Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

At a loss for words, I glance at Rebecca, but she just shakes her head. “I think you’re right about that.”

The little girl is still thoughtful; she’s looking at me closely, studying my face as if she’s going to have to recall every detail later. “My datt liked you, too, even though you’re an Englischer.”

“The feeling was mutual,” I say.

Rebecca sets two small bowls of date pudding and two mugs of coffee on the table. “Sadie, why don’t you run out to the barn and tell your brothers to come in and wash up for bed?”

The little girl eyes the pudding. “May I please have one, too, Aunt Becca?”

“You already did.” The woman punctuates the statement by brushing her hand over the girl’s cheek. “You’re like a little bottomless pit.”

The child grins. I see those little baby teeth again and I’m reminded of just how young she really is. How much she’s suffered and lost …

“Go on now. Gather up your brothers and tell them to get washed up. I want teeth brushed, too. Scoot.”

Giving me a final smile, the girl heads to the back door and lets herself out.

“Poor little thing,” Rebecca says, shaking her head.

I take the same chair Joseph used just two days ago. I still feel the energy of him in the room; I can’t seem to stop looking around. At the wall where there was blood spatter. The floor where he died. The table where we sat together and remembered.

“How much did they see?” I ask.

“Too much.” She settles into the chair across from me. “Sadie and Becky saw all of it. They’d been sitting at the top of the stairs when the police shot him down.”

Her voice breaks. Her face screws up. She presses her hand to her mouth, unable to speak. After a moment she composes herself. “Don’t know why they had to do that.”

I don’t respond.

“The social worker people told Daniel and me that the two girls came down to ‘wake him up.’ Mein Gott. They had his blood all over their little hands.” She shakes her head. “Honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive Joe for putting them through that.”

“What about the other kids?” I ask.

“They saw Joe lying there on the floor like a shot deer. But they didn’t see it happen, which is a blessing for them I guess.” She closes her eyes tightly. “I can’t imagine the things that went through their little minds.”

“I’m sorry, Rebecca.”

“It’s all part of God’s plan.” She says the words because it’s what she was taught to believe. But she’s not convincing.

“The social worker people kept the kids away from us for almost two days,” she tells me. “Acting like Daniel and I did something wrong. Those kids needed to be home with their family.”

I pick up my mug. “I’m glad they’re home with you now.”

“The police talked to us a lot. Asked us all sorts of questions about Joe. Now that he’s dead, they don’t come around much.”

“How are you and Daniel holding up?” I ask.

She softens at the question and reaches out to pat my hand. “We’re all right. Still trying to get used to the idea of Joseph being gone. Hurts my heart the way it happened. Even after what he did. The poor lost soul.” Her eyes flick to the floor where he’d lain dead. “Just knowing what happened here. Feels … strange.”

“It’s going to take some time.” I sip some of the coffee, trying to get my words in order. “Rebecca, when I was here that night with Joseph and the kids, Sadie told me she saw a stranger in the house the night Naomi was killed.”

The Amish woman’s eyes jerk to mine. “We’ve heard the story,” she says. “That’s all it is. A story told by a little girl who shouldn’t be thinking of such things.”

“I’m sure you know I spent a couple of hours with Joseph that night, Rebecca. We talked a lot during that time. I realize this isn’t a good time to bring this up. I know all of you are still hurting. But do you think it’s possible there was a stranger in the house that night?”

The Amish woman takes her time answering, twirling her spoon in the date pudding, but not eating. Finally, she looks at me and sets her napkin on her lap. “I think whatever happened that night is done and over with, Kate Burkholder. I think those poor babies have been through enough. Enough blood. Enough death. Enough pain. Enough lying. I know you were fond of Joe and all, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go dredging all of that up again.”

“Don’t you want to know the truth?”

“The truth.” She says the word as if it’s a vile thing. “What will your precious truth accomplish? Will it bring back Naomi? Will it bring back Joe? Will it change any of what’s happened?”

“Rebecca, if there’s a possibility Joseph didn’t murder your sister.” Leaning forward slightly, I lower my voice. “If that’s true; if I find proof, that means whoever killed her is still out there.”

“I don’t believe it.” She stares at me for an interminable moment. “Not for one minute.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“Were all those police wrong?” she snaps. “Was the jury wrong?”

“I think mistakes were made.”

“It’s over and done. Finished. I’d just as soon not revisit any of it. I sure don’t want those children having to relive it.”

“Don’t you care about justice?” I say.

“Justice for whom exactly, Kate Burkholder?” For the first time she looks angry. “Will Naomi get justice? Will she get her life back? Will those children get their mother back? I think not.”

I’m about to say something about the reputations, the legacy that will be left for the children, but Rebecca gets to her feet and motions toward the door. “I think it would be best if you left before the children come back inside.”

“Rebecca—”

“I’ll walk you out.”

*

I’m standing at the stove, pushing stir-fried vegetables around in a skillet, when Tomasetti arrives home. I’ve already broken the seal on a bottle of cabernet. I’m midway through my second glass when he comes up behind me and puts his arms around my waist.

“Tough day?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my neck.

I tilt my head, giving him access, trying to decide how to break the news about my being placed on restricted duty. Of all the people in the world, Tomasetti will understand. He knows me inside and out. And while he knows better than anyone that I’m fallible and sometimes I push too hard, he also knows that I’m a good cop, a good chief, and that I will pursue justice to the end.

“Want a glass?” I ask.

“You bet.”

I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he knows something is awry. Better to just lay it out and get it over with. “They put me on restricted duty.”

He makes a sound that’s part disappointment, part sympathy. “The King thing?”

“The photo.” It’s not like him to mince words. I say it because I know he didn’t want to.

“And a little politics.” He picks up the bottle and fills his empty glass with a little too much wine. Topping off mine, he goes to the table and pulls out a chair. “Sounds like it might be a two-glass kind of night.”

I follow him over and sink into it.