Page 105 of Sworn to Silence
“He likes me,” he said.
She choked out a sound that was part laugh, part sob, pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. “You’re not going to like this, John.”
“I figured that out when I saw the skull.” He took the chair across from her.
She uncapped the vodka and poured. For a moment they stared at the glasses, unspeaking. Then she reached for hers, drank it down without stopping and poured another. That was when John knew she was a hell of a lot more cop than she was Amish.
He asked the question that had been pounding at his brain since he’d spotted the bones. “Does the body have anything to do with the serial killer operating in Painters Mill?”
“I’ve been operating under that assumption.” She looked into her glass and shrugged. “Until tonight.”
“Maybe you ought to start at the beginning.”
I feel as if my life has been building to this moment. Still, I’m not prepared for it. How in the name of God does one prepare for complete and utter ruination? Worst-case scenario, Tomasetti walks out of here, goes straight to the suits at BCI who will proceed to destroy my life. If that happens, I’ve already resolved to protect Jacob and Sarah. Not because they’re any less guilty than me, but because they have children; I don’t want my nephews or Sarah’s unborn child dragged into this. I don’t want the Amish community tarnished; they don’t deserve that.
I look at Tomasetti, taking in the cold eyes and harsh mouth. He might walk a thin line, but I have a terrible feeling that ambiguity won’t help me tonight. “Regardless of what I tell you, I want to see this case through. You have to promise me.”
“You know I can’t promise that.”
I take another drink, force it down. Alcohol, the temporary cure for misery. The words I need to say tumble inside my head, a tangle of memories and secrets and the dead weight of my own conscience.
“Kate,”he presses. “Talk to me.”
“Daniel Lapp lived on a farm down the road from us,” I begin. “He came over sometimes to help with baling hay and chores. He was eighteen years old.”
Tomasetti listens, his cop’s eyes watchful and assessing. “What happened?”
“I was fourteen years old that summer.” I barely remember the young Amish girl I’d been, and I wonder how I had ever been that innocent. “MammandDattwent to a funeral in Coshocton County. My brother, Jacob, was in the field cutting hay. Sarah was delivering quilts in town. I stayed home to bake bread.”
I pause, but Tomasetti doesn’t give me respite. “Go on.”
“Daniel came to the door. He’d been helping Jacob in the field and cut his hand.” Even now, a lifetime later, recalling that day disturbs me so profoundly my chest goes tight. “He attacked me from behind. Took me to the floor. I screamed when I saw the knife, but he hit me and he kept hitting me.” I feel breathless and lightheaded. Vaguely, I’m aware of my breaths coming too quick, too shallow. “He raped me.”
I can’t look at Tomasetti, but I hear the scrape of whiskers as he runs his hand over his jaw. “The Amish like to believe we’re a separate society,” I say, “but that’s not always the case. We knew about the murders that had occurred in the last few months.Datttold us it was an English matter, the deaths were of no concern to us. But we were scared. We kept our doors locked. We prayed for the families.Mammtook food to them.” I shrug. “We didn’t get the newspaper, but I’d been to the tourist shops in town and read the stories. I knew the victims had been raped. I thought Daniel Lapp was going to kill me.”
“What did you do, Kate?”
“I grabbedDatt’s shotgun and shot him in the chest.”
He stares at me, unblinking. “Did you call the police?”
“I might have if we’d had a phone. But we didn’t. I was hysterical. There was blood everywhere.” A breath shudders out of me. “My sister came home. She saw the body on the floor and ran out screaming. She ran for over a mile and got Jacob.”
“No one called the police?”
I shake my head.
“What about your parents?”
“It was dark by the time they got home. Jacob explained toDattwhat happened. I think if Lapp had been English,Dattwould have called the police. But Daniel was one of us. My father told us this was an Amish matter and would be dealt with his way.” I take another breath, but I can’t get enough air. “He and Jacob wrapped the body in burlap feed bags and put it in the buggy. They drove to the grain elevator and buried it.” I look at Tomasetti. “When they came home,Datttold us never to speak of it.”
“Didn’t people wonder what happened to Lapp?” he asks.
“His parents spent weeks looking for him. But after a while most of the Amish came to believe he’d fled because he could not abide by theOrdnung. Eventually, his parents believed it, too.”
“So the crime was never reported,” he says.
“No.”
