After the Storm (37 page)

“What happened to Leroy?”

“We were in love. The kind of love a young girl’s heart can barely contain. We’d been meeting secretly for weeks. We were going to run away and be married. Have children. A happy life together.” Her eyes glaze, and I know she’s riding her memories back to the past. “We planned it for weeks, and I was so happy. I wanted to tell everyone, but of course I couldn’t say a word. You see, Leroy was New Order Mennonite. We’re Swartzentruber.” She sighs. “My
datt
’s hatred for Leroy was an ugly thing. Monstrous. I think on some level, Datt knew I would choose Leroy over him. Over the church.”

“What did he do?”

“The day Leroy and I were to leave, Leroy asked me to meet him at the covered bridge. He had a car, you know. He’d been saving his money. For the future.
Our
future.” She smiles the brilliant smile of a girl in love, and I know that in her mind she’s no longer standing in this old barn with me. She’s seventeen years old and waiting for her lover.

“I’d never been away from home before,” she whispers. “I was so scared. What would my
mamm
do? Would the Amish speak of me behind my back? And what of my
datt,
who was so very strict? He’d told me I’d marry Jeramy Kline, after all. But my love for Leroy was much more powerful than the fear.” She shrugs. “I packed my little satchel. I waited until dawn, and after my
datt
left for the day, I walked to the bridge and I waited for Leroy.” She lowers her head, her brows coming together in anguish. “I waited for two days. I spent the night at the bridge because I was afraid if I went home, Leroy would come for me and I wouldn’t be there. He never came.”

“Why didn’t he show?”

Her eyes meet mine. I see knowledge in their depths. Words too painful to utter aloud, but a story that must be told. “It was Jeramy who finally came for me. That second day. He found me sitting there, crying and near physical collapse. He told me Leroy had left town. And then he asked me to marry him.”

“Jeramy knew about your relationship with Leroy?”

“I didn’t tell anyone, but a young girl wears her heart on her sleeve. That kind of love is difficult to conceal. Looking back, I think he must have known. My
datt,
too.” She looks off in the distance, and her eyes glaze. “I was too young and naive not to believe Jeramy. I believed Leroy had left without me. All these years, I believed he’d left to chase all those crazy dreams he had. I was happy for him. I was secretly rooting for him to find the success he’d craved for so long and worked so hard for.” She looks down at the leather rein in her hand as if not quite remembering why it’s there. “I think Jeramy knew I was with child. Even as I cried for Leroy, he asked me to marry him.

“But I never forgot about Leroy. It was my secret.” Her smile is wistful. “I’d picture him in the city, in some fancy car or restaurant or just walking on the sidewalk in a flashy suit. I’d fancy him thinking of me. Wishing I were there with him. Some days I believed I’d go. I fantasized about it. I’d just start walking and never come back. Better yet, he’d write me a letter, begging me to join him, and I would. Oh, how I fantasized about that. How I’d join him in some big city and we’d live happily ever after.…

“But the babies came and life intervened.” She falls silent, thoughtful. “Thirty years have passed, and my life has been a lie. All of it. A life based on deceit. And secrets. And sin. So much sin.”

“Abigail, what happened to Leroy?”

“It was his own doing, but I can’t fault him. He couldn’t have known it would cost him his life.” A sound of despair squeezes from her throat. “The day before Leroy and I were supposed to run away together, while I was away cleaning house for a neighbor who’d just had a baby, he came here to ask my
datt
for permission to marry me. Jeramy was here. My
datt.
My brother. Mamm. Can you imagine?” A breath shudders out of her. “But there were too many hard feelings. Too much hatred. The men argued, especially Jeramy and Leroy. So much that my
mamm
asked them to leave the house. And so they came here, to this barn, to talk.” She spreads her arms to indicate the very building in which we’re standing. “But the talk quickly turned to an argument. Jeramy and Leroy fought. Somehow, Leroy fell from the loft into the pen below. Struck his head on the concrete.” As if envisioning the scene in her head, she looks down at the pen. “He never woke up.”

“How do you know all of this?” I ask. “Did Jeramy tell you?”

She nods. “When I read about the discovery of those bones and the ring, I knew it was Leroy. And so I asked Jeramy. Finally, after all these years, he told me the truth.”

I think about the remains and evidence of tooth marks on the bones, and I wonder if she knows the hogs fed on her lover’s body, possibly while he was still alive.…

“Jeramy and Leroy fought about you?” I ask.

“And ideology.” She offers a sad smile. “I was a pretty girl back then. Both men were in love with me. I supposed I loved both of them, too, but in different ways. Jeramy was the stable one. Handsome. Upstanding. The one everyone respected.” Her smile shifts; the secret smile of a woman in love. “But it was Leroy with all of his crazy dreams that set my seventeen-year-old heart on fire.”

“Was Leroy’s death an accident?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“After Leroy fell into the pen, did anyone try to help him?”

“Jeramy said they did, but … who really knows? People lie to suit their needs.” Slowly, she uncoils the leather rein, letting one end fall to the floor. “After Leroy fell, Jeramy, my
datt,
and my brother ran down to help him. But Leroy was gone. Hit his head. Jeramy said he wanted to call the English police, but Datt forbade it. Instead, they buried him in the crawl space of that old barn.” Kneeling, she loops the leather rein around a support beam and runs the free end through the loop. “Right where those Boy Scouts found him. He’d lain there all these years. Alone.”

“You said Leroy had a car,” I say. “What happened to it?”

“After dark, Jeramy and my brother drove it down to Beach City. They found a back road and drove it into the lake.”

I look out the door at the beautiful rolling hills beyond, and I’m surprised by the twinge of melancholy in my chest. Such a sad story. A young life lost. And many more ruined. “That’s why you poisoned Jeramy?” I say. “Why you tried to poison your parents?”

“Yes.”

“What about your brother?”

She looks down at the floor, shakes her head. “I couldn’t—”

A sound from behind turns me around. Alarm reverberates through me at the sight of Reuben Kaufman standing twenty feet away, a .22 rifle leveled at my chest.

CHAPTER 28

For an instant, I’m not sure if I’m more shocked by the image of Reuben Kaufman out of his wheelchair and standing on his own power—or the sight of the rifle. His finger is inside the trigger guard. The muzzle is steady. Next to me, Abigail goes perfectly still. We stare at him in silence. Tension knifes the air.

“Mr. Kaufman, put down that rifle.” I’m keenly aware of the .38 against my hip. My lapel mike at my shoulder. Either would only take an instant to reach, but there’s no way I can do it before he gets off a shot.

“I need you to put down that rifle,” I repeat. “Right now. Before someone gets hurt.” I motion toward Abigail. “Your daughter.”

Never taking his eyes from me, he addresses her in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Go to the house.”

Abigail doesn’t move. Instead, she looks at her father as if recognizing him after a long separation. “I know you were there. All these years … you knew … about Leroy, and you never told me.”

“He was a
maulgrischt.
” A pretend Christian. “I protected you. I saved your soul. Now go to the house with your mother and let me take care of this.”

She moves toward him.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “You. Get over by the hay door.”

I’m ten feet from the door, but I have a clear view of the pen below, where a dozen or so massive hogs mill about, sows and boars, and half-grown piglets. More of them have noticed our presence and lift their heads to look up at us.

“Mr. Kaufman, people know I’m here,” I tell him. “The police are on the way. You can’t possibly get away with this.”

He jabs the rifle at me. “Do it!”

His voice booms through the structure. Until this moment, I’d seen him as a frail, sickly old man confined to a wheelchair and in need of constant care by his long-suffering wife. All of it was a lie. The wheelchair. His failing health. All to protect him from what he’d done. To keep his secrets from coming to light. The thought sends a chill through me.

“Put down the rifle.” Hoping to buy some time, I raise both hands and sidle toward the door. “I’ll do whatever you say.” I look at Abigail, urging her with my eyes to obey him and get back to the house. She’s standing slightly behind Kaufman, so that the old man is between us, forming an irregular triangle of sorts. She stares back at me, her expression chillingly blank.

Kaufman tilts his head, looks at me the way a scientist might look at some small animal he’s about to slice open. His face is devoid of emotion. There’s no tension. No fear. Just the cold resolve of a man determined to save his daughter, his family, and his own neck. In that instant I realize I’m not going to be able to talk him down.

Keeping my hands at shoulder level, I sidestep closer to the door and try another tactic. “Abigail told me Leroy Nolt fell into the pen. I know it was an accident. I know she wasn’t there. I know you had no part in what happened. No one’s going to hold either of you responsible for something you didn’t do. If you put down that rifle, both of you can walk away from this.”

The Amish woman’s head jerks toward me. “They murdered him, Chief Burkholder. All of them. Jeramy. My brother. My father.”

I don’t look at her, keeping my eyes on Kaufman, waiting for an opportunity to pull my sidearm and stop the threat.

Kaufman shifts his gaze to his daughter.
“Sei ruich.”
Be quiet.

“The truth has been kept quiet long enough,” she tells him.

“Leroy Nolt was
Mennisch
.” Mennonite. He hisses the word, but his hatred echoes with crystal clarity.

“And you’re a
maddah.
” Murderer.

“I did it to keep you from burning in hell.”

“Leeyah.”
Liar. “What about your bastard grandson?” she hisses. “How are you going to save Levi’s soul?”

Kaufman opens his mouth, his lips quivering. The rifle quivers in his hands.
“Sei ruich!”

In the instant his attention shifts away from me, I yank out my revolver and fire twice, center mass. Kaufman jolts, red blooming just above his hip. The rifle clatters to the floor. He goes to one knee. I’m in the process of holstering my .38 when he launches himself at me, catching me off guard. His shoulder rams my midsection. I reel backward, nearly go down. With stunning speed, he snatches up the rifle, brings it up. But I’m faster, and I grab the barrel and stock with both hands, ram him with it. He’s not much bigger than me. Despite his age and at least one gunshot wound, he’s stronger. I yank the rifle toward me, try to topple his balance. He stumbles forward but doesn’t fall. I twist the rifle right, try to wrench it from him. He counters by twisting left. I lose my grip on the muzzle. He swings it toward me. His finger slips into the trigger guard.

In the periphery of my vision, I see Abigail moving. I hear a shout, but I can’t make out her words. A high-pitched
zing!
sounds from the rafters above. I glance up, see the hay pulley quiver.

Kaufman looks up. Too late, I see the massive load of hay barreling toward us. I try to get out of the way, but I’m not fast enough.

The hay plows into us like a giant battering ram. It strikes me in the face and chest and knocks me off my feet. My boots leave the floor. And then I’m falling backward into nothingness.

CHAPTER 29

The first thing I’m aware of is the sounds of the hogs all around. Wet concrete against my back. Not quite knowing where I am. The stench of manure. The shuffle of cloven hooves against the ground. I’m cognizant of pain, but I can’t pinpoint its exact location. My head. My left wrist. The small of my back …

I open my eyes. For an instant, I’m not sure what I’m looking at. But as my senses return, I recognize the load of hay dangling twelve feet above me. Around me, hogs scamper about, rooting around and eating the fallen stems. My presence has caught the attention of the animals. A big boar with a single tusk. A large sow with a bloody stump for a tail and a chunk of flesh taken out of her rump.

I grew up around farm animals—cattle, hogs, horses, and sheep—and I’ve never been afraid of them. But I don’t like the looks of these hogs. They’re skinny and feral looking. Judging from the enthusiasm with which they’re eating the fallen hay, they’re hungry, too.

A groan escapes me when I push myself to a sitting position. Pain knifes up my left wrist. I glance down, try to move it, and I’m rewarded with another jolt. Broken, I think.

I glance at the loft door above, but there’s no one there. I look around for my .38, but it’s nowhere in sight. The pen is about forty feet square, poorly kept, and crowded with dozens of hogs. The volume of the grunting and squealing is deafening. Several of the animals are scuffling over fallen bits of hay.

I get to one knee and struggle to my feet. Dizziness sends me sideways, but my balance quickly levels out. I look around for Kaufman. He’s lying on the concrete ten feet away, not moving. There are several hogs between us. I can’t see his face; I don’t know if he’s conscious. I don’t even know if he’s alive.

I speak into my shoulder mike. “Ten-thirty-three. Ten-fifty-two. Kaufman farm,” I add and recite the address.

The radio crackles as several agencies respond to my emergency call for assistance. “Ten-seventy-six.”

Relief rushes through me at the sound of Skid’s voice, and I know the first responders are on the way. When a cop gets into trouble, jurisdiction ceases to matter. You drop everything and you go.