but his focus was on Kate. Her dark brown hair was tousled, as if she’d gone the entire day without brushing it. Her complexion was splotched from crying and pale against the dark curtain of hair.