Page 11 of An Evil Heart
The couple exchange looks. Lester answers. “Last I heard he was working out at Mast Tiny Homes.”
I write it down. “Did Aden have a girlfriend?” I ask. “Was he seeing anyone?”
Lester looks at me as if I’ve asked an inappropriate question. Angela turns slowly toward us. Her face is blotchy and red, her cheeks wet. “He’s courting Emily Byler,” she says.
I recognize the last name. “Andy and Clara’s girl?”
“Ja.”
I jot the names in my notebook. “Are Emily and Aden close?” I ask. “Is it a serious relationship?”
“Serious enough,” the Amish woman murmurs. “I reckon they were going to get married in a year or so. Em’s a sweet thing. We like her a lot.”
“Course Aden’s onrumspringa,” Lester puts in, referring to the “running around” time most Amish teens indulge in before their baptism.“Been running around, you know. Hard to keep up with the youngsters when they don’t live at home.”
“Poor Em’s going to be torn up over this.” The Amish woman’s face crumples again, and she swipes at the tears with her fingertips.
Steeling myself against the other woman’s agony, I tug my card from my pocket, jot my cell number on the back, and pass it to Lester. “If you remember something that might be important, call me,” I tell them.
Without answering, Lester looks down at the card, but it’s as if he doesn’t see it.
The grief filling the room is suffocating. Again, I feel that breathless sensation in my chest. I reach out and touch Angela’s hand, but she pulls it away, doesn’t look at me.
I leave them like that. Silent and staring. Their lives shattered. Their hearts broken.
I sit in the Explorer with my hands on the wheel for a full minute before starting the engine. That’s the thing about being a cop in a small town. Policing is a hell of a lot more personal. You know the people you’ve sworn to serve and protect. Whether it’s to write a speeding ticket, round up escaped livestock, pull someone’s dog from a frozen pond, or tell parents their teenage son has wrapped his Mustang around a tree and didn’t survive, you know them. You know the families. You know their strengths and weaknesses. You know their secrets. Sometimes that personal connection hurts because you have a job to do and there’s no one else.
Shaking off the remnants of their grief, I mentally shift gears and I think about where I am in terms of the investigation. This is the stage when a cop needs to be in a dozen places at once. Information is the name of the game and I need all of it yesterday. Homicides are rarely random;the victim usually knows his killer. I think about Aden Karn’s life and relationships. His family dynamics. The people he loved. Who did he spend time with? Who were his coworkers? His neighbors? Business associates?
Someone always knows something,a little voice whispers in my ear.
I pick up my cell as I back from the parking space and hail Dispatch. Lois picks up on the first ring. “Anything come back on Aden Karn?” I ask.
“Squeaky clean, Chief. Not even a speeding ticket.”
“Run Angela and Lester Karn, will you?” I’ve no doubt the couple have clean records. Even so, it’s always wise to check. “Run Wayne Graber, too. Emily Byler. And her parents.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get all this.”
I thank her and drop the cell into the console as I pull away.
Andy and Clara Byler live nearly to the Coshocton County line just off of County Road 19. It’s a well-kept farm with a white farmhouse, a grain silo, and two low-slung hog barns in the back. I follow the driveway around to the rear of the house and park next to a wooden wagon piled high with cut hay. The stench of hog manure hits me like a brick when I get out.
Midway to the house, I notice the Amish woman on her knees, weeding a flower bed off the back porch. She’s wearing a mauve dress, a whitekapp,and a pair of sneakers that have seen plenty of miles. There’s a pile of pulled weeds the size of a Thanksgiving turkey on the ground beside her.
“Mums are pretty,” I say to her as I approach.
She glances at me over her shoulder and frowns. “Chickens sure do like ’em. The stupid things. Rooster leads the hens over here every morning and they go to town, scratching up everything in sight. I might just fry him up one of these days.”
I smile. “Clara Byler?”
“That’s me.” Tossing a handful of weeds onto the pile, she heaves herself to her feet and brushes her hands against the skirt of her dress. I see her eyes taking in my uniform, and she cocks her head. “You’re a ways from Painters Mill.”
I have my shield at the ready. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
She goes still and I see her mentally brace, telling me she’s no stranger to tragedy.
“Aden Karn was killed earlier this morning,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
