Down a Dark Road--A Kate Burkholder Novel

  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?”

  “He lives over to Rootstown now. He’s more English than Amish these days. Runs one of them Amish tourist shops with his buddy.” He rattles off an address. “Big house off Tallmadge. Can’t miss it.”

  I rise and start toward the door. I’m aware of Edward rising and trailing us. Upon reaching the door, I stop and turn. “Is there a way for me to contact you, Edward? Does the bishop have a phone? In case the situation with Joseph changes?”

  He instantly translates the meaning of the question. In case Joseph is killed. “If it’s about my brother, I’d prefer you didn’t contact me at all.”

  * * *

  “For a religious guy, he was pretty hard on his brother,” Glock says as we slide into the Explorer.

  “When you’re Amish it’s sometimes the people you love most you’re toughest on.”

  “Tough love.”

  ??
?It’s brought more than one wayward soul back to the fold.”

  It’s nearly noon by the time we pass the corporation-limit sign for Rootstown Township. Mona ran Jonas King through LEADS to check for outstanding warrants. Little Brother has kept his nose clean.

  King’s residence is located off Tallmadge in the heart of the township. A large sign dominates the manicured front yard: AMISH COUNTRY GENERAL STORE AND ANTIQUES. The house is a massive Victorian set among towering trees. It’s the kind of neighborhood that was once residential, but is slowly transitioning to commercial, prompting some homeowners to sell out or transform their residences into businesses. That’s exactly what King has done, and in high style.

  “Nice digs,” Glock comments as I park in the small rear lot. “I think LaShonda bought a baby quilt here right before Jasmine was born. Lasted through both kids and still looks brand-new.”

  “Nice to pass down an heirloom like that when they grow up.” We disembark and take the sidewalk to the front door.

  “Yeah, well, we’re going to be needing it again in about six months.”

  I stop and swing around to face him. The grin feels silly on my face. “Seriously?”

  He grins back. “Number three.”

  “Congratulations.” I smack him on the shoulder. “You can look at the baby stuff while I talk to King.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  We ascend concrete steps to a large wooden deck that’s part porch, part café. Two tables with umbrellas are on my right. A large sago palm juts from an equally large terra-cotta pot engraved with an interesting design. To my left is a fountain from which water trickles merrily over artfully arranged river rock.

  The place hasn’t yet opened for business, but the lights are on. I can see someone moving around inside. I cross to an antique-looking door and ring the bell. Glock stands a few feet away, checking out the pottery in the display window.

  The door swings open, jingle bells chiming. “We’re just opening—”

  An attractive young man in a partially buttoned plaid shirt blinks at me. He wears a beard that’s vaguely Amish, but a tad too manicured to be authentic. I don’t recognize him, and I don’t think this is Jonas King.

  His eyes flick over my uniform. “Is everything all right?”

  I have my ID at the ready. “I’m looking for Jonas King.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “It’s about his brother,” I tell him.

  “Oh shit. Joe.” Looking concerned, he opens the door wider. “Jonas!” he calls out while simultaneously ushering Glock and me inside. “Come in. I’m Logan, by the way.” He shakes both our hands, speaking rapidly. “Is Joe okay?”

  Beyond him, I see a second male trot down the stairs, buttoning his shirt as he goes. He’s a younger version of Joe, clean-cut, less the hard edges and desperation. A lot more hipster than Amish.

  He enters the foyer with a great deal of caution. “What’s this all about?”

  “It’s Joe.” The other man touches his arm.

  The color drains from his face. I see him mentally brace. “Is he dead?”

  “He escaped,” I tell him. “He’s taken his children hostage and he’s holed up at his sister-in-law’s house in Painters Mill.”

  Jonas gasps. “Hostage?”

  “Oh my God, those poor children,” Logan says. “Are they—”

  “Joe won’t hurt the kids,” Jonas says without hesitation.

  The words seem to calm Logan. He collects himself, and looks at me. “Jonas and I were just there, visiting with Daniel and Rebecca and the kids. On Easter Sunday. Those kids are so sweet and they’ve been through so much losing their mom the way they did.”

  Jonas meets my gaze. “Anyone hurt?”

  “So far, everyone’s okay,” I tell him.

  “What can he possibly hope to accomplish?” Logan asks no one in particular.

  Jonas is looking at me closely. Now that the shock of learning what his brother has done is over, he’s realized he knows me. “Katie? Burkholder?”

  “It’s been a while.” I smile. “You’re taller.”

  “I hope so.” Despite the circumstances, he smiles back. “I think I was seven years old last time I saw you.”

  “I wish I were here under different circumstances.” I pause, give him a moment to digest the news about his brother.

  He glances past me and looks at Glock. “Do you guys want to sit? I can make coffee.”

  I shake my head. “Just a few questions and we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Sure. Whatever you need.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Joe?” I ask.

  “I went to the prison to see him,” he tells me. “Six weeks ago.”

  “How was he?” I ask.

  “The same way he’s been for the last two years. Hopeless. Depressed. Pissed off.”

  “Did he give you any indication that he might do something like this?”

  “No. I mean, of course he hates it there. Said it was a violent hellhole. But escaping? That’s so crazy I can’t even get my head around it.”

  “He’s put himself in an extremely dangerous situation,” I tell him. “The kids, too.”

  “This is so bad.” Jonas raises his hand, bites at a nail. “I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

  I tell him about my conversation with Joseph, leaving out the details of how I ended up in the house with him. “Jonas, he insists he didn’t kill Naomi.”

  His eyes snap to mine. “He’s been saying that since day one. No one will listen to him. No one believes him.”

  “Do you?”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Before all of this happened we were as close as brothers could be. Especially after Datt died. I mean, he was my best friend. Even when he was a teenager and getting into trouble, I always looked up to him. He always made time for me.” He gives a wan smile. “We raised a lot of hell for a couple of Amish boys.”

  “I take it you left the fold?”

  “Joe was one of the few who didn’t condemn me when I told him about Logan.” He nods toward the other man, and for the first time I understand. The men are partners, a relationship that would be frowned upon by the Amish.

  “Did you remain close with Joseph as an adult?” I ask.

  “We stayed in touch as much as we could. It wasn’t always easy with him being Amish. I mean, he got his hands on the occasional cell phone and we talked. For the most part, I’d go see them, at the house.”

  I cover some of the same territory I did with Edward. “How was his marriage to Naomi? Did they get along?”

  “They had some issues. Money troubles. Right before … it happened, she took a part-time job at a restaurant in town. Joseph didn’t like the idea of her working. Hurt his pride, I think. But they needed the money so he let it go. To tell you the truth, Katie, he wasn’t always a good husband.”

  “How so?”

  “He can be impulsive and irresponsible. Blows money like it’s going out of style. Naomi’s frugal, but Joseph was always buying things he didn’t need. A few years ago he used his whole paycheck to buy a boat. She was furious, and rightfully so. Once, he went fishing up to Lake Erie for two days and didn’t even bother to tell her. He had a temper, too. He never quite got a handle on it.

  “Don’t get me wrong; Joe’s a lovable guy.” He gives me a small smile. “You remember how charming he was. Especially if he wanted something. That’s never changed. But let me tell you something: If he got pissed it wasn’t pretty. He’d yell at Naomi over stupid stuff. The kids, too. I think part of the problem was that he thought she was too good for him. He felt like he didn’t measure up.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “It’s just an observation. Frankly, she was a saint for putting up with his crap.”

  “What about the other trouble Joseph got into? The DUI? Drugs?”

  “Hell if I know.” Jonas shakes his head. “Trouble just seemed
to follow Joe. Yeah, he liked to have a good time; he drank too much sometimes. Smoked a little dope. He just had a penchant for handling things wrong. Never learned to use the good judgment God gave him. Rubbed people the wrong way. The harder he tried, the more he seemed to screw things up.”

  “How were things between you and Joseph after his arrest?” I ask.

  “Our relationship took a beating those first few months after Naomi was killed. I mean, the evidence against Joe was overwhelming.” His expression turns pained. “I found myself doubting him. I mean, I’ll be the first to tell you Joe isn’t perfect. He’s screwed up so many times I lost count. Even the Amish gave up on him.” His smile is wry. “But I knew he could never hurt Naomi. She was everything to him. The glue that held his life together.”

  I nod, not liking the knot that has taken up residence in the pit of my stomach. “You attended the trial?”

  “Every excruciating day.” He gives me a weighty look. “It was heartbreaking. I mean, I was close to Naomi, still mourning her. I sat there day in and day out, listening to a whole litany of how and why he shot his wife to death. The prosecutor was polished and credible and laid it all out so convincingly. I felt … betrayed by Joseph.”

  He sighs. “It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I was able to look at the trial with an objective eye.”

  “And?”

  “Frankly, the public defender didn’t do a very good job of defending him. Of course, Joe didn’t help his case. He was sullen and stoic and that’s not to mention all the bad-husband stuff that came out about him in the course of the trial. But a bad husband does not a murderer make.”

  “Did any of the children testify?” I ask.

  “No.” Something flickers in his eyes. “But a couple weeks after the trial, Logan and I went to see the kids. They’re good kids, Katie. I mean, they lost their mamm; their datt had just been convicted of her murder and sentenced to life in prison. And here they are putting on a brave front.” Blowing out a breath, he shakes his head. “They were so sad, it broke my heart. Anyway, Rebecca invited us to stay for dinner. Later, when I was tucking the youngest into bed, Sadie told me something that chilled me to the bone.”

  I wait, knowing what’s coming next, hoping for it and dreading it at once.