“I don’t want my family brought into this. I don’t want the Amish community to pay for something I did.”
“Look, Kate, you’ve got a few things going for you on this. There were extenuating circumstances. There’s the self-defense angle. Your age at the time of the shooting.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding. I want to know if he’s going to turn me in, but I’m afraid to ask. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I hold them at bay. The last thing I want to do is break down in front of the man who’s probably going to destroy my life.
“I have to go.” His chair scrapes across the floor as he rises. “Try to get some sleep.”
He leaves the kitchen. A little voice inside my head screams for me to go after him, plead with him to keep his mouth shut, at least until this case is solved. But I can’t make myself move. The slamming of the door is like a death knell in my ears. As I reach for the bottle, I know there’s not a damn thing I can do but wait for the hammer to fall.
CHAPTER 27
I arrive at the police station a few minutes before seven. Mona sits at the switchboard, her feet on the desk, eating an apple and reading her usual fare.
“Hey, Chief.” Her feet hit the floor. Her eyes widen slightly when she looks at me. “Tough night?”
I didn’t sleep much after Tomasetti left, and I wonder if I look as wrung out as I feel. “Nothing a cup of whatever you’re brewing won’t cure.”
“It’s cinnamon hazelnut.” She passes messages to me. “Doc Coblentz probably won’t get to the autopsy until midmorning.”
The news suits me just fine. Now that I know for a fact Daniel Lapp isn’t the killer, I plan to spend the morning working the relocation angle.
“Weatherman says we got more snow coming,” she says.
“He’s been saying that for a week.”
“I think he’s right this time.”
I snag coffee on the way to my office. Sliding behind my desk, I pull out the Slaughterhouse Killer file and a fresh legal pad. While my computer boots, I hit Skid’s cell number. “Did DRC give you anyone besides Starkey?”
“He was the only one.”
“Did you check with hospitals?” I ask. “Institutions?”
“I struck out, Chief. Sorry.”
“It was worth a shot.”
“You got anything new?”
“I’m working on it. See you in a few.”
I disconnect and spend a few minutes Googling moving companies within a thirty-mile radius of Painters Mill. There are none with a Painters Mill address, but a Web site pops up for a moving company in Millersburg along with a U-Haul franchise. Grabbing the legal pad, I jot contact information. I know the angle I’m pursuing is a long shot, but it’s all I’ve got. I dial Great Midwest Movers, where I’m put on hold and transferred.
“This is Jerry Golan, how can I help you?”
I identify myself and get right to the point. “I’m working on a case and need the names of people who moved out of the area from 1993 to 1995. Do you guys keep records that long?”
“This about them murders up there?”
“I’m not at liberty to get into details.” I lower my voice. “But just between you and me it could be related. I’d appreciate if you’d keep it under your hat.”
“My lips are sealed.” He lowers his voice as if we now share a secret, and I hear the tap of a keyboard on the other end of the line. “The good news is we’ve kept all our records since we opened in 1989. The bad news is, they’re all over the place. We moved back in ’04. Everything got boxed up. Some of it’s in storage and some’s here at the office.”
“All I need is the names and contact information.”
Another whistle sails through fiber optic cable. “Might take a while.”
“Any way you can expedite that for the chief of police?”
“Well, jeez, I guess I could call in a temp.”
“Would it help if I told you to send the bill to me?”
He brightens. “Yes, ma’am. That’d help a lot.”
A temp isn’t in the budget, but I’ll cover it somehow. After hanging up, I go to the Coshocton County Auditor Web site. I stumble through a few pages before finding what I’m looking for. The site offers public access to tax records for real estate sales and transfers. I click on the link and go to the Advanced Search. “Bingo,” I whisper and enter the dates I’m looking for.
Unfortunately, the database only goes back ten years. I click on the “Contact” button and request a listing of sales for the county between January 1, 1993 and December 31, 1995.
Next, I go to the Holmes County Auditor Web site. I’m pleased to find that the site offers a “sales search” by property district. There are dozens of districts, broken down by township and village.
My phone buzzes. I see Glock’s cell number on the display and pick up. “Hey.”
“Something’s going on,” he says without preamble. “Auggie Brock called a few minutes ago and asked me to meet him at the police station. Said it was urgent.”