Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

It’s nearly ten A.M. by the time Glock and I reach Huntsburg Township. Up until now, I’d been running on adrenaline, but two hours in the car served as a keen reminder that I’ve been up all night. I swing by a McDonald’s in Middlefield for coffees and two breakfast biscuits to go, and then we’re back on the road.

Edward King, aka “Stink Ed,” lives on a dirt track off Burton-Windsor Road in the southern part of the township. It’s a predominantly Amish area, with few telephone poles or power lines. We pass two buggies and a group of women selling bread and pies at a roadside stand before reaching the King residence. The lane is long, with more dirt than gravel, and bracketed on either side by two low-slung poultry barns. I park the Explorer at the side of the house. The stench of manure offends my olfactory nerves as we take the buckled, narrow sidewalk to the front porch.

Glock lingers on the steps while I cross the porch and go to the front door. Standing slightly to one side, I deliver a hard knock. A dog begins to bark somewhere in the house. Judging from the pitch, a small one, and I remind myself it’s usually those cuddly little stuffed-animal look-alikes that bite.

I’m about to knock a second time when the knob rattles and the door creaks open. I recognize Edward King immediately. He’s an older version of his brother. Same eyes and facial structure, but without the troubled eyes. He’s wearing a blue work shirt. Dark trousers with suspenders. Straw flat-brimmed hat. No facial hair, which tells me he’s not married.

He blinks at me, his eyes widening as recognition kicks in. “Katie Burkholder?”

“Hi, Edward.” He’s staring at my uniform with a shocked expression, so I add, “This is an official call.”

“You’re a policeman?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flick to Glock and then back to me. “What’s going on?”

I have my badge ready and show it to him. “I’m chief of police in Painters Mill now. I need to talk to you about your brother,” I say over the barking of the dog.

“My brother?” He shushes a small, wire-haired pooch, nudges it aside with a booted foot. “Joseph?”

“Yes.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, but he’s in trouble,” I reply. “Can we come inside and talk for a few minutes?”

He leads us through a living room jammed with what looks like handcrafted furniture. I feel the dog sniffing the backs of my ankles as we enter a small, cluttered kitchen. Edward ushers me into a ladder-back chair and pulls out the one across from me. Glock chooses to stand at the door.

“What happened to Joe?” he asks, settling into the chair.

Remembering Crowder’s assertion that Edward is reluctant to speak with non-Amish, I switch to Deitsch and give him the condensed version. “He’s barricaded himself in the house with all five children. He’s armed with a rifle and a handgun.”

“A handgun?” The Amish use rifles for hunting, but they generally have no use for a handgun. I don’t tell him the gun is mine.

Edward looks down at where his hands twist on the table in front of him. “Er is ganz ab.” He’s quite out of his mind.

“It’s an extremely dangerous situation,” I tell him. “As you can imagine, I’m concerned about the kids. Joseph, too. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the trial,” he tells me.

“Did you have a falling-out? I mean, after the trial?”

“Joseph has changed a lot since you knew him.”

“In what way?”

“You remember how it was when we were young.” His smile is a sad twisting of his mouth. “Back then he was all fun and games. Happy-go-lucky. A prankster. But, Katie, after Datt died…” He shrugs. “Joe changed. It wasn’t for the better.”

“How so?”

“It was as if the devil came up from hell and climbed into his head. During Rumspringa, Joe went heavy on the drinking. Started smoking cigarettes. Dope, too, I think. He stopped attending worship. Had a lot of girlfriends, most were not Amish. He’d disappear for days. Mamm worried herself to an early grave. Then he met Naomi.”

For the first time, his smile is genuine. “She was the light to his darkness. And she had such a pretty face. A smile that could light up a room. A kind soul, but she was strong inside, too.” He hefts a laugh. “Joe didn’t stand a chance. He fell hard for her. She whipped him into shape in a matter of weeks. He forgot all about those other women. The alcohol. He changed and this time it was for the better.” He grimaces, shakes his head. “They married shortly after they met. The babies came pretty quick. I thought they were happy.”

I’m aware of Glock standing in the doorway, watching us. The dog sniffing my feet. The clock on the counter ticking like a metronome.

“But you know how the Amish are.” His smile is knowing and sad.

I nod. “If there are problems in the marriage, we don’t speak of them.”

“Oftentimes to our own detriment.”

“Did they fight?”

“Not at first, but later … I think so.”

“What about the domestic-violence charges against Joseph?” I ask.

“I never would have believed Joe would hurt Naomi. I figured it was some kind of mistake. I thought the police had overreacted or somehow misunderstood. But now…”

“Did you attend the trial?”

“Every day.” Grimacing, he lowers his head and shakes it. “Every word was like the fall of an ax. I couldn’t believe the things I was hearing. About my own brother.”

“Was Joseph close to the children?” I ask.

“He doted on them.” A sad smile curves one side of his mouth. “We used to make fun of him because it was such a turnaround for him. He’d been irresponsible for so long. By the time the babies arrived, he was a different man. A good man. For a while, anyway. At some point, things just sort of fell apart for them. Joe went back to his old ways.”

“Edward, do you think Joseph murdered Naomi?” I ask.

Raw pain flashes in his eyes. “At first? Never. But during the trial … the things I heard.” Grimacing, he shakes his head, looks down at the tabletop. “Gottlos.” Ungodly.

“Did he ever mention Sadie seeing an intruder in the house the night Naomi was killed?”

“I might’ve heard something about it.”

“What did you think?”

“I think my brother is a liar. I think he told that little child to say what she did.”

I deflect a wave of disappointment, forge ahead. “Edward, do you think you could help us convince Joseph to give himself up?”

He raises his gaze to mine. “How would I do that?”

“Come back to Painters Mill with me. Talk to him. On the phone.”

“Katie, after everything that’s happened. Everything he’s done.” He looks away, shakes his head. “I’ve washed my hands of him.”

“Edward, he’s your brother.”

“He’s no brother of mine. Not anymore. I prefer not to speak with him.”

I try another tactic. “If you won’t do it for your brother’s sake, will you do it for your nieces and nephews?”

He stares at me, his eyes filling with tears. “No.”

I nod, trying not to be irritated with him. “Do you think Jonas would help?”

“Jonas was one of the few Amish who didn’t lose faith in Joe. Even after … Naomi.”

“Do you have an address for him?”