Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

I’m fully aware that in a situation like this in which lives are at stake, it’s always better to be overprepared than to get caught in a last-minute scramble. Still, I don’t believe Joseph King presents that level of danger. But there will be no convincing my peers.

Nodding, Travers takes a step back, and then turns and leaves the command center.

Suddenly, I need to get out of there. Away from colleagues who’ve made it clear they don’t trust my judgment or my capabilities. Rising, I turn to Ryan. “I’ll call you with a number as soon as I get a phone.”

“Absolutely.” He says the word with a tad too much enthusiasm, offers his hand a little too quickly. Glad to be rid of me. “Thank you for all your help, Chief Burkholder. I’ll let you know if the situation changes. If we need you, I’ll give you a call.”

I nod at the other men, but no one makes eye contact with me.

I walk to the door and let myself out.

*

The Amish are fond of proverbs and wise sayings, especially if there’s a lesson attached. When I was a kid, one of my mamm’s favorites went something like “Think ten times, talk once.” It means to think before you speak, something I didn’t put into practice until long after my mamm passed away. The last twenty-four hours have demonstrated that I’m still a work in progress.

I’ll be the first to admit I screwed up. I didn’t take the threat posed by King as seriously as I should have. I walked into an ambush, got my sidearm taken away. It happens; cops are human, and they make mistakes just like everyone else. If they’re lucky, it doesn’t cost them their lives—or someone else’s.

The eastern sky is ablaze with color when I descend the steps. Standing outside the command center, I take a good look at the area. The road in front of the Beachy farm is a parking lot of law enforcement and emergency vehicles. I see sheriff’s department cruisers from Richland, Holmes, and Geauga counties, a big SUV adorned with the BCI logo, a couple of ambulances, personal vehicles, even a fire truck from the Painters Mill volunteer fire department. Down the road, a second news van has arrived to join the first. Thankfully, a uniformed deputy has cordoned off the area to keep the media at bay.

“Chief!”

I turn to see Glock trotting toward me. “Mona told me what happened,” he says upon reaching me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I offer a wry smile. “Pride’s a little bruised.”

“Been there, done that. We all have.”

“I’m unduly grateful you said that.”

“What happened?”

I recap the incident in the woods with King. “He ambushed me. Took my weapon. Not my finest moment.”

“Hey, it happens.” He glances toward the command center. “Did it go okay in there?”

“They pretty much cut me loose.”

“Nothing worse than a bunch of asshole cops.”

I laugh. “Look, I’m heading up to Huntsburg to talk to King’s brothers. You want to come along?”

He grins. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

“I gotta get my vehicle and swing by the station to pick up a phone, a lapel mike, and my spare sidearm.”

“Roger that.”

Glock follows me to the station in his cruiser and parks while I go inside. I unlock the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out the old .38 that had been issued to the chief before me. By the time I make it back out to reception, Mona is off the phone and Lois has taken over.

“Hey, Chief.”

“Didn’t you get off an hour ago?” I ask.

“Phones are ringing off the hook with this King thing going on so I thought I’d stick around and lend a hand.”

“I appreciate that. But you and Lois have to cut out the overtime.”

“Sure, Chief.”

I sigh, knowing she has no intention of complying with my wish. “I can pay a couple hours’ OT, but no more.” I’m not sure where I’ll come up with the budget, but I will.

“Whatcha need?”

One of many reasons I’ve come to love Mona. “Run Edward King through LEADS and check for outstanding warrants.” LEADS is the acronym for the Law Enforcement Automated Data System. “Get me his address. See if he has a phone.”

“I’m on it.”

“While you’re at it do the same for Jonas King. They’re Joseph King’s brothers.”

“Got it.”

I’m nearly to the door. “Oh, and I need you to contact Records at the Geauga County Sheriff’s Department and get the CCH on Joseph King.” “CCH” is copspeak for “criminal case history.” “Tell the clerk I need everything, including all accompanying documentation.”

“When do you need it?”

“Is yesterday too soon?”

“Hopping into my time machine now.”

*

Huntsburg Township is about two hours northeast of Painters Mill. During the drive, I fill Glock in on some of the details and tell him about King’s little girl and her assertion that there was an armed stranger in the house the night her mother was murdered.

“It’s problematic on so many levels I don’t even know where to start,” I tell him. “The murder was two years ago, which means the kid was only three years old at the time.”

“That’s pretty young,” he says. “Kids that age still believe in the Easter bunny and tooth fairy.”

“That puts things into perspective.”

“But, Chief, that’s not to say it isn’t possible for a three-year-old to understand the concept of an intruder. I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility for her to remember the event as a five-year-old. My youngest is four and I’m telling you that kid remembers every single Christmas present Santa brought her the last two years right down to the color of her Barbie’s dresses.”

I look at him, trying to discern if he’s attempting to make me feel better. Then again, backchat isn’t his style. “I don’t know anything about kids. But this little girl … Glock, she seemed utterly certain of what she’d seen. She went into details that would have been difficult to fabricate.”

“You may not know kids, Chief, but you have good instincts when it comes to people. I say trust your gut.”

I feel him looking at me, so I glance away from my driving. “What?”

“You think there’s something to it or we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Always is.”

Frustrated, I sigh. “King is no model citizen. He’s got a history of violence. A rap sheet for drugs and domestic violence. I’ll be the first to tell you he fits the profile of a man capable of murdering his wife.”

He considers that a moment. “Maybe all of that’s true, but you still think there’s something to what that little girl said.”

“I could be way off base.”

“But that’s why we’re on our way to Huntsburg Township.”

“Exactly.”





CHAPTER 10