Linda Castillo - Sworn to Silence

The door opens before I knock. James Hershberger stands just inside, his expression telling me I’m not welcome.

“I just heard what happened to Jonas,” I say in Pennsylvania Dutch.

“I do not wish to speak with you, Katie.”

Quickly, I explain that I’ve been fired.

He looks surprised, but doesn’t open the door to let me in. “I do not understand why the English police have arrested my brother for these terrible deeds.”

“Does he have an alibi?” I ask.

The Amish man shakes his head. “Jonas is a solitary man. I try to be a good brother, but I do not see him often. He leads a simple life. For days in a row, he does not leave the farm.”

“Do you know what kind of evidence the police have?”

“The policeman claims to have found blood on the porch.” James fingers his full beard. “Katie, my brother is a butcher. There is often blood. But it does not belong to any of the women.”

“Have you been to see him?”

“The police will not allow it.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “He did not do these things. I stake my life on that.”

“I know he lost his wife a few years ago. How did he handle her death? Did it change him in any way?”

“He was deeply saddened, of course, but neither bitter nor angry. Her death only served to bring him closer to God.”

“Does he drive a vehicle?” I ask.

“Never. He still uses the horses to farm.” He looks at me, his expression beseeching. “Katie, he would not go against God’s will. It is not in his nature.”

Once again I’m reminded of the kittens. Reaching out, I touch James’s arm. “I know,” I say and start toward the Mustang.

I don’t want to go home, but I have nowhere else to go. I consider driving to Jonas’s farm, but if the police are still processing the scene they won’t let me on the property. I wonder what forensic testing on the blood will reveal. Is it possible the shy Amish boy I once knew transformed into a monster in the span of twenty years?

I spot John Tomasetti’s Tahoe parked in front of my house, and a small rise of anticipation runs the length of me. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m looking forward to seeing him. I want to believe it’s because of the case. I don’t let myself analyze it any more closely than that.

We meet on the front porch. “What does Detrick have on Hershberger?” I ask as I open the door.

“I sent the blood to the lab.” He’s got snow in his hair and on his shoulders. He’s staring at me with those intense eyes and I realize I like being the focus of his attention. “It’s human.”

The news puts a chink in my hope for a quick exoneration for Jonas. I hang John’s coat in the closet. “Have they typed it?”

“The blood is O negative. Hershberger is A positive,” he says. “Brenda Johnston was O negative. DNA will tell us if it’s hers.”

“When do you expect results?”

“Five days. Seven max.”

None of this is good news for Jonas. I’m keenly aware of John behind me as I walk toward the kitchen. Flipping on the light, I go to the stove, fill the teakettle with water and set it on the flame. “You think he did it?” I ask.

“If the blood is from one of the vics, it’s a slam dunk.”

I turn to Tomasetti. “I’ve known Jonas since we were kids. He’s not a violent man.”

“People change, Kate.”

“Have you interviewed him?”

John nods.

“What do you think?”

He makes the hand sign for crazy. “I think he’s a fuckin’ loon.”

“Emotional problems don’t make him a killer.”

“Doesn’t vindicate him, either.”

“What about an alibi?”

“He rarely leaves the farm.”

“Tell me about the evidence.”

“In addition to the blood evidence, a BCI tech found a shoe believed to have belonged to one of the victims. A bloody length of baling wire. A knife that fits the specs of the murder weapon.”

The news shocks me. “Don’t you think that’s just a little too neat? Think about it. He hasn’t left a single clue behind and all of a sudden he leaves all this stuff at his own property?”

“Kate.” Surprise ripples through me when he wraps his fingers around my upper arms. “Stop. It’s over. We got him.”

I meet his gaze. “Jonas didn’t do it.”

“Because he’s Amish?”

“For God’s sake, John, he doesn’t drive. He couldn’t have been driving that snowmobile.”

“Or so he says.”

“He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Profiling isn’t an exact science.”

I sigh, wishing I could be satisfied the way everyone else seems to be. “Did you run the modified MO criteria through VICAP?”

He groans in exasperation. “Anyone ever tell you you have a hard time letting go?”

“I want to look at the reports.”

“Look, I told the analyst not to bother, since we made an arrest.”

“John, please.”

He sighs. “You’re wasting your time, but I’ll call her back and ask her to e-mail them to you.”

“Thank you.” Raising up on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek.

“They want me back in Columbus, Kate. I came to say good-bye.”

This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. “When are you leaving?”

“I’m packed. I was going to take off tonight.”

In the last couple of days John has become an unlikely ally. He’s been a source of support and information. I realize he’s been a friend, too. “I’m glad you came by,” I say.

One side of his mouth hikes into a half-smile. “You just wanted to pump me for information about the case.”

“That, too.” I like his sense of humor. I wonder what it would be like to have him in my life. “I was just getting used to having you around.”

“Most people just want to get rid of me.”

I laugh outright, but I’m suddenly uncomfortable. I’m not very good at farewells. I can’t meet his gaze. I start to turn away, but he reaches out and stops me.

“We left something unfinished earlier,” he says.

“You mean the kiss?”

“For starters.”

He leans into me until his body is flush against mine. My heart pounds like a metronome run amok. For the first time in days, thoughts of the case leave my head, and my entire focus shifts to John. Lowering his head, he brushes his mouth against mine. His breath smells of peppermint. The kiss is gentle, but not tentative. Pulling away, he slides his hands to my face. “I’ve been wondering what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.”

“I probably would have chickened out.”

“Or I would have said something inappropriate and pissed you off.”

“Maybe we’re just a little out of practice.”

“You think maybe we could stumble through the basics?”

“If we put our minds to it and stay focused we could give it a shot. See what happens.”

We grin stupidly at each other. I don’t want this moment to be awkward, but it is. I realize neither of us are good at this kind of intimacy.

“You want a drink?” he asks.

“Will it help with the butterflies?”

“Helps with all sorts of things.” Stepping back, he goes to the cupboard above the refrigerator and pulls out the bottle of vodka. I turn off the stove, gather glasses and set them on the counter.

Scratching at the window draws my attention and I see the orange tabby, his face covered with a frosting of snow.

“Cold night for that little guy.” John crosses to the door and opens it. The cat darts inside, hisses at John, then disappears into the living room.

“He’s warming up to you,” I say.

“I’ve got that stray cat thing going.” He pours into our glasses and raises his to mine. “Here’s to the end of a long and difficult case.”