Page 72 of Sworn to Silence
“How did she pass?” Ezra’s ravaged eyes bore into mine.
“She was murdered,” I reply.
Bonnie gasps. “Mein gott.”
Ezra stares at me as if I’m lying. I’ve known him most of my life. He’s a decent, hardworking man who’s had more than his share of hardship. But I know he’s got a temper.
“I do not accept that.” Though the room is cold, I see sweat on his forehead. Red blotches climbing up his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I offer.
He bows his head, places his fingers against his forehead and presses, as if he’s trying to shove his nails beneath the skin.
“Ezra, who is the bishop of your district?” I ask.
“David Troyers.”
A church district is made up of about twenty to thirty families. A bishop, two or three preachers and a deacon share leadership roles within each district. I know David Troyers. And I know he’s one of the few Amish who has a telephone.
Ezra raises his head and struggles to compose himself. “We want to bring Ellen home.”
“Of course,” I say in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Where is she?”
“The hospital in Millersburg.”
“I want to bring her home.” A sob escapes him even as he struggles to square shoulders bowed beneath the weight of unbearable grief.
“Let me drive you to the hospital,” I say.
“No.”
“Ezra, Millersburg is nearly ten miles away.”
“No!” He shakes his head. “Bonnie and I will take the buggy.”
He is so immersed in grief, I doubt he realizes the round-trip will take hours. I look at Bonnie for help; she stares back. Unshed tears glitter in her eyes. She has her hand over her mouth as if trying to hold in the screams that echo inside her.
“It’s twenty degrees outside,” I say. “These are special circumstances, Ezra. Please, let me drive you.”
Bonnie rises abruptly. “We will go with you.”
“No!” The Amish man slams his fist down on the desktop. “We take the buggy!”
I’ve had plenty of bad days in my life. For the most part, I take the bad with the good and hold close the belief that in the end it all balances out. It’s going to take a lot of good days to zero out today.
I couldn’t convince Ezra to let me drive them to the morgue. So I did the only thing I could and followed them in the Explorer. The trip and the identification of Ellen’s body took over three hours. It’s after midnight now. I’m tired and discouraged and so cold I can’t imagine ever being warm again. I should go home and try to get some sleep, but my mind is wound tight. I have no desire to waste precious hours tossing and turning.
“Notifying next of kin is always the worst.”
I glance at Tomasetti in the passenger seat and frown.
He doesn’t notice. “When you see some dipshit gangbanger lying in pieces on a gurney, you think the world’s a better place. But something like this...”
“That’s cynical,” I reply.
“Yeah, but it’s the truth.”
