Castillo Linda - Outsider

“I’ve no doubt,” I murmur, but I’m smiling.

Adam tugs the boy’s socks from feet that are still red from the cold. The heels are, indeed, pale but I don’t see any telltale signs of serious frostbite. He’s in the process of rubbing the unguent into the toes and heels when my cell phone vibrates.

I glance down and see Tomasetti’s name pop up on the display. Excusing myself, I leave the room and duck into the hall. “Did you make your meeting with Denny?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “We need to talk.”

I know immediately from his tone that something has changed. That it’s not good. “What’s going on?”

“Not on the cell. I’m on my way.”

I’ve just taken my cell out to the Explorer to charge when I hear the snowmobile zipping up the lane. I stand in the driveway and watch as Tomasetti slides to a stop next to my vehicle and pulls off his helmet.

John Tomasetti isn’t much of a hugger. He’s not the sentimental type. And he’s pretty good at keeping his emotions under lock and key. He doesn’t quite succeed as he crosses to me and leans in for a kiss.

“Farm is kind of quiet without you around,” he murmurs.

“You’re not insinuating I talk too much, are you?” I ask.

“Well…”

I ease away from him, tilt my head for a better look, see a flicker of something that gives me pause. “Okay,” I say. “Lay it on me.”

“There’s something else going on with Colorosa.”

“Not to state the obvious, but that could be the understatement of the year.”

“I drove to Columbus this morning and met with Denny,” he tells me, referring to Special Agent Supervisor Denny McNinch. “I told him everything. When I brought up the possibility of police corruption in Columbus, he clammed up, wouldn’t talk about it. Even when I pushed, he wouldn’t confirm or deny much.”

“Tomasetti, what does that mean?”

He shrugs. “If I were to venture a guess, I’d say there’s another agency involved, there’s an ongoing investigation, it’s hot and being kept under wraps.”

“Which agency?”

Another shrug. “My guess would be FBI. If we’re dealing with organized corruption inside a police department, even if it’s contained to a unit or involves just a few individuals, that’s extremely sensitive information. No one’s going to discuss it, at least not while it’s ongoing.”

“What did he say about Gina?” I ask. “I mean, there’s an active warrant for her arrest. We can’t ignore that. What are we supposed to do with her?”

He grimaces. “Officially, we don’t know her exact whereabouts. Unofficially—and just between us—we need to keep her here for a few more days, if Lengacher is willing.” His eyes settle on mine. “Out of sight. Safe. And quiet. My understanding is that the situation in Columbus is about to come to a head.”

“If she’s part of the investigation, if she has information—names, places, dates, events—that will help, why not make it official and bring her in? Depose her. Something. ”

“I got the impression Colorosa is in way over her head. I don’t believe she’s the focus of the investigation.”

I think about that a moment, my mind poking into places I don’t want it to poke. “They’re looking at another individual inside the department.”

“Or individuals,” he says. “Someone higher up on the food chain.”

A quiver of unease moves through my gut even as all the disjointed parts of the situation fall into place. “That’s the first theory I’ve heard that actually makes sense.”

“Considering the sensitive nature of this, I can’t take it any further,” he tells me. “Cops are under investigation. They get wind of it and all the work that’s gone into it goes up in smoke. Bottom line, we need to lay low for now.”

I nod, but my head is spinning. The notion of deep-rooted corruption inside a police department I spent nearly ten years of my life in puts a queasy sensation in the pit of my stomach.

“There are so many good cops inside that department,” I tell him.

“I’ve no doubt,” he says. “We’re likely dealing with a few individuals inside the vice unit. Maybe a handful of guys. And someone higher up who’s letting it happen and is probably benefiting from it.”

“So Gina’s telling the truth.” Though the confirmation of corruption is devastating, that she hasn’t been lying to us settles the uneasiness that’s been pricking the back of my brain since she arrived.

“Evidently, someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to muck up her reputation.”

“They’re going after her credibility,” I murmur.

“That’s what I’d do,” he tells me. “Destroy her reputation. Stain her character. If she points a finger, no one believes a word.”

My mind forges ahead to Adam and his family. “Tomasetti, we could take Gina to the farm. Or I could check her into the motel for a few days.”

“I told Denny where she was and he seemed to think it was a good place. No phone. No contact with the outside world. I know it’s asking a lot of this family, that it’s an inconvenience, but do you think Lengacher would agree to letting her stay here for another day or two?”

“I’ll pull Adam aside and talk to him.” But I’m still thinking about Gina.

He notices my hesitation. “Are you uneasy with her being here?”

“More concerned about Adam and the children. I don’t want them involved.”

“Gina getting on with them all right?”

I sigh. “Maybe a little too well.”

Tilting his head, he arches a brow. “Seriously?”

I give his shoulder a faux punch. “I don’t want her to complicate things for Adam. He’s a widower. If something … happens, he would be judged harshly.” I sigh. “The problem is, I don’t know how to fix it or where to put her.”

He nods, turns thoughtful. “Look, if you’re not comfortable with her staying here, we can find another place. Say the word and I’ll get it done.”

“Do you think anyone’s looking for her?” I ask.

“You mean aside from every cop in the state?” He shrugs. “We can’t rule that out. But she has no connection to Lengacher. The rural roads are nearly impassable. And we’re only talking about another day or two. It’s your call.”

“All right,” I say after a moment. “I’ll talk to Adam.”

He nods, looking closely at me, and his expression softens. “If you’re an optimist, the weather and road conditions might not be such a bad thing. Keeps the bad guys at home.”

I know he’s right. Still, the thought of being stuck here any longer makes me sigh. “I think I’m coming down with a serious case of cabin fever.”

“Just don’t go all Jack Nicholson on me. Someone is probably counting on her testimony.”

I laugh. “I’ll wait until she completes her civic duty.”

Standing on my tiptoes, I press a kiss to his mouth. “Do me a favor and keep your snowmobile handy, will you?”

“In case you need a quick escape?”

“In case I need a quick … something else.”

He grins. “Bet on it.”

The years I was a police officer with the Columbus Division of Police were some of the most personally and professionally satisfying of my life. I loved the work. I gained a lot of experience in a short period of time. With the help of some generous mentors, I learned how to be a cop—a good one. Most importantly, I’d found my calling.

I didn’t hear from my Amish family often. I missed them desperately. I thought about them every day. Sometimes I even missed the lifestyle and I worried about my relationship with God. But the despair I’d experienced so acutely early on had faded to a dull ache over the years. An ache I’d grown accustomed to and rarely acknowledged.