Page 115 of Sworn to Silence
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.”
