Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

“Who’s the Englischer, Datt?” the boy asks.

“A policeman,” he replies. “She’s going to help us.”

I enter the mudroom. A row of windows to my right. Jackets and summer straw hats hang neatly on wood pegs to my left. There’s a wood bench against the wall. Six pairs of boots lined up on the floor beneath it. Chunks of mud all around. A rug at the doorway to the kitchen for wiping feet. The boy goes into the kitchen and I follow.

It’s the same kitchen I visited when I talked to Daniel and Rebecca to warn them about Joseph King. It seemed sunny and benign then; the place seems menacing tonight. The big table is occupied by three more children, one boy of about eight, who I’d met when I was here before, and two pre-teen girls, their faces illuminated by a flickering lantern. All of them are clad in nightclothes, telling me they were roused from sleep.

The youngsters stare as I enter the kitchen, their eyes wide and apprehensive. They’re mature enough to realize something is wrong. Smart enough to know their long-lost datt isn’t here for a visit.

From where I’m standing, I can see into the dimly lit living room. There’s no one there. No sign of a struggle. No trace of Rebecca or Daniel Beachy. A thread of worry goes through me. I look at Joseph. “Where are Rebecca and Daniel?”

“I told you,” he says. “I asked them to leave.”

A thin layer of relief slips through me, but it’s tempered by the thought that he could be lying. That he could have harmed them—or worse.

“Sitz dich anne.” King’s voice cuts into my thoughts. Sit down.

By the light of the lantern, I get my first good look at him. The years have not been kind to Joseph King. His face is hardened and gaunt, his cheeks are hollow, his mouth is pulled into a grim line. His brown eyes are flat and expressionless. He’s still wearing his prison-issue clothes. His trousers are caked with mud up to his knees. The gray hoodie is torn at the pocket. His sneakers are covered with mud. His left hand is bleeding, old blood already crusted over, but it doesn’t appear to be a serious injury, and he doesn’t seem to notice.

He motions toward the table. “Sit down, Katie. Now.”

Moving slowly so as not to spook him, I go to the table, pull out the nearest chair, and sink into it. The older boy goes to the counter and lights a second lantern. The little boy who answered the door is bent over a bowl of cereal, eating intently. The youngest, Sadie, has returned to a mug of what looks like hot chocolate. The rise and fall of multiple sirens outside adds an eerie countenance to what should have been a benign scene. Interestingly, the children don’t appear to be fearful of their father. Because they’ve been protected from the truth? Or is the child-parent bond so unshakable that they’re able to accept his presence and rationalize the circumstances of his return?

I make eye contact with the oldest girl. She’s about twelve years old with dishwater blond hair and hazel eyes. “Wie geth’s alleweil?” I ask, letting my eyes touch each of them. How goes it now?

“Miah sinn zimmlich gut.” We are pretty good.

The answer comes from Sadie, who met us in the woods. She’s animated and social and I’m touched by her sweetness. She lifts the mug and slurps the last of the hot chocolate.

All the while my police radio is going nuts. Both County and my own department are requesting a response from me. They know I’m in trouble. The problem is they don’t know exactly where I am or what’s happened, just that I was in the proximity of the Beachy farm.

“I’m Kate,” I tell the children. “I’m a police officer What are your names?”

“I’m Sadie.” The little girl holds up her hand and spreads her fingers. “I’m five.”

The boy next to her, the one who answered the door, slides in next to me. “I’m Levi and I’m six.” He proffers a shy smile, revealing two missing front teeth.

I look at the girl across the table from me. She’s about ten years old with curly brown hair and a gap between her front teeth. “My name’s Annie.”

I let my eyes slide to the girl next to her. The oldest child is on the cusp of adolescence and very pretty. “How about you?” I ask.

“I’m Becky.”

I look at the boy sitting at the end of the table. He looks startlingly like his father. I guess him to be eight or nine. Brown hair and eyes. Blunt-cut bangs and the typical bowl-shaped haircut. His skinny chest pokes out. “I’m Little Joe.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” I tell them in Deitsch.

They stare at me, their eyes flicking from me to their father. They’re wondering what happens next. The older kids know something isn’t right. They’re wondering why their datt is home after being gone for so long. Why he woke them in the middle of the night and pulled them from their beds. Why he’s wearing such strange clothes that are dirty and torn. Why he asked their aunt and uncle to leave. Poor little things …

“How does she know Deitsch, Datt?” Sadie asks.

“I used to be Amisch,” I tell her.

Levi, the little boy with the missing front teeth, pipes up, “How come you’re not Amisch anymore?”

“It’s kind of complicated,” I tell him.

“Oh.” But his brows go together, as if he’s trying to figure out some hidden meaning.

King has turned his attention to the window, using the revolver to move the curtain aside. Watching for movement outside. According to the codes coming over my radio, they’ve found my vehicle. Rebecca and Daniel have been located. Holmes County, as well as my own department, has arrived on scene. I wonder if Tomasetti has gotten the call.

King drops the curtain, his expression grim, and strides to the table. “Looks like your cop buddies are here,” he tells me.

I set my hand against the radio strapped to my equipment belt. “I need to let them know I’m okay. That’ll calm them down. Buy you some time.” I look at the children. Five innocent little faces tinged with a wrenching combination of anxiety, excitement, and hope. They’re staring at me. Counting on me to help them and keep them safe.

I look at Joseph. “We need to figure out how to end this so no one gets hurt.” I motion at the kids. “Especially them.”

He sends a pointed look to the pocket in which I dropped my cell. “Call the police, Katie. Tell them you’re here. With me and the children. Tell them we are all fine.” He raises my .38. Finger inside the guard. “Let them know I’m armed and they’re not to come inside. Do you understand?”

“All right.”

But a new layer of trepidation slips through me. While I’m glad law enforcement has arrived on scene, I have no idea how King will respond to the added pressure.

Keeping my eyes on his, I reach for my cell, wipe a smear of mud from the touchscreen, and thumb in the speed dial for dispatch. Mona picks up on the first ring.

“Chief! I’ve been trying—”

“I’m okay,” I cut in, not sure how long King will let me talk. “I’m inside the Beachy house with Joseph King. His five children are here with us. Everyone’s okay.”

“Okay. Okay.”