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.
“Joseph, while I have you on the line: Do you need anything? Do the kids need anything? Food?” Scanlon scribbles something on the iPad and lifts it to me with a question. What else?
I say quietly, “Flashlights. Candles. Lanterns. Phone battery.”
Scanlon repeats all of it. “How’s the phone battery? We don’t want to lose communication with you.”
“All I need is the truth. You’re wasting time with all this talking.”
“Fair enough,” Scanlon says easily. He’s found his stride now and is heading toward the zone. “I do need just one thing from you, Joseph. All I ask is that you keep me on the line. Stay with me. Talk to me. Will you do that?”
“You need to look at my case. I didn’t kill my wife.”
“Like I said, we’re working on that now. Not all of us are familiar with your case, so it’s going to take a little while.”
“Katie Burkholder knows about the case. She knows the truth. She will tell you.”
At the use of my first name, Crowder gives me a consorting-with-the-enemy sneer.
“Chief Burkholder told us everything you discussed with her, Joseph. Like I said, we’re working on getting our hands on your case file now.”
“My daughter saw the man who came into the house that night. No one believed her.”
“We know that, Mr. King. That interview with Sadie is one of the things we’re trying to get our hands on. She’s your youngest, right?”
“Yes.”
Scanlon hesitates, seems to take a moment to gather himself. “Listen, Joseph, since she’s so young—and more importantly, since she might have information that could help your case—why don’t you send Sadie out here to talk to us? We’ll get the Children Services folks out here to talk to her right away.”
“Katie already talked to her,” the Amish man replies.
“I understand,” the negotiator says patiently. “Will you work with me on this? Man-to-man? Meet me halfway? Send Sadie out here in good faith. I promise I’ll take good care of her. I’ll listen—”
The line goes dead. Scanlon hits END and sighs. “That went better than I expected.”
“If that was good, I’d hate to bear witness to a bad one,” Crowder mutters.
Ryan goes to the console on the counter and makes an adjustment. “You think he’s stable?”
“I do, actually,” Scanlon tells him. “For now.”
“Hostages safe for now?” Tomasetti asks.
Scanlon nods. “I think so. From what I’m gathering it’s all about the kids for him. Not as hostages, but because he wants them there with him. Even though he turned down my first request, it’s still early in the game.”
“At least he hasn’t shot anybody yet,” Crowder says.
“This is going to be a long process.” The negotiator shrugs. “He’s comfortable. He’s got food, water, and shelter.”
I catch Scanlon’s eye. “Since King is Amish, do you think it would be beneficial to appeal to some of his religious sensibilities or Amish tenets?”
Tomasetti nods. “Might be an angle worth consideration.”
“The more tools we have in our arsenal the better,” Rasmussen puts in.
Crowder makes a sound of incredulity. “How religious can a man be who cuts his wife in half with a fucking shotgun?”
Ryan shoots him a warning look. “What do you have in mind, Chief Burkholder?”
“Maybe bring in the bishop or one of the preachers of his church district. They’re influential members of the Amish community and they might be able to help talk him into giving himself up or at least releasing the children.”
“This guy is no more Amish than I am,” Crowder says. “He has no moral compass.” He motions in the general direction of the Beachy farmhouse. “If we play nice with this guy he’s going to snap and massacre everyone in that house.”
Ryan doesn’t defend me. Rasmussen looks down at his boots. Tomasetti makes eye contact with Scanlon. “What do you think?”
The negotiator grimaces. “One thing we don’t want to do is make King feel as if he’s taken things too far and there’s no going back. We do not want to back this guy into a corner. If he feels all is l
ost, that he has no recourse, he might do something rash.”
“Like what?” Tomasetti asks.
“If he feels there’s no way out of the hole he’s dug for himself and he’s facing life in prison, he might consider suicide a better option. Worst-case scenario, he takes the hostages with him.”
“Look,” I say, “I knew King once. I was in there with him. I do not believe he’s a threat to himself or those kids.”
The silence that follows lingers a beat too long. Ryan shoots Scanlon a direct look. “What do you think?”
“Let’s give this some time,” the negotiator responds. “Let’s not push him yet. Maybe get a family member in here and see how he reacts.”
I glance at Tomasetti, find his eyes already on mine. A silent communication passes between us. You’ve done all you can. Let it go.
I know he’s right. The last thing I want to do is leave. But there’s a distinct chill in the air here inside the command center. Not only have I become ineffectual, but I’ve worn out my welcome. Might be more productive to talk to Joseph’s brothers and see if they’ll help us out.
The command center door opens. I glance over to see a man dressed in full SWAT gear enter. About thirty years of age, he’s tall and fit with a cocky countenance that’s tempered by an air of military discipline. He’s wearing Kevlar, and military-style boots, and carrying a rifle case. Eyes the color of a deep lake beneath a brooding sky sweep the room, landing on Crowder.
“Unit is on scene,” he says.
Quickly, Crowder makes introductions. “This is Deputy Wade Travers, team leader of our SWAT unit.” He says the words like some kind of proud papa.
The men shake hands. When it’s my turn, Travers looks at me as if he’s met me before. “Kate Burkholder.” He recites my name slowly and thoughtfully, as if searching his memory. “You’re the ex-Amish chief.”
“Guilty as charged,” I tell him.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I categorically deny all of it.”
He grins, showing a mouth full of perfect white teeth. His grip is firm. Not a knuckle squeezer. I try not to ponder the “heard a lot about you” comment.
Travers clears his throat, addresses the group, but his eyes are on Ryan. “You want me to get a couple of guys in position?”
Ryan looks at Scanlon. “Curtis?”
“I don’t expect things to go south this early in the game,” the negotiator says. “But we’ve got to be prepared for any scenario, including worst-case.”
Crowder looks at me, as if expecting me to voice some objection. I train my eyes on Wade Travers, and I keep my mouth shut.
“I did a quick recon,” Travers says. “We’ve got a lot of trees. Low-light conditions. But there’s a decent-size window in the front with a clear line of sight. Not so great at the rear.”
“Good to know.” Ryan nods at Scanlon. If King needs to be moved to a location where he will be in plain sight, it will be up to Scanlon to get him there.
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 ther
e 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
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.