Linda Castillo - Sworn to Silence

I use the shovel to pry at the grate, but the heavy piece of steel doesn’t budge. I keep a cable in my vehicle during the winter months and use it for hauling stranded cars out of snow. It strikes me that I can use it to move the grate. Grabbing my keys, I run to the Explorer and back it up to the grate. When the vehicle is in position, I snatch up the cable and secure the hooked end to the Explorer’s undercarriage. I clip the other end to the grate. Sliding behind the wheel, I jam the Explorer into four-wheel drive and give it gas. The cable goes taut. The engine revs. The tires spin and grab. Steel screeches against steel as the grate is pulled from its ancient nest.

I drag it about three feet, then kill the engine and get out. Snatching up the Mag-Lite, I shine it into the hole. It’s too deep for me to jump; the last thing I need is a broken ankle. Realizing I can use the cable to rappel down, I unhook the end from the Explorer and drop it into the pit. I toss the shovel in next. Finally, I sit on the edge, grasp the cable and lower myself into darkness. The air smells of earth and dust and decay. The instant my feet touch the ground, I swing the flashlight beam around the pit. A rat skitters across a pile of weathered boards.

The shovel lies on the ground a few feet away. I pick it up and use it to tap on the pile of wood. I’m not unduly frightened of rodents, but I don’t want one jumping on me. Propping my flashlight on a cinder block, I start dragging boards aside. Dust curls up to irritate my nose and eyes, but I don’t slow down. I lift a length of sheet metal and toss it aside. A rotting two-by-six crumples in my hands. I look down and find myself staring at several small pale objects in the dirt.

I snag the flashlight. My blood freezes in my veins when I realize the objects are teeth. Nearby, I discern a tattered scrap of fabric. Is this what’s left of Daniel Lapp? Squatting for a closer look, I identify several ribs still attached to a length of spine. Then I spot the skull and I know. Daniel Lapp is dead. The knowledge fills me with a bizarre mix of relief and dread. I’d been certain he was the killer. But if not Daniel, then who?

I don’t know how long I stand there. It’s as if this revelation has paralyzed me. The logical side of my brain tells me to bury this part of my past and go home. Forget about Lapp and concentrate on finding the killer. Salvage what’s left of my career. I begin dragging wood over the remains. When that’s done I go to the cable and proceed to climb out of the pit. I’m in good shape, but it’s not easy. I’m nearly to the top when I catch a glimpse of movement above. Too large to be a dog or raccoon. Someone’s there. Shock jolts me with such force that I nearly lose my grip. I freeze, my body shaking, my thoughts reeling.

Did someone follow me?

I look up, but see nothing. I hear myself breathing hard. My hands ache from clutching the cable. I’m aware of my gun against my side. But even armed, I’m in a vulnerable position. If someone wanted to harm me, this would be a prime opportunity.

I begin a frantic climb to the top. The toes of my boots dig into the walls. Loose dirt crumbles. My breaths echo off the walls. I slide my hands up the cable, pulling until my muscles quiver with exertion.

Finally, at the mouth of the pit, I drag myself out. Shaking and gasping for breath, I look around and get the shock of my life. John Tomasetti stands ten feet away, his flashlight in one hand, a sleek Sig Sauer semiautomatic in the other. His eyes burn into mine and then he blinds me with the light.

“Looking for something?” he asks.

My mind scrambles for a lie. My pulse roars like a jet engine on takeoff. I can only imagine how bizarre this must seem to him. I’m covered with dirt and probably look as strung out as a junkie on a three-week binge. Lucky for me I’m pretty fast on my feet. “I’m following up on a lead.” I make a show of brushing dust from my pants. “What are you doing here?”

He ignores my question, his flashlight beam moving from me to the pit. “Lead on what?”

I don’t want him near the pit. I’m not sure how well I covered those bones. I want to slide the grate back into place and get the hell out of there. “An anonymous call about illegal dumping. Guy claiming someone dumped paint and some type of solvent.”

It’s a viable lie. An ordinary person would believe it. But John Tomasetti is no ordinary schmuck. I can tell by his expression he doesn’t believe me.

“Did you find anything?” he asks.

“Not a thing.” I pull the cable from the pit and start toward the Explorer. “Crank call, probably. Teenagers. We get that here.”

“Maybe I’ll have a look for myself.”

“There’s nothing down there but rats.” It strikes me then that it’s no coincidence Tomasetti is here. He didn’t drive by and see my headlights. The son of a bitch followed me.

The realization rattles me further as I slide behind the wheel. Tomasetti circles the pit as I move the Explorer into position. I need to get that grate over the pit before he decides to act on all that suspicion I see in his eyes.

I back the Explorer to the grate and slide out. My hands shake so badly now I can barely get the hook around the undercarriage.

“You nervous about something, Chief?”

“Just cold.”

“You’re in an awful big hurry to cover that hole.”

“I just want to get home.”

He pauses. “Kate, what the fuck are you really doing?”

I don’t look at him. I can’t. I’m too close to some precipitous edge. Once I go over the brink, I may not be able to drag myself out. “Look, this is the second complaint I’ve taken about dumping here,” I snap. “I didn’t feel like going home, so I’m following up.”

“Is that why you’re shaking?”

I finish with the hook and straighten, meeting his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s cold.”

“You’re fucking sweating. Covered with dirt. Look at you. Now what the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know what you think you know, but I don’t appreciate you following me around, spying on me. Whatever it is you’re doing, I want it to stop. You got it?”

“You’re lying to me and I want to know why.”

I laugh. “You need to talk to someone about all that paranoia, Tomasetti.”

“You didn’t go into that pit because you were following up on a complaint.”

“Like you know.”

Abruptly, he strides toward me, shines the light in my eyes. “You want to know what I know, Chief? I know that someone in this town believes you know who the killer is. I think you’re hiding something.” He thrusts a finger at the pit. “And I know you didn’t go into that goddamn hole because of some anonymous tip.” He circles the boot pit, shining his light into the darkness. “If I go down there, what am I going to find?”

“What do you want from me? Did Detrick tell you to follow me? Or was it the town council? Are you their new lapdog?”

One side of his mouth lifts. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or snarling. “You know better than that.”

“Do I?” I start toward the Explorer. I’m close to pulling this off. All I have to do is slide the grate back into place and leave. I don’t think he’ll go to the trouble of moving it again.

I climb behind the wheel and twist the key. The engine turns over. I reach for the shifter. The next thing I know the door flies open. I gasp when Tomasetti reaches in, turns off the ignition and takes my keys.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jumping out, I make a wild grab for the keys.

He drops them into his pocket. “Let’s just say I’m following up on a hunch.”

“This is ridiculous. Give me my keys. Now.”

Removing the cable from the grate, he tosses one end into the pit.

Panic ignites in my chest. I can’t let him find those bones. “You’re overstepping.”

“Not the first time I’ve been accused of that.”

“I swear to God I’ll have your job for this.”

Taking hold of the cable, he braces his legs against the side and drops into the hole like a rock climber.

“Tomasetti, damn it, stop playing games. I want to leave.”

No answer.

“Damn it! There’s nothing there!” I look around wildly. For a crazy instant I actually consider pulling out the cable and stranding him. Of course, I can’t do that. I’m going to have to deal with this. With what I’ve done. The secrets I’ve covered up all these years.

My entire life flashes before my eyes. My career will be ruined. My parents’ memory, their reputations, will be dragged through the mud right along with the rest of the Amish community. My brother and sister and nephews will suffer. I could find myself facing a grand jury. Worse case scenario, I could be tried and sent to prison for murder . . .

I rush to the pit and look down to see Tomasetti shove a piece of plywood out of the way with his foot. I can see the skull from where I stand. Dizziness descends. I feel sick and terrified. I can’t believe this is happening.

“What the fuck?”

Turning away, I press my hand to my stomach. I can’t cover this up. It’s over. The secrets end here. Nausea seesaws in my gut. I make it ten feet before I throw up. The thud of my knees hitting the ground surprises me. I’ve been knocked unconscious before, but I’ve never fainted. The swirl of confusion tells me I’m close now. Somehow I lose time, seconds or maybe even minutes, because the next thing I know Tomasetti is kneeling beside me.

I jolt when his hand touches my shoulder. I’m embarrassed and humiliated, but I’m not sure I’m finished puking so I don’t move. I don’t acknowledge him. I look down at my gloves in the dirt and I feel like crying.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”

I dry heave and spit.

He waits a moment before speaking. “Those remains. Do you know who it is?”

I close my eyes, squeeze them tight. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“Daniel Lapp.”

“Who’s Daniel Lapp?”

“An Amish man.”

“How long has he been dead?”

“Sixteen years.”

“How did he die?”

“Shotgun blast.”

“Do you know who killed him?”

“Yes.”

He pauses. “Who?”

“Me,” I say and the tears come in a rush.

CHAPTER 26

John had experienced a lot of bizarre moments in his years as a cop. He’d even partaken in a few he didn’t like to spend too much time dwelling on. This one took the cake. An admission of murder was the last thing he expected when he followed Kate Burkholder here tonight.

He had pretty good instincts when it came to people. Perhaps to a lesser degree when it came to women, but then who the hell knew. He was too jaded to be shocked by much of anything. Still, this shocked him. Worse, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Setting his hands beneath her shoulders, he helped Kate to her feet. “Come on. Up and at ’em.”

She seemed almost weightless, and for the first time, he realized there wasn’t much to her; most of her bulk was coat and a perception of largeness he attributed to the force of her personality. She hadn’t struck him as a crier. Up until this moment, she’d handled the stress like a pro. She’d been tough and focused despite the ugliness of the case. But he knew the dam was breaking. There was no wailing or theatrics, but the look of misery on her face was so profound John could feel it creeping into his own psyche.

Taking her shoulders, he turned her to him. “Kate, what the hell is going on?”

“Johnston was right,” she choked. “I . . . blew th-the c-case. Because of . . . this.”

He wished he’d never followed her here. He didn’t need this. Didn’t want to deal with it. Wasn’t even sure he cared. His life was complicated enough without throwing a dead body into the mix.

“Pull yourself together,” he snapped.

She met his gaze, jerked her head.

“We need to talk about this.”

“I know.” She wiped frantically at her cheeks, and he wondered how long it took for tears to freeze on skin.

“Is there someplace warm we can go?” he asked.

“The bar. My place.” She shrugged. “Or you could just speed things along and take me right to jail.”

“Your place.” He looked around, wishing he were anywhere but here. “I have a feeling we’re going to need some privacy for this.”

“You have no idea.”

As he handed her the keys, the possibility that she might make a run for it crossed his mind. “You wouldn’t do anything stupid, would you?”

She gave him a sage look. “I’ve already used up my quota for stupid,” she said and started toward the Explorer.

She lived in a modest brick ranch on the edge of town. There was no glowing porch light to welcome her. The driveway had yet to be shoveled. He parked curbside and watched Kate pull into the driveway. She started toward the front door without waiting for him.

The thought that his being here could get the tongues wagging drifted through his mind, but John didn’t have a better idea. Besides, it wasn’t as if the chief of police and the investigating field agent didn’t have anything to talk about while they were in the midst of a serial murder case.

He got out and cut across the yard. She’d left the door open, so he stepped inside and closed it behind him. The living room was furnished with an eclectic mix of furniture. A brown contemporary sofa contrasted nicely with a cream-colored chair. An antique cabinet in need of refinishing held an assortment of vases and bowls. The house smelled faintly of candle wax and coffee.

Kate stood at the coat closet and hung her parka. She wore a navy police uniform that was badly wrinkled from wear, as opposed to a lack of pressing. Bending, she began unlacing her boots with small, competent hands. The uniform wasn’t tight, but he could see enough of her to know she was put together nicely. He guessed her to be about five feet six inches tall. Athletic. Maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds. She was wide at the hip, but it was the kind of wide that made his male interest flare.

Crossing to the closet, he hung his own coat, but his focus was on Kate. Her dark brown hair was tousled, as if she’d gone the entire day without brushing it. Her complexion was splotched from crying and pale against the dark curtain of hair.

Once her boots were off, she went through the living room and disappeared down a hall. John wandered into the kitchen. It was surprisingly homey, with light ash cupboards and a contrasting Corian countertop. A stack of bills lay on the built-in desk. A half-burned candle sat in the center of the small dining room table. A normal kitchen except for the fact that its owner had just confessed to murder . . .

Kate emerged a few minutes later. She’d changed into jeans and an oversized gray sweatshirt with Columbus Police Department emblazoned on the front. She’d washed the dirt smudges from her face and run a comb through her hair.