Page 80 of An Evil Heart
“That random girl was twenty-six years old,” I snap. “She had a family. A life. People who loved her.”
He looks away, unapologetic, says nothing.
Taking my time, I put the photo back in my pocket. “In the last week before his death, was there a night when Aden didn’t come home? Or a time when you couldn’t reach him?”
“He didn’t have a phone, so it’s not like we texted or anything like that.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think he spent a night out. I really don’t.”
“When’s the last time he had a female visitor here at the house?”
“Last one…” He looks up as if trying to recall. “A couple of weeks ago? I don’t know. I didn’t even meet her. I just remember seeing her walk from his room to the bathroom when I was getting ready to go to work.”
“You sure you’re not trying to cover for your friend?”
He frowns. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
I stare at him until he looks away. In the periphery of my thoughts, I’maware of the crows cawing in the cornfield. Time ticking away. That I’ve reached one more dead end.
“Sooner or later, I’m going to find out who killed Aden Karn,” I say. “I’m going to find out who killed Paige Rossberger, too. And I’m going to figure out how all of this fits together.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because when I do, you had better hope that every word that came out of your mouth is the truth because if it isn’t, I’m going to come for you, too. Do you understand?”
Shaking his head, he sighs. “I got it.”
“Have a nice day,” I tell him, and I walk away.
CHAPTER 22
I wake with a start from a hazy and disturbing dream. My heart beats a hard tattoo against my ribs. From the dream? Or something else? Beside me, Tomasetti breathes softly. Rolling, I reach for my cell on the night table, check the time. Three sixteenA.M.I’ve been asleep for two hours. I lie in the warmth of the bed, listening, trying to pinpoint what woke me. I’m aware of the patter of rain against the window. The distant rumble of thunder. I’m about to doze off when the sound of pounding sends me bolt upright.
Next to me Tomasetti sits up and we look at each other. “You expecting someone?” he asks.
“Not this early.”
He rolls from bed, slides open the nightstand drawer, and snatches up his Kimber. I get up, yank my sweatpants off the back of the chair, and snag my .38 off the night table.
Tomasetti is already down the hall, his silhouette moving silently intothe living room. It’s too dark to see much. I’m ten feet behind him when I spot the light slanting through the window near the front door.
“Someone there,” he whispers.
“With a flashlight.” I sidle to the window and, standing slightly to one side, I use the nose of the .38 to move the curtain aside. Surprise ripples through me at the sight of a man holding a lantern. Flat-brimmed hat.Amish,I realize, and I feel a kick of recognition. The figure next to him is clad in a dark-colored dress. Black winter bonnet.
“You know them?” Tomasetti asks.
“I think it’s Andy Byler.”
Tomasetti flicks on the porch light and, standing slightly to one side, he opens the door and peers out. “Mr. Byler?”
The Amish man turns a grave face to Tomasetti. “We need to see Kate Burkholder.”
I come up beside Tomasetti. Emily and her father are soaked to the skin. Evidently, they traveled via buggy all the way from Painters Mill.
“Mr. Byler. Emily. Come in.” I step back and open the door wider. “Is everything all right?”
The Amish man shakes his head. “No.”
Emily stares down at the ground. Water dripping from the hem of her dress. Her chin.
