Page 41 of Sworn to Silence
LOCATION:
Painters Mill, Ohio.
CONTACT:
Janine Fourman, town councilwoman. Norm Johnston. Mayor Auggie Brock.
“Not exactly my area of expertise,” John said.
“Like you have an area of expertise these days.”
“I’m pretty good at fucking up.”
Denny raised his glass. “That doesn’t count.”
John squinted at the form, unable to believe they were assigning him a case. He wasn’t exactly in the running for agent of the year. “Why me?”
“Maybe you drew the short straw.”
They both knew Rummel never did anything without a reason. He was a man with an agenda, and that agenda never served anyone but himself.
Denny shrugged. “Maybe he thinks it’s time you got off your ass and earned your keep.”
“Or maybe that sneaky little fucker wants to watch me unravel.”
“So prove him wrong. You were a cop. You’ve got the mojo.”
Even through the lavender haze of inebriation, John noticed the other man’s misery, and he thought he knew why. Denny might be just another figurehead in an ocean of figureheads. But he was a straight shooter. Something wasn’t right about this, and they both knew it.
“You could retire,” Denny offered.
John folded the RFA and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“I’ll take the case.”
“You sure?”
John nodded. “Just do one thing for me, will you?”
“You got it.”
“Tell Rummel he can kiss my ass.”
Laughing, Denny picked up his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
CHAPTER 11
Midnight descends with the cold stealth of a nocturnal predator. Freezing and discouraged, I pack our tools into the rear of the Explorer. In five hours time, we dug eight holes at various positions, but found no trace of human remains. I’m left not knowing if the man I shot survived to haunt this town again, or if we were simply unable to find the grave.
Jacob and I don’t speak during the drive to his farm. He offers no apology for his inability to find the remains—or his accusation—but I don’t expect one. I want to ask him to help me again tomorrow, but I don’t. Finding Lapp’s body is on my shoulders and mine alone.
The case is almost twenty-four hours old. I’ve raced against the clock all day, but accomplished little. My back and shoulders ache from the physical exertion of digging. The confrontation with my brother has drained the last traces of optimism from my psyche. Still, the need to hunt down this killer consumes me.
After dropping Jacob, I head for home. Around me, Painters Mill sleeps with the sweet innocence of a child. The shops are closed, their pretty storefronts dark and locked down tight. An expectant hush has fallen over the town. I think of Amanda Horner’s death, and I cannot reconcile such utter brutality with this postcard-perfect place I’ve come to love.
I stop the Explorer in front of my house, but I don’t turn in. I should call it a night and get some rest. Tomorrow promises to be even longer than today. But though my body is beyond exhaustion, my mind is wound tight. If Daniel Lapp survived all those years ago, where would he go for help?
In a time of need, an Amish man would turn to family.
