Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

Scanlon looks at his watch and addresses Ryan. “I need to get a dialogue started with this guy. See if I can get a read on him. That’ll help us get some kind of strategy in place.”

Ryan glances my way. “I’m assuming there’s no electricity in the house.”

I nod. “He’s got lanterns.”

Crowder returns to the table, a cup of coffee in hand. “Can’t even cut off the fucking electricity,” he grumbles.

“Does he have family in the area?” Scanlon poses the question to Crowder. “Parents? Grandparents? Close relatives can be helpful in terms of negotiation.”

“Seems like all of those Amish are related somehow,” the sheriff says. “We got four or five families with the same last name in the area. I’ll put one of my deputies on it, see what he can find out.”

I look at Ryan. “Joseph King has two brothers, Jonas and Edward. His parents are dead.” I look at Crowder. “Are either of them still in the area?”

“There’s an Edward King lives out to Huntsburg Township. Everyone calls him Stink Ed. Raises turkeys and the place smells to high heaven.” He looks around the table, his eyes skipping over me as if I’m not there. “Problem is Stink Ed’s one of them Amish that don’t like dealing with the rest of us.”

He realizes quickly the words were a mistake. Before he can rephrase, Tomasetti jumps on it. “Chief Burkholder used to know the family. She knows the Amish culture, the language.” He looks at me, his expression deadpan. “Maybe you ought to run up there and see if either brother is willing to help.”

“We’ve got a good relationship with the Amish,” Crowder says. “I’d rather send one of my guys.”

“I’m betting Chief Burkholder would be plenty effective,” Tomasetti maintains.

“I figure she’d be even more effective if she called it a day,” Crowder says.

Ryan groans. “Come on, people. Cut the crap. We need to take advantage of all our resources here.” He looks at me. “Go talk to Ed King and his brother.” He frowns at Crowder. “I need you here.”

Crowder holds his gaze, stone-faced, saying nothing.

“Any idea where his other brother, Jonas, lives?” I ask Crowder.

Crowder doesn’t even look at me. “No idea.”

Ryan calls me over to where he’s sitting. “We’re probably not going to get blueprints on that old house. Can you give me a rough idea of the layout? Kids’ bedrooms? Is there a basement? It’ll be helpful to know where the doors and windows are, and where the people are inside.”

Spying a pad on the table, he slides it over to me.

I pick up the pen and draw a crude outline of the house. “The kitchen is on the west side,” I tell them. “There’s a window above the sink here. A door off the mudroom that probably leads to the basement. Stairs to the second level are between the kitchen and living room. No windows there. I’m pretty sure the bedrooms are upstairs. That’s where the kids were when I left.”

“Where’s King?”

“He spent most of his time at the kitchen table.” I indicate the general position.

I study the crude sketch, recalling a few outside details as I left. “There are cellar doors on the east side, here.” I draw an arrow to the windows. “Living room windows face north. Front door is here and faces east.”

“Lots of trees on the east side,” Rasmussen says offhandedly.

Crowder sits up a little straighter. “We got SWAT on scene.”

Scanlon slides his chair back and rises. “I’m going to make contact.”

Ryan crosses to the counter and addresses Scanlon. “Phone’s here. It’s set to record.” He indicates a button on a small electronic console. “Mute here. Speaker. I’ll be on the line with you and the only person in the room who has a mike besides you.”

“Got it,” Scanlon says.

“You’re mobile.” Ryan clips a wire and small device onto Scanlon’s jacket and they take a moment to test the sound.

Ryan glances at me over his shoulder. “We’re going to need a written statement at some point, Chief,” he says to me, and then offers the remaining headset to Tomasetti.

“I’ll get on it right away.” I’m keenly aware that Ryan has dismissed me; my counterparts are largely ignoring me.

Crowder rises from his place at the table without looking at me and goes to the coffee station for another refill.

Rasmussen gives me a reassuring smile that isn’t all that reassuring. “You did good, Kate.”

I return the smile, but it feels stiff and unnatural.

Scanlon adjusts his mike, and—for God’s sake—fluffs his hair. A radio personality an instant before airtime. “Test. Test. Test,” he says in his radio announcer’s voice.

“We’re good to go.” Ryan pulls on his headset.

“Let’s roll.” Scanlon makes the call.

*

The trailer falls silent. Even the rumble of the diesel engine, the swarm of law enforcement outside, and the intermittent crackle of police radios fade to background noise. I can practically hear the thrum of blood through veins, the zing of anticipation.

Crowder has taken up residence in a chair a few feet away and turned his back to me. Tomasetti stands next to the console, headset on. I can tell by the way his eyes skitter away from mine that he doesn’t like what’s going on. Of course, there’s nothing he can do about it. Ryan and Rasmussen are fiddling with the console, talking in low tones. Scanlon hovers over an iPad, reading and making notes. Gearing up for contact.

The phone trills over the speakers, seeming inordinately loud in the confines of the trailer. One ring and King’s voice comes over the line.

“Hello?”

“Mr. King?” Scanlon identifies himself, giving his full name and title. “It’s me again.” His voice is amicable, but firm. The kind of voice that seems to shout: I care about you. Talk to me. I’m your friend. I’m here to help. Let’s do this together. “Are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine.”

“How about the kids?”

“They are fine, too.”

“Thank you for keeping them safe. And I want to thank you for releasing Chief Burkholder. We appreciate that.”

King says nothing.

Scanlon says quickly. “Do you go by Joseph?”

“That’s fine.”

“Joseph, I want to talk to you tonight so you and I can work through this. I’m here to help you so we can get everyone out of there safe and sound, including you. Do you understand?”

“I didn’t kill my wife,” King tells him.

Scanlon shoots me a look. “Chief Burkholder relayed that information to us. Of course, we’re going to look into it. All of us out here are very concerned.”

“She said she’d look into my case,” the Amish man tells him.

“This would be a lot easier if you came out here and talked to me in person, instead of over the phone.”

King laughs, but the sound is fraught with tension. “I’m not going back to prison.”

“I understand. For now we just want to talk to you so we can get things straightened out. Okay?”

No response.

“I know you may not believe this considering the circumstances, but we all want the same thing here. The truth. It’s probably going to take some time.”

The statement is met with silence.