Part 17 (1/2)

CHAPTER 15.

Anyone who's ever worked in law enforcement-or watched crime TV-knows the first forty-eight hours after a crime is committed are the most important in terms of solving it. Most cops work around the clock those first vital days, when the clock is ticking and their chances of achieving a solve diminish with every minute that pa.s.ses. My tactic on this case is no different. I've been chasing the clock all day, and despite my best efforts, there's no way I'm going to make dinner with Tomasetti. A law enforcement veteran himself, he'll understand. That doesn't mean he won't be disappointed. It won't alleviate my own disappointment. It will, however, give me a little more time to decide how to respond if he pushes the issue of my moving in with him.

I call him on my way to the Borntrager farm and break the news.

He takes it like a man. ”I guess I'm going to have to drink this bottle of wine all by myself.”

I chuckle. ”Don't get too close to the pond. I'd hate to find the empty bottle on the bank and you floating facedown in all that moss.”

”Anyone ever accuse you of having a dark sense of humor?”

”You're the only one who appreciates it.”

He pauses. ”Any luck on the case?”

I tell him about my meeting with Armitage and we cover the same ground Glock and I covered earlier. ”Will you do me a favor?” I ask.

”You know I will.”

”Will you pull arrest records for hate crimes in the two-county area?”

”I'm all over it.” In the background I hear a dull popping sound.

”What was that?” I ask.

”Breaking the seal. Going to let this breathe for a few minutes.”

”I'm sorry I didn't make it.”

”Me, too.”

I turn onto the dead-end road that will take me to the Borntrager farm. I can just make out the silhouettes of two buggies moving down the lane toward the house.

”If you can get away tomorrow,” Tomasetti begins, ”I've got a nice cabernet from California in the pantry.”

”I'll be there,” I tell him. ”Come h.e.l.l or high water.”

”Hopefully it won't come to that.”

I'm smiling when I disconnect.

The Borntrager farm seems hushed as I park off the sidewalk at the rear of the house. The two buggies sit adjacent the barn. The barn door is open and I presume her neighbors have arrived to take care of the ch.o.r.es. Bishop Troyer is gone, probably home to rest and take care of his own affairs. Another family or neighbor will be looking after Mattie and David tonight.

I take the sidewalk to the back door and knock. A young woman wearing a gray dress with a white ap.r.o.n and prayer kapp answers. Her eyes widen when she spots my uniform. ”May I help you?”

”Hi, I'm Kate Burkholder.” I show her my badge. ”I'm here to see Mattie.”

Her mouth tightens with disapproval, and I wonder if people still talk about my abandoning my roots, or maybe someone has recently mentioned me in an unflattering light. ”Mattie was very distraught after the funerals and is lying down upstairs.”

She's trying to find a way to deny my request without being openly rude. ”I wouldn't ask to see her at a time like this if it wasn't important.”

”Maybe you could come back later?”

I look beyond her to see a stout older woman with a dish towel draped over her shoulder marching toward us, her practical shoes like jackhammers against the floor. Recognition flickers and I realize I knew her back when I was a preteen; she was an a.s.sistant teacher at the school I attended. Mattie used to call her Leih, the Pennsylvania Dutch word for cow, mainly because even though she was only a few years older than us, she was already a large woman and enjoyed bullying anyone smaller or younger or weaker.

”Mattie is sleeping and asked not to be disturbed,” she informs me in Pennsylvania Dutch.

”h.e.l.lo, Miriam,” I begin. ”Nice to see you.”

She doesn't smile. ”Come back in the morning like a decent person.”

I push open the door. Both women move back to avoid me when I step inside. The younger woman's eyes widen as I brush past her. Miriam isn't deterred and blocks my path. ”You just hold your horses right there, Katie Burkholder.”

”This is official police business,” I tell her. ”I'm not leaving until I speak with Mattie.”

”In that case I'll bring you a pillow and you can sleep on the porch.”

In the back of my mind, I know this is funny. Especially because she's serious and I'm getting p.i.s.sed. Under different circ.u.mstances I might have laughed, or at least enjoyed the comedy of it. But my sense of humor has shriveled to the size of a pea in the last couple of days and I'm tired of people making my job difficult. ”Get out of my way or I will arrest you. Do you understand?”

”Where's your sense of decency?” Miriam asks crossly. ”Can't you see the poor girl's mourning?”

”Katie?”

I glance through the kitchen to see Mattie standing in the doorway, looking as pale as a ghost, as inanimate as a mannequin. She appears physically ill, depressed, and utterly lifeless.

Miriam casts me an I-told-you-so look. Her eyes don't soften when they fall on Mattie and I wonder if she remembers the name calling from when we were teenagers. ”Back upstairs with you,” she says none-too-gently. ”Go on now. You need your rest.”

”It's okay, Miriam.” A tremulous smile touches Mattie's lips. ”Katie and I are friends.”

The woman shoots me a disapproving look, her eyes lingering on my uniform. ”Sie hot net der glaawe.” She doesn't keep the faith. Catching the eye of the younger woman, she motions toward the kitchen and then they leave us.

For several seconds, Mattie and I contemplate each other. She looks too raw to partake in a long question-and-answer session, especially when none of it's going to be pleasant. I don't have the luxury of sparing her.

”Leih,” I whisper. Cow.

Mattie chokes out a laugh, but tears fill her eyes. ”She's only trying to help.”

I nod, my temper fading. ”I'm sorry to bother you so late and so soon after the funerals.”

”It's okay. I know you're only doing your job.” She tilts her head. ”Has something happened?”

”I talked to Dr. Armitage at the Hope Clinic today. He told me you're the one who usually takes the children to their appointments.”

She seems confused by the statement, as if she doesn't comprehend its significance. ”Ja. That's true.”

”Is there a reason why you didn't mention it?”