Sworn to Silence (42 page)

“No.”

“You’re lying. I smell it on your breath.” He gives Pickles an incredulous look, but he addresses me. “She’s drunk. What the hell are you thinking, drinking and driving on a night like this? Coming over here when we already have enough to deal with?”

“I haven’t been drinking.” I have, but I’m not going to admit it. Detrick is trying to discredit me in front of Pickles.

“Burkholder, you need to go home,” he says. “Right now.”

“Make sure Jonas gets to the hospital,” I say to Pickles.

Detrick grabs my arm. “I’ll escort you out myself.”

Pickles comes out of the cell. “Get your hands off her.”

Detrick jabs a finger at him. “Shut the fuck up, old man.”

Pickles holds his ground, but looks at me. “Maybe you ought to just go, Chief.”

“Don’t let anything happen to—” The next thing I know, Detrick’s hand clamps around the back of my neck. He shoves me hard against the bars. “Give me your hands.”

“I’m leaving,” I say.

“You had your chance. Now give me your goddamn hands!”

Every instinct in my body screams for me to resist. Knowing that will only escalate the situation, I offer my wrists. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re drunk and disorderly.” He tugs handcuffs from the compartment on his belt. He’s breathing hard. His palms are slick with sweat as he pulls my hands behind my back and snaps the cuffs onto my wrists, cranking them down hard enough to hurt.

Pickles crosses to us. “Sheriff, that’s not necessary.”

Ignoring him, Detrick glares at me as if he wants to take me apart with his bare hands. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you just bought yourself a lot of trouble.”

“I was trying to help. That’s all.”

“Bullshit. You got juiced up and came here to start problems.”

My heart is beating so hard I can barely catch my breath. I try not to think of the murders this man may have committed. I’m handcuffed and defenseless. If he decided to pull out his sidearm and kill all of us, there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do to stop him.

“I thought Jonas might respond to someone who speaks Pennsylvania Dutch,” I say. “That’s all.”

“In the middle of a blizzard? After midnight? You’re half drunk and you decide to mosey down here to
help
? Burkholder, I wasn’t born yesterday!”

“Mona called her,” Pickles puts in, obviously trying to defuse the situation. “That’s why she came. Come on. She’s a cop. Cut her some slack.”

Detrick jams his finger at Jonas, but addresses Pickles. “Do you realize her
talking to this suspect could cost us this case! She’s not a cop! Some lawyer gets ahold of this, and that piece of shit in there could get off. Is that what you want?”

For the first time, Pickles looks uncertain.

“Let me go or I swear you’ll find yourself in court.” I try to make my voice strong, but it’s breathless and high.

“You are in no position to threaten me.” Grabbing my arm, he shoves me toward the staircase.

When we enter the reception area, Mona gasps and stands, gaping at me as if I’m on my way to the gallows. “What happened?”

“It’s okay,” I say.

“But why did he—”

“She’s drunk.” Detrick forces me to the desk, then spins me roughly around so he can unlock the cuffs.

I look at Mona. “I’m not drunk.”

Detrick sighs. “I’m going to do you a big favor, Burkholder, and cut you loose. But if you show up again drunk or sober or in a fuckin’ spaceship, you’re going to jail. You got it?”

The cuffs snap open. “I understand.”

“Chief, what’s going on?” Mona asks.

“I’ll explain later,” I say, rubbing my wrists.

Detrick points at the door, as if I’m a stray dog that’s wandered in off the street. “Get out before I change my mind and throw you in the drunk tank the rest of the night.”

“Keep an eye on Jonas,” I say to Mona.

“I called an ambulance,” she says.

“Cancel it,” Detrick snaps. “That murdering piece of shit is fine.”

Shaking her head, Mona grabs the phone and dials.

Detrick glares at me, something darker than contempt glittering in his eyes. “Get the hell out of here.”

I leave without looking back.

Mona Kurtz had always prided herself on her ability to stay calm during stressful situations. Mainly because she was really into the whole cop thing. She
liked the excitement. She admired the way they kept their cool when all hell was breaking loose. She didn’t feel very calm tonight.

She used to love her job at the police department. She was a night bird by nature, and working the graveyard shift was perfect. The phones and dispatch radio were relatively quiet, so she could read or catch up on homework from the criminal justice course she was taking at the community college, and the guys always gave her the scoop on all the good gossip around town.

Unfortunately, the job had pretty much gone to shit since the murders began. Everyone was on edge. The guys needed reports typed or data entered into the computer. The phones rang off the hook until the wee hours. People were getting downright weird. To top things off, Nathan Detrick had set up shop in the chief’s office. The sheriff might have some charm—if you liked bald old guys, anyway—but there was something about him that gave Mona the freaking willies.

The job really started sucking after the chief got fired. Mona still didn’t know all the details. But she knew a lot more than people realized. Phone people, no matter how low on the totem pole, could figure out almost anything from who called whom and the messages they left. As far as she was concerned, Chief Burkholder had been royally screwed over.

She couldn’t believe the chief had just about gotten herself arrested. It wasn’t like Kate to cause problems. What the hell was she thinking? Mona had always put the chief on a pedestal of sorts. In fact, Kate was one of her role models. Well, the chief and Stephanie Plum, anyway. Detrick handcuffing her and threatening to arrest her was downright freaky.

“Strange stuff going on tonight.”

Mona looked up to see Pickles approach. “Tell me about it.”

Craning her neck, she glanced toward the hall leading to the basement. “Where’s Baldy?”

Pickles leaned against her desk. “In the chief’s office.”

Mona lowered her voice. “Was the chief really drunk?”

“She’s been under a lot of stress with these murders.” He sighed. “Ain’t the first time a cop turned to booze.”

Mona doodled on her message pad. “I wish she was still chief.”

“You and me both.”

“I hate all this weird shit. Working for Detrick sucks.”

The switchboard trilled. Turning her radio down, Mona slid the headset over her ears and hit Talk. “Painters Mill PD.”

“This is Ronald Duff with the Indiana State Police calling for Chief of Police Kate Burkholder.”

“Chief Burkholder isn’t in.” Mona still couldn’t bring herself to tell people Kate was no longer chief. Breaking that kind of news to the public wasn’t her responsibility. She supposed she was hoping everything would get straightened out and Kate would return. After tonight, it sure didn’t look that way.

“You know how to reach her?” the man asked.

“Sheriff Detrick is here. Can he help you?” She’d been instructed by the sheriff to pass all the chief’s calls to him, which Mona had been doing.

“That would be fine. Thanks.”

“Can I tell him what it’s regarding?”

“I found a better image of the victim here in Indiana, and I wondered if he wanted me to fax it.”

Satisfied Detrick was the correct person this man should speak to, Mona transferred the call.

Wind and snow buffet me as I slide into the Mustang and slam the door. I can’t believe what just happened. I’m shaking so hard I can barely get the key in the ignition. I know it sounds crazy, but I think Detrick is the killer. All the evidence points to him, and after what Jonas just told me . . . Detrick must have planted the evidence found at Jonas’s farm. If he gets the chance, he’ll kill Jonas to cover his tracks.

That’s when I realize I’m in over my head. I can’t handle this on my own. Not only am I no longer a cop, but my integrity has come into question. Detrick has done everything in his power to discredit me—and quite effectively. If I start making accusations, people will think I’m disgruntled over losing my job.

I didn’t want to call John until I had rock-solid proof implicating Detrick, but I can’t put it off any longer. Jonas is in real danger. It’s going to be a hard sell, but I need John’s help. I dial his number as I head out of town.

Though it’s after midnight, he picks up on the second ring. “You okay?” he asks.

“I’m in trouble.”

“Now there’s a surprise. What happened?”

“Promise me you’re not going to call me crazy and hang up.”

“You know I have a soft spot for the mentally disturbed.”

I choke out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I think I know who the killer is.”

“I’m listening.”

“Nathan Detrick.”

The silence that follows is so profound that for a second I think I lost the connection. Then he sighs. “You came to this stunning conclusion how, exactly?”

Quickly, I tell him about the murders in Fairbanks that occurred while Detrick worked there as a hunting guide. That he actually “found” one of the bodies. I tell him about the murders in Kentucky and Indiana and their proximity to Dayton where Detrick was a cop. I tell him Detrick owns a blue snowmobile. I lay out the timeline. “I know it’s circumstantial, but you have to admit, if you put it all together, it’s compelling.”

“Kate, goddamnit.”

I close my eyes. “John, listen to me. I think Detrick framed Hershberger. I think he’s going to murder him to shut him up.” Quickly, I explain what happened at the station.

“Detrick’s a fucking cop. A husband with three teenaged girls. He coaches the football team.”

“I know who he is! And I know how this sounds!” I snap. “Look, he’s in the middle of a messy divorce. Maybe that was the trigger for this escalation.”

“Kate . . .”

“I don’t like this any more than you do. But I can’t ignore what I’ve found.”

He sighs, and I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The kind of feeling when I know someone whose opinion I value is about to say something I don’t want to hear. Because that person is John, it hurts. And it scares me because without him, I’m on my own.

“It fits,” I say, trying to sound calm. “He lived in every city where the murders occurred. The signatures are almost exact. He actually ‘found’ one of the bodies. We both know these kinds of killers have been known to get involved with the police investigation. He’s a cop so he knows how to cover his ass. He worked at the slaughterhouse as a teenager. He shaves his head, John. Did you ever wonder why the lab never found a single hair at any of the crime scenes? I’ll bet he shaves all of his body hair.”

“That sounds paranoid as hell.”

“Then help me disprove it.”

“Does Detrick know you suspect him?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way.” His curse burns through the line. “Give me a few hours to get there.”

The drive from Columbus to Painters Mill would normally take a couple of hours. But with the storm dumping snow at about an inch an hour, I know it could be morning before he arrives. “Okay.”

“I want you to go home. Get your facts in order. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever you do, don’t let Detrick know you’re looking at him. And do me a favor, will you?”

“Depends.”

“Watch your back.”

He disconnects without saying good-bye.

The doubt I heard in his voice weighs on me. Being formerly Amish and a woman, I’ve had to work hard to earn the reputation I have. Credibility is important to me. I hate it that both of those things have come into question.

Turning the Mustang around, I start toward home. Visibility is so poor I can barely see the streetlights along Main. The county has sent out snowplows, but there aren’t enough to keep up with the deluge. I’m two blocks from my house when I see the flash of police lights in my rearview mirror. At first I think it’s Pickles, wanting to speak with me about what happened back at the station.

That theory is dashed when I glance in my side mirror and see a sheriff’s
office Suburban. Even in the heavily falling snow, I recognize Detrick’s silhouette when he gets out. For a crazy instant, I consider jamming the Mustang into gear and making a run for it, but I know fleeing will only make things worse. All I have to do is stay cool. After all, he doesn’t know I suspect him.

I had to relinquish my service revolver when I was fired, but I possess a concealed firearm license and own a nice little Kimber .45. Quickly, I snatch the firearm out of the console and drop it into my coat pocket.

Detrick taps on the driver’s window. I hit the down button. “What’s the problem?”