Linda Castillo - Pray for Silence

“I wanted to fill you in on something I’ve got going on here,” I begin.

“You catch a break?”

“Not exactly.” I lay out the plan.

A charged pause ensues. “You’ve been busy.”

“Things happened fast.”

“You’re at the Zook farmhouse alone?”

“Skid is in the barn. T.J. is parked out of sight by the bridge.”

“What about your other guys?”

“Glock and Pickles are with the Zook family a few miles from here.”

“Kate, that’s not enough men.”

That’s when I realize he’s been drinking. Tomasetti is good at pretending. Good at faking. Hell, he’s an Academy Award–worthy actor half of the time. But I know him well. I know every nuance of his voice. I know how to read between the lines. I know he can be a prick when he’s hurt or angry.

“Sheriff’s office has stepped up patrols,” I say. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me? I could have helped.”

“You’re not exactly on active status.”

“That never stopped you before.”

“John, look, you’ve got a lot going on right now. And I’ve thought this thing through. We’re organized. Prepared. I think we can handle it.”

“You think ?”

“I’m sure we can.” But I fumble the words.

“Or maybe you didn’t call me because you think I’m going to freak out at some inopportune moment and fuck things up for you.”

“That’s not true,” I say evenly.

He cuts me off. “Better to wait until I’m a hundred miles away. A safe distance where I can’t do any harm. Did you discuss my precarious state of mind with your team, Kate? Did they agree with your assessment?”

“I’m not going to justify that with a response.”

“That’s rich.”

“I just wanted to let you know we might be getting a break soon. I wanted you to know what we were doing. How we were handling—”

“You wanted to let me know you can do this all by yourself.”

The words sting. They make me feel like a selfish bitch. Like maybe this is more about me than catching a killer, and I’ve put my officers and myself in harm’s way because I’m trying to prove something I don’t have to prove. I defend my position anyway. “That’s not true.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I’m sure you’re shocked.”

“Look, I just called to let you know what’s going on.”

“Waiting until now to call me was a goddamn bitchy thing to do.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“I’m always like this. Wake the hell up.”

Fury burns through me with such force my hands shake. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Goddamn you, Kate. How the hell do you expect me to sleep tonight, knowing you’re alone in that house?” he shouts.

“I’m not alone.”

“You don’t have enough backup. T.J.’s a rookie and Skid isn’t exactly top notch. Do you think that’s good police work? That’s insane.”

“They’re good cops, and this is a good plan.”

“Sometimes good doesn’t matter! Don’t you get that?” He’s shouting at the top of his lungs now. “This guy comes calling in the middle of the night and gets by one of your guys, you’re going to find yourself in big trouble.”

“I’m armed. I’m wearing a vest—”

“Going to do you a hell of a lot of good if he takes a head shot!”

“John, you’re overreacting.”

“What the hell are you trying to prove, Kate?”

“I’m trying to catch the son of a bitch who killed seven people!”

“Or maybe you finally see a chance for retribution for what happened to you. Maybe you want to prove the Amish aren’t easy victims. Maybe you’re going to blow this guy’s shit away the moment he walks in the door.”

I almost can’t believe what’s coming from his mouth. “That’s psycho bullshit, Tomasetti.”

“I’m right and you know it! And now I’ve got to sit here and do nothing while you get yourself and maybe one of your guys fucking killed. Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself? Did it even cross your mind that I would worry? That maybe I wanted to be involved?”

“You’re not part of this case!” I shout.

“And that’s exactly the way you want it, isn’t it?”

His words leave me reeling. The depth of his anger shocks me. Worse, it fills me with doubt. About the plan. About my motivations. About my abilities as a cop. “I don’t need this.”

“Evidently, you do.”

“I have to go.”

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me!”

I snap my phone closed. His words ring in my head. For a full minute, I stand there, looking down at my phone, wondering what the hell just happened.

Turning off the phone, I drop it into my pocket and wander into the living room. Through the window, dusk wanes. Full darkness will be here soon. Several Jersey cows graze in the pasture. The long and narrow lane is empty. I can’t see the road from the house, but I know Skid can see it from the hayloft. He’ll let me know if anyone shows.

Still, the farm is large and there are a dozen places someone could approach and remain unseen. From the back pasture. They could slink along the green-belt that runs along the creek. They could use the cornfield for cover. On the outside chance someone is watching, I decide to use the last of the daylight to make myself visible.

CHAPTER 27

The garden is a cornucopia of autumn vegetables and berries. Standing in the final remnants of daylight, I take in the perfect rows of corn, tomatoes, squash, cucumber and green peppers. The rear perimeter is a briar patch of blackberry bushes drooping with ripe berries. In the spring, I know strawberries abound, and it’s a constant battle to keep the birds from stealing the fruit.

We had a similar garden when I was a girl growing up. I used to sneak into the garden and eat strawberries right off the plants, sometimes before they were even ripe. The season is long past now, but the blackberries are at the height of ripeness. I walk to the bushes. Being careful of the stickers, I pull off a couple of berries and pop them into my mouth.

Even as I enjoy the impromptu snack, I’m aware of the .38 in the pocket of my apron. The .22 mini-magnum strapped to my thigh. The knife in my ankle boot. I’m also keenly aware of my surroundings. It’s so quiet, I would have no problem hearing a vehicle come up the driveway. But if the killer makes an appearance, I don’t think he’ll use the lane. He’ll wait for full darkness, try for stealth. He’ll probably enter the house via the back door, try to find the boy without waking the rest of the family and kill him in the most expeditious manner possible.

Determined to make the farm appear normal, I spend a few minutes picking weeds. I check the laundry left on the clothesline—at my request. Thoughts of Tomasetti try to pry their way into my brain as I stroll the yard, but I don’t let them. I need to stay focused.

At dark, I go back into the house. I light the lantern on the kitchen table, filling the room with yellow light and the smell of lantern oil. I light a second lantern in the living room, then go upstairs and light another in the master bedroom. Just another ordinary night in the Zook home.

Back in the living room, I close the curtains and hit my lapel mike. “Skid, all clear in the barn?”

“Just me and these stinkin’ pigs.”

“T.J.?”

“Not a single car in the last half hour.”

I sigh. “We may be here a while.”

“What if they don’t show, Chief?” T.J. asks.

I’ve been a cop long enough to know stings like this one rarely go as planned. There are so many variables it’s hard to pinpoint where things might go awry. But the killer not showing is certainly high on the list.