“Not if I have a say in the matter.” Surprising myself, I reach out and set my hand over his forearm. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy. I’ll safeguard the information to the best of my ability.”
“Be careful in your search for the truth, Kate Burkholder.” Easing his arm away from me, he goes back to his mucking. “You may not like what you find.”
CHAPTER 20
Be careful in your search for the truth, Kate Burkholder. You may not like what you find.
The bishop’s words follow me as I take the Explorer down the lane and start toward home. If he’s telling the truth—and I have no reason to suspect a lie—he just handed me a motive for murder. Jealousy over an illicit love affair.
Maybe Tomasetti is right, and I’m seeing Joseph King through the eyes of the young Amish girl I’d been. An innocent girl with a bad case of hero worship and in the throes of her first crush. Is it possible? After all this time and after all of my law enforcement experience, I’m unable to look at this with an objective eye? The thought makes me feel like a fool.
I rap my palm against the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. “What the hell did you do, Joseph?” I whisper.
I’m passing through Parkman, deep in thought, when I drive past a small restaurant called the Sweet Rosemary Café. I recall Jonas telling me that Naomi King had worked part-time at a restaurant in town. On impulse, I hit the brake, turn around in an alley, and pull into the gravel lot.
I don’t expect to learn anything earth-shattering, but you never know when some nugget will come your way. Besides, it’s been a long day. I could use some caffeine.
The Sweet Rosemary Café is part bakery, part restaurant, and part Amish tourist shop, all of it housed in an old two-story house built into a hillside. I take the sidewalk around to the antique-looking front door and enter to the enticing aromas of cinnamon, yeast bread, and fresh-brewed coffee. There are three other customers in the dining room. Two elderly men sit at a small corner table, embroiled in conversation, and a woman in a denim skirt and blouse sits at another table sipping iced tea and tapping a message into her phone. The waitress, a middle-aged Mennonite woman, is behind the counter, drinking coffee and watching a soap opera on the television mounted above the kitchen pass-through.
Four stools line the counter, so I slide onto the nearest one and upend the mug in front of me.
Tearing her eyes away from the TV, the waitress glances my way and grins. “They’re about to kill that guy for the third time this year. Damien Rocco aka bad dude.”
I laugh, game for the topic. “He deserve it?”
“Oh yeah. He’s offed so many people I lost count.” Snagging the coffeepot, she treads over to me and pours. “My husband thinks I’m a hard worker. He has no idea I come here to watch TV.” She taps her kapp. “We used to be Amish so we don’t have one at home.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I say in Deitsch.
Arching a brow, she shoves a tiny stainless-steel pitcher of cream toward me. “You Amisch or what?”
“Used to be.” I offer my hand and introduce myself, letting her know I’m the chief of police from Painters Mill.
“Leah Yoder.” She wipes her hand on her apron and we shake. “You miss it?”
“Sometimes.” I pour cream into my coffee. “Not the rules so much.”
“I hear that.”
I sip the coffee and sigh. “I think that’s the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
She beams. “The owner, Mrs. Kresovich, gets it from a roaster up in Cleveland. Fancy stuff, let me tell you. We got some lemon custard pie left if you want a piece. On the house since you’re a cop.”
“Let me pay and you have yourself a deal.”
“Never argue with the fuzz.” She goes to a small refrigerator, pulls out a plate, and removes the plastic wrap. Snagging a napkin and fork from another place setting, she slides them over to me and sets the pie in front of me. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” she asks.
“I’m tying up a few loose ends on a case.”
Her eyes meet mine, her expression sobering. “You talking about the Joe King thing?”
I nod. “Did you know him?”
“I knew Naomi,” she tells me. “She worked here for a time.”
“Were you close?”
“We were. I considered her a friend. I liked her a lot and I sure hated to see her go the way she did. Such a tragedy, especially for the kids.”
Emotion flashes in her eyes, so I give her a moment before asking, “What was Naomi like?”
“Quiet. Kept to herself at first. But I’m a talker. You give me enough time and I could carry on a conversation with a tree. I got the gift of gab, or so my husband tells me. So, yeah, we talked. She was a real nice gal. A good woman. Better than most. She liked to laugh, but didn’t do it enough.” She sighs, thoughtful. “She loved them kids, that’s for sure.”
“Did she talk about Joseph much?”
“Complained about him plenty.”
“Did they get along?”
She huffs. “Like cats and dogs.”
“Any idea what they argued about?”
“A lot of ground to cover, how much time you got?”
Grinning, I sample the pie, find it tart and creamy and delicious. “Till the end of this fine slice of pie at least.”
“Not to speak ill of the dead, but Joe was impulsive and lazy. Spent too much money and they didn’t have much to begin with.” She chuckles. “That Naomi. She’d come in slamming things around and grumbling and I knew they’d been at it. Heard her actually cuss him a couple of times and believe me, she wadn’t a cussing kind of girl.” Her brows snap together. “Always got the impression Joe didn’t like her working. That set her off a couple of times because he was always buying stuff he didn’t need with money they didn’t have.”
I think about my conversation with Bishop Fisher. “Was he jealous?”
She gives me an odd look, the meaning of which I can’t quite decipher. “Never met a man who wasn’t. Some just hide it better than others.” She lowers her voice. “Don’t tell my husband I said that.” She punctuates the statement with a conspiratorial wink, but she’s trying a little too hard to keep it light.
Sighing, she shakes her head. “I never thought it would end up the way it did. I mean, with her dead. One day we’re complaining about rude customers, the next she’s just … gone. I don’t even think I said good-bye to her that last day. Figured I’d see her soon enough. I guess you never know.”
I fork a piece of the pie. “You heard Joseph is gone, too?”
She nods. “That standoff thing was all over the news up here.”
“I’m working to close the file,” I tell her. “I’ve talked to a lot of people in the last couple of days. Interestingly, I’m getting quite a bit of conflicting information.”
“About who?”
“Joseph.” I shrug. “I talked to him the day he was killed.”
The waitress’s eyes widen. “You’re the one who was in that house with him for a bit.”
I nod. “He was adamant that he didn’t murder his wife.” I glance left and right and then lower my voice. “One of his children, the little girl, corroborated it. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, so I decided to look into a few things before I closed the file for good.”
When she doesn’t respond, I add, “I’m not here to dig up dirt or ruin anyone’s reputation. I’m trying to find the truth. That’s all.”
Suddenly Mrs. Gift-of-Gab isn’t quite so talkative. Picking up a small box, she begins stocking postcards in a rotating countertop display rack. “I don’t see how that matters now. I mean, with both of them dead.”
“The truth always matters,” I tell her.
She doesn’t respond, but continues to slide postcards into slots.
“Did Naomi ever mention the Amish bishop?” I ask. “Bishop Fisher?”
She goes still, a machine that’s gone into a stall, and in that
instant I know there’s something there. Something she doesn’t want to discuss.
“Don’t think she ever did,” she says breezily.
“What about his wife, Salome? I heard she and Naomi were friendly.”
Rather than answer, she spins the rack, stuffs another stack of postcards into a slot.
“I know Joseph wasn’t a good husband,” I tell her. “If Naomi turned to someone else, no one would blame her.”
She stops and turns to me. “Is that what you think she did? You think she two-timed her husband?” She hefts a short laugh.
“I don’t think anything. I’m asking.”
She waves off the statement. “I don’t know what kind of fishing expedition you’re on, but I ain’t biting. You damn cops are all the same. Well, let me tell you something: Naomi King was a saint. She was a good wife. And a good mom. You got it?”
“Someone murdered her in cold blood,” I say quietly. “I don’t think it was Joseph.”
“Bullshit.”
I push the pie away and sigh. “I’m not judging her for what she did or didn’t do. I don’t care about that. All I want is the truth. And to get a killer off the street. You’re not helping.”
Finally, she picks up the box, shoves it beneath the counter, and glares at me. “She was my friend. Maybe I know something about her. Maybe I don’t. All I can tell you is that if she was keeping some secret, she wouldn’t want anyone to know. Especially the Amish. And those kids.”
I lean closer to her. “I didn’t know her, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want her husband’s legacy to evolve around a murder he didn’t commit. Or for her killer to get away with it.”
She stares at me, shocked to silence. Her eyes sweep the dining room, as if checking to see if anyone is listening, then come back to me.
“I know she was seeing someone,” I say quietly.
Leah Yoder starts to move away, but I reach out and set my hand on her arm, stopping her. “I promise not to be careless with whatever you tell me. If I can protect Naomi’s reputation, I will.”
The woman eases her arm from beneath my hand, looks down at the counter. “I don’t know who it was. She never said.”
“Was he Amish or English?”
“English.”
“First name? Last name? Is he married? Do you know where they were meeting?”
She shakes her head. “She was careful. But I saw her getting out of a car once. That’s all I know.”
“What kind of car?”
Leah looks down at her hands, sets them against the countertop as if to keep them from shaking. “A police car.”
CHAPTER 21
It’s fully dark by the time I arrive at the station. The rain has returned with a vengeance, the weatherman announcing new thunderstorm and flash-flood warnings for Stark, Wayne, and Holmes counties. Welcome to northeastern Ohio in April. At least the media have gotten bored and left.
Parking in my usual spot, I use my jacket to cover my already-ruined hair and hightail it inside. I find my second-shift dispatcher, Jodie, reclined in her chair, her sandal-clad feet propped on the desk, blue-tipped toes wriggling to Phantogram’s “Fall in Love.” The sight bodes well for the possibility of a blissfully quiet evening.
She sits up upon hearing the door close and turns down the volume. “Oh, hey, Chief.”
“Looks like everything’s quiet on the home front,” I say, plucking messages from my slot.
“Just the way we like it.”
Skid is usually on second shift, but he took a couple of days off to see his parents in Ann Arbor. Normally I’d cover for him, but since I’ve been placed on restricted duty, Glock has stepped in to take up the slack.
“Any dry uniform tops lying around?” I ask her.
“Got a medium right here.”
“It’ll do.”
She reaches into her file drawer and pulls out a neatly folded shirt with PAINTERS MILL PD embroidered on the sleeves. “There you go, Chief.”
I take the shirt. “Since it’s just us tonight and the phone is quiet, you can turn the radio back up if you want to.”
She flashes a grin. “Roger that.”
In my office, I change into a dry shirt. While my computer boots, I call Tomasetti and tell him about my trip to Geauga County.
“You’ve been busy for a chief on restricted duty,” he says when I’m finished.
I recap my conversation with the bishop. “Naomi confessed to him that she was unfaithful to her husband.”
“That doesn’t bode well for Joseph King’s innocence.”
“It also brings someone else into the equation.”
“Do you know who she was seeing?”
“The waitress she worked with thinks it might be a cop.”
He sighs. “Well, shit.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Look, Kate, I’m not saying I’m on the same page with you, especially when it comes to Joseph King. From all indications, he’s guilty as hell. He found out his wife was unfaithful and he killed her. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Tomasetti pauses. “Enter that second person and the possibility that he’s a cop and … maybe he’s not the only one who thought he had reason to kill her.”
“Tomasetti, this changes everything.” Even as I recoil at the thought of someone in law enforcement committing such a heinous crime, another part of me relishes the prospect of an alternate suspect.
“It makes the situation a hell of a lot more complicated,” he says.
My mind is already forging into a shadowy corner I don’t want to look into. I tell him about my trip to the Geauga County Safety Center. “The records clerk told me the records had been purged. Even here in Painters Mill, we have a retention policy in place. We keep everything for a minimum of seven years. Not just felonies, but misdemeanors.”
“I’m well aware of Ohio’s retention laws.”
“I know, but—”
“Kate, are you telling me you believe those records were purged or altered to conceal evidence? Do you think there was some kind of official misconduct going on? Some kind of cover-up or conspiracy to convict King?”
“I think all of those things are a possibility.”
“That’s a damn serious allegation.”
“I’m aware.”
“If we make this official…”
“We’re not there yet,” I say quickly. “I don’t have proof. I don’t have enough.”
“But you’re just getting started.” He sighs, an unhappy, impatient sound. “Do me a favor and stay under the radar, will you?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Kate, look, if this gets to be too much or your gut is making you uneasy about something, will you let me know?”
The burst of gratitude in my gut is tempered with the knowledge that he’s putting enough weight in the information I’ve unearthed to be concerned. “I will. Thank you.”
He shifts the conversation away from work. “You going to make it home tonight?”
“I’ve got a few things I need to tie up here first.”
“Uh-huh.” He sighs. “Don’t poke that stick of yours into too many dark holes. You may not like what runs out.”
“Hey, I’m on restricted duty, remember?” But I’m thinking about Sidney Tucker’s parting words. Walk away while you still can.
He makes a sound that’s part laugh, part growl. “As if that’s going to stop you.”
* * *
I start with the Geauga County Sheriff’s Department, collecting the names of current and past deputies, key administrative staff, and the higher-ups. I’m so embroiled in my task, I don’t notice the shift change when Mona comes in—early as usual—and Jodie goes home.
At eleven P.M., Mona peeks her head into my office. “Want a pizza, Chief?”
I look up from my monitor. “LaDonna’s is closed.”
“There’s that new place on Main. They’re open until midnight. The pepperoni-and-mushroom is to die for.”
br /> “We’re speaking the same language.”
Glock comes up behind her. “Make it a large, will you?” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a twenty.
“I got it,” I tell him. “Chief’s treat.”
Neither of them moves and I look up to find them staring at me. I give them a what? look.
“We hate that the town clowns put you on restricted duty.” Mona looks at Glock, then back to me. “All of us.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Um … we were wondering…” She motions at the paperwork spread across my desk. “Need a hand?”
Glock shrugs. “It’s a quiet night. We’re here. May as well put us to work.”
I give both of them a long, assessing look, wondering if they have any idea how deeply they’ve touched me. “This is … sensitive,” I tell them. “Off the record. Way off the record.”
Mona grins. “Off-the-record is our specialty.”
I hesitate, considering the repercussions of involving them. But I trust them, I realize. I absolutely trust them. To keep the project confidential. That they will do a thorough job. And that nothing they see will go beyond the walls of the police station.
I pass my notes to Mona. “I need the names and contact info of every officer who currently works for the Middlefield Village Police Department. I need the same for anyone who has left the department or been terminated in the last two years. Check to see if any of them have pending misconduct cases or reprimands over the last two years. I need details of any misconduct issues, official or otherwise.”
The look Mona gives me is worth a thousand words, and I realize I’ve touched her just as deeply. “I’m so all over this.” She rips the paper from my hand and leaves my office.
I turn my attention to Glock. “Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”
“It’s raining cats and dogs out there, Chief. Thieves and drunks aren’t even venturing out tonight.” He pats the radio strapped to his belt. “If the zombies swarm, I’m on the ready.”