Linda Castillo - Sworn to Silence

He leaves the kitchen. A little voice inside my head screams for me to go after him, plead with him to keep his mouth shut, at least until this case is solved. But I can’t make myself move. The slamming of the door is like a death knell in my ears. As I reach for the bottle, I know there’s not a damn thing I can do but wait for the hammer to fall.

CHAPTER 27

I arrive at the police station a few minutes before seven. Mona sits at the switchboard, her feet on the desk, eating an apple and reading her usual fare.

“Hey, Chief.” Her feet hit the floor. Her eyes widen slightly when she looks at me. “Tough night?”

I didn’t sleep much after Tomasetti left, and I wonder if I look as wrung out as I feel. “Nothing a cup of whatever you’re brewing won’t cure.”

“It’s cinnamon hazelnut.” She passes messages to me. “Doc Coblentz probably won’t get to the autopsy until midmorning.”

The news suits me just fine. Now that I know for a fact Daniel Lapp isn’t the killer, I plan to spend the morning working the relocation angle.

“Weatherman says we got more snow coming,” she says.

“He’s been saying that for a week.”

“I think he’s right this time.”

I snag coffee on the way to my office. Sliding behind my desk, I pull out the Slaughterhouse Killer file and a fresh legal pad. While my computer boots, I hit Skid’s cell number. “Did DRC give you anyone besides Starkey?”

“He was the only one.”

“Did you check with hospitals?” I ask. “Institutions?”

“I struck out, Chief. Sorry.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“You got anything new?”

“I’m working on it. See you in a few.”

I disconnect and spend a few minutes Googling moving companies within a thirty-mile radius of Painters Mill. There are none with a Painters Mill address, but a Web site pops up for a moving company in Millersburg along with a U-Haul franchise. Grabbing the legal pad, I jot contact information. I know the angle I’m pursuing is a long shot, but it’s all I’ve got. I dial Great Midwest Movers, where I’m put on hold and transferred.

“This is Jerry Golan, how can I help you?”

I identify myself and get right to the point. “I’m working on a case and need the names of people who moved out of the area from 1993 to 1995. Do you guys keep records that long?”

“This about them murders up there?”

“I’m not at liberty to get into details.” I lower my voice. “But just between you and me it could be related. I’d appreciate if you’d keep it under your hat.”

“My lips are sealed.” He lowers his voice as if we now share a secret, and I hear the tap of a keyboard on the other end of the line. “The good news is we’ve kept all our records since we opened in 1989. The bad news is, they’re all over the place. We moved back in ’04. Everything got boxed up. Some of it’s in storage and some’s here at the office.”

“All I need is the names and contact information.”

Another whistle sails through fiber optic cable. “Might take a while.”

“Any way you can expedite that for the chief of police?”

“Well, jeez, I guess I could call in a temp.”

“Would it help if I told you to send the bill to me?”

He brightens. “Yes, ma’am. That’d help a lot.”

A temp isn’t in the budget, but I’ll cover it somehow. After hanging up, I go to the Coshocton County Auditor Web site. I stumble through a few pages before finding what I’m looking for. The site offers public access to tax records for real estate sales and transfers. I click on the link and go to the Advanced Search. “Bingo,” I whisper and enter the dates I’m looking for.

Unfortunately, the database only goes back ten years. I click on the “Contact” button and request a listing of sales for the county between January 1, 1993 and December 31, 1995.

Next, I go to the Holmes County Auditor Web site. I’m pleased to find that the site offers a “sales search” by property district. There are dozens of districts, broken down by township and village.

My phone buzzes. I see Glock’s cell number on the display and pick up. “Hey.”

“Something’s going on,” he says without preamble. “Auggie Brock called a few minutes ago and asked me to meet him at the police station. Said it was urgent.”

“What?” Alarm shoots through me. “Did he say why?”

“No, but I thought you might want a heads-up. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead.

Troubled, I stare at the phone. It surprises me by buzzing again. Mona’s number pops up on the display and I pick up. “Auggie and his entourage just walked in,” she whispers. “They’re coming your way.”

I look up to see Auggie Brock at my door. I hang up. Behind Auggie, I see Janine Fourman. A tremor of uneasiness goes through me when I see Detrick and John Tomasetti bringing up the rear.

My heart rolls into a hard staccato. “What’s wrong?”

No one answers. At first I think there’s been another murder. Then the truth hits me, like a fist rammed into my solar plexus. John told them about Lapp. About what I did. They’re here to fire me. Maybe even arrest me. The thought paralyzes me with fear. With shame and a keen sense of betrayal. With the knowledge that I’m in very big trouble.

I stare at John. He stares back with those cold cop’s eyes. Bastard, I think. Bastard .

“We’d like a word with you,” Auggie begins.

I rise, my uneasiness growing into a wild and unwieldy panic. “What’s going on?”

Auggie clears his throat. “Chief Burkholder, effective immediately, based on just cause, we are terminating your employment contract with the Village of Painters Mill.”

I feel as if I’ve been Tased. I stare at him, speechless, my mind reeling. “On what grounds?”

Bristling with impatience, Janine speaks up. “We’ve received a complaint about the way you’re investigating these murders.”

“A complaint? From who?” But I already know.

“Finger-pointing isn’t important at this juncture,” she says.

“The hell it’s not.” I look at John. He returns my gaze levelly, and I wonder if he knew about this and didn’t tell me. I shift my attention to the mayor. “You had better start talking.”

“We held a closed-door session this morning,” says Auggie.

“Who?”

He motions toward the group. “All of us. It was decided.”

I see Glock standing behind John and feel the knife sink in a little deeper. Did he know about this?

Janine Fourman looks at me like a mother admonishing a badly behaved child. “This is not personal, Kate. We’re acting in the best interest of Painters Mill.”

Auggie produces a sheet of paper and hands it to me. “You’re being relieved of your duties for just cause. It is the opinion of the council that your lack of experience has prevented you from pursuing this case in the proper manner.”

I cut in. “Lack of experience?”

Ignoring me, Auggie continues. “That finding is based upon your delay in calling for assistance from other law enforcement agencies, namely the FBI, BCI and the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department. There was an official complaint filed. We reviewed it in depth. And it is the consensus of the council that you be removed from your position until all the facts are known. In the interim, Sheriff Detrick will be the acting chief until the situation is resolved.”

Relief flits though me that there was no mention of human remains. “Sounds like you stayed up all night rehearsing, Auggie.”

He has the audacity to blush. “This is not a reflection on you, but your lack of experience and the difficult circumstances of these murders.”

“I’m doing everything humanly possible to solve this case.” I hate the desperation ringing in my voice. “We’re working practically around the clock.”