Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

But while the domestic-violence conviction was a crucial part of the prosecution’s case, it wasn’t the only evidence presented against Joseph King in the course of the trial. The shotgun had been recently fired. There was gunpowder residue on his clothes. Naomi’s blood was on his jacket. There was circumstantial evidence as well as the dubious timeline of his fishing trip to Lake Erie.

I’m about to call Lois to see if she was able to get an address or phone number for Sidney Tucker when a call comes in from Auggie Brock.

“Hey, Auggie. What’s up?”

“Kate, I’m glad I caught you.” He pauses with a little too much drama. “The town council asked me to call you.”

“If this is about the covered bridge, I got sidetracked by the King situation and—”

“This isn’t about the bridge. It’s about that photograph of you and Joseph King.”

The initial fingers of uneasiness press into the back of my neck. “All right.”

“Look, it’s all over the Internet, Kate. Did you see the headlines? ‘Sleeping with the Enemy’? ‘Kiss of Death’? Good Lord. Three newspapers have picked up the story two days in a row now. If the Plain Dealer or Columbus Dispatch jump on the bandwagon, the shit is going to hit the fan. We’re going to have some fallout.”

“Auggie, I can assure you there was no misconduct—”

“Kate, the council members want to see you.”

Silently, I count to ten. “When?”

“Now would be great.”

He starts to say something, but I hang up on him.

*

The Painters Mill City Building is on South Street half a block from the traffic circle. The two-story brick structure was built in 1901 and has gone through several renovations since. It housed a post office in 1954. There was an elementary school on the first and second floors in the 1960s, while the new school was being built. The Painters Mill town council moved in after a fire gutted the top floor back in 1985. Citizens can pick up city permits, vote on issues, pay traffic citations, and attend council meetings.

I’m running later than I intended, so I opt for the stairs in lieu of the notoriously slow elevator. By the time I reach the outer chamber I’m breathless. The administrative assistant is already gone for the day, so I cross to the double doors and let myself in without knocking.

Six sets of eyes sweep to me when I enter the room. Mayor Auggie Brock sits at the head of the cherrywood conference table, a stack of folded newspapers in front of him. Councilwoman Janine Fourman sits next to Auggie, bejeweled fingers pecking on a sleek laptop. She owns several of the Amish tourist shops in town. She’s the most vocal of the group, has political aspirations to become Painters Mill’s first female mayor, and would like nothing more than to replace me with someone a bit more malleable.

The remaining council members are part-time volunteers. Dick Blankenship is a local farmer. Bruce Jackson owns a tree nursery on the edge of town. Ron Zelinski is a retired factory worker. Neil Stubblefield teaches high school algebra and coaches the football team.

“Chief Burkholder.” Auggie rises and motions me to the only vacant chair. “Thank you so much for coming. I know you’re busy wrapping up the Joseph King fiasco.”

I don’t take the chair. “What can I do for you?”

Auggie reaches for the newspaper, snaps it open, and turns it so I can see the photo and the headline. KISS OF DEATH. “I take it you’ve seen this?”

I glance at the paper, cringing inwardly at the sight of Joseph trying to kiss me. “I’ve seen it.”

Ron Zelinski looks down at the coffee cup in front of him as if suddenly fascinated by its contents. Bruce Jackson shifts uncomfortably, his chair creaking beneath his weight. I don’t miss the smirk on Janine Fourman’s face, a teenager watching her favorite slasher film, and I’m the one who’s about to venture into the basement.

“We’re getting … calls,” Auggie tells me. “Lots of them. Citizens wanting to know how their police chief was caught in such a … compromising position.”

Janine Fourman jumps in. “They want to know how it is that a city employee, the chief of police at that, is engaging in such inappropriate conduct.” She flicks the newspaper with her finger. “The man kissing you murdered his wife and took five children hostage, for God’s sake.”

“A man who was later shot dead by the police,” Blankenship adds.

“It looks bad, Kate.” Auggie eyes me as if it pains him to say the words. “We’re fielding calls from reporters as far away as Cincinnati. I’m sure they’re calling your office, too. If this thing catches fire, we could be in for a shit storm.”

I want to point out that he’s mixing his metaphors, but I know it would only make the situation more contentious, so I bite my tongue and remain silent.

“What exactly are we supposed to tell the folks?” Auggie asks.

“In all fairness, we thought we should hear from you,” Zelinski says. Mr. Reasonable.

“We have city leaders calling for your resignation,” Janine interjects.

“That’s not to mention the prisoner-rights groups,” Auggie adds. “I hate it, but this thing could conceivably get pretty ugly.”

I take a moment to make eye contact with each council member. Auggie is having a tough time meeting my gaze. Stubblefield and Jackson look as if they’d rather be getting colonoscopies. As usual, Janine has blood in her eye. I’m pretty sure Auggie was railroaded into this.

“With that photo making the rounds, I believe we need to do some damage control,” Auggie says.

When no one says anything, Janine jumps in. “Do you have an official explanation you’d like to share with us, Chief Burkholder?”

This is my chance to defend myself. That’s why I’m here. Why I’ve been waylaid by these people I’ve worked with for over four years now. But as I look from face to face, the reality of the situation becomes clear, and the anger I’d been experiencing gives way to a deep sense of disappointment.

“Apparently, all of you have already made up your minds about what happened,” I say.

“We asked you to come here because we’d like an explanation from you,” Auggie says, trying to sound diplomatic, but it comes across as whiny and insincere.

“All right.” I motion toward the pile of newspapers lying on the tabletop. “Regardless of what you or anyone else might think, I did not engage in any form of misconduct while in that house with Joseph King.”

“We believe you, of course,” Stubblefield says quickly. “But that photograph is … damning.”

“One of the prisoner-rights groups has called for an investigation,” Jackson puts in. “A couple of the shop owners in town have already weighed in on this.”

“Kate, Painters Mill is a tourist town,” Auggie adds, as if I’m somehow not aware of the fact. “You know how important that is to our economy.”

“We don’t want tourists thinking our police department is … engaging in any kind of … dubious behavior,” Stubblefield adds.

My temper stirs in earnest. This is a witch hunt and I’ve had enough. “In that case I suggest you put your heads together and figure something out.” I take a step back and reach for the doorknob. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Looking alarmed by the possibility that I’m going to walk out, Janine stands. “We’ve already come up with a solution.”

Ron Jackson looks at the mayor. “For God’s sake, Auggie, tell her.”