by Jane Jensen
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, Harris. But—”
“But?”
“But yes, I do. You’re a hell of a detective.”
That was the kind of “but” I liked to hear.
—
The case caused the kind of hue and cry Grady had feared. Jim Johnson broke the story about Katie’s abuse and murder in the National Tattler and it spread fast. It even made the national news, on some talking-heads show where they brought in experts to talk about sexual abuse of young girls in religious communities. They had to put an armed cop on my door to stop the reporters. Ezra Beiler’s name was never mentioned. Everyone in Lancaster County was in shocked disbelief over the arrests. Fortunately, the police department had every leg to stand on. They’d found Katie’s phone and traces of blood in the Lapps’ kitchen and barn. More important, Miriam and Aaron Lapp had surrendered themselves willingly.
The day Miriam Lapp made a full statement was my first day back at work. She’d asked for me to be there, and I’d insisted on it, even though Grady wanted me to take more time off. I wanted to hear what she had to say. I deserved to hear it.
And Katie and Jessica deserved for it to be heard.
—
“It was last October. Katie come to clean house. I sent Sarah, Job, and Rebecca out to the barn to get the corn and eggs ready for market. Told ’em not to come in till it was done. I wanted to talk to Katie alone.”
Miriam Lapp spoke slowly and calmly. Only her stiff back, the pallor of her face, and hands twisting a handkerchief in her lap betrayed any emotion. She looked straight ahead at nothing as she spoke. She’d been in jail for a few days, but she’d requested, and been allowed, her own clothes for what she’d called her “public confession.” With her white bonnet and black dress, and with the Amish elders in the room, it reminded me of a scene from some medieval trial.
We were in the largest conference room the police station had. Miriam had said she’d tell everything, but she wanted the church elders present, and Aaron—in handcuffs and with a warden at his side—and Katie’s parents and Jessica’s mother too—and me. She wanted to confess and she only wanted to do it once, she’d told Grady. One of our techs was filming it with a small camera on a tripod and there was a stenographer there too, and two armed men outside at the door. Grady was taking no chances.
“Always knew what was goin’ on between her and Aaron. She didn’t hide it. She goaded me with it. Smiling at him when he came in and givin’ me these knowing looks. She was only a girl when it started. It was a terrible thorn in my side for years. Aaron, he wouldn’t let me fire her. Said people would talk. Said Katie might tell stories. But he didn’t give it up. Whenever I saw Katie head out to the barn, I knew. . . .” She twisted her handkerchief tighter and took a deep breath. Aaron stared at the floor, his face drawn and troubled.
“I bore it. I didn’t chide my husband. I knew I was never . . . never pretty. And after Rebecca was born, the doctor said I’d not have another. I was hurt for a good while. Inside. Couldn’t . . . I figured that ruined me for Aaron.
“Then God heard my prayers. Katie stopped going out to the barn. ’Twas two years before, ’bout. Aaron . . . he come back to me after a time. Thank the Lord. I thanked God with all my heart.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“Then, that last October, Katie come to work one day and I knew. She had this look in her eyes and color on her lips. She went out to the barn and stayed out there a good, long while. When she come back in she was pleased as anythin’. Humming as she worked, and she give me these looks. . . .”
“I knew it was startin’ up again. I couldn’t bear it. And I . . . I knew Katie’d been wantin’ to leave, see. So next time she come over, I made sure the children was out of the house. Aaron was gone visitin’. I offered Katie money if she would just go. Go to the city. Leave us alone. I offered three hundred dollars, my pin money I saved up for Sarah’s weddin’.”
Katie’s mother, Hannah, and her father, Isaac, sat listening with closed eyes. I had the feeling they were praying. The pain on their faces was not obvious, but that just made it worse.
“You know what she done? Katie? She laughed at me. Said she had a lot more money than that, twenty-five thousand dollars that she was gonna get from the papers when she told her story. Said she had video of her and Aaron, that she’d gotten him to confess everything. She was gonna . . . she was gonna . . .” Miriam’s small blue eyes grew red with tears. She wiped at them with her handkerchief and pushed on. “Don’t see? She meant to bring Aaron down, ruin him, ruin me, ruin our children’s lives, and Hannah’s too. She was gonna shame the whole community.”
She took a moment to get herself back under control. Everyone stayed silent and grim, waiting for the rest of it. This confession felt as much our punishment as hers.
“We was in the kitchen. I was at the stove brownin’ some onions, and Katie, she sat at the table shellin’ beans when she told me ’bout the video. I wasn’t angry. I didn’t think ’bout it. I just knew I had to stop her. Knew it was up to me.” Miriam’s eyes had gone a bit glassy, as if reliving the scene, and her voice grew more impassioned. I knew what was coming, but there was no way to be prepared.
“I took the skillet off. Scraped the onions onto a plate, like any other time. Then I hit her on the head with it. So hard. It was like . . . like it wasn’t even my arm. Like I was the hand of God.”
Hannah Yoder made a small sound and Isaac Yoder squeezed her arm tight.
“And then . . . there she was on the floor. . . .” Miriam continued, her voice faint. “So much blood. I made sure she was dead. Like this.” She covered up her nose and mouth with her hand and held them there. I’d seen a lot of things as a cop, but seeing Miriam Lapp make that gesture was one of the most horrible things I’d ever seen.
“Couldn’t move her far in daylight. So I sent the children to the neighbor’s for some flour and I drug Katie out to the barn and put her in the wood bin. Covered her up. That night, when everyone was sleepin’, I drug her to the creek and God took her away. It seemed like . . . like that flood was there to help me. Like this was all part of God’s plan, to stop Katie and not allow this shame to be brought on all of us. You see?”
Miriam finally looked up. She looked at Hannah, as if pleading for understanding. But Hannah stared steadily at the floor.
“What about Jessica?” Grady asked. He was seated on a chair in front of Miriam.
Miriam touched her throat. “Can I have some water?”
Grady nodded, and Hernandez got up and left the room. He returned a moment later with a plastic cup full of water. Miriam drank it all almost daintily, then gave Hernandez the cup. He sat down again.
“The day it happened with Jessica,” Miriam continued, once again in an eerily calm voice. “I went to the market. I come out to the buggy with my shoppin’ and there stood this blonde girl, an English. I’d seen her once before, in that same market with Katie, and Katie must have told this girl who I was. Because she come up to me that day in January and said she was scared Aaron had done somethin’ to Katie. She knew all about it, even ’bout the video. She thought it was Aaron what killed Katie. ‘Maybe it was an accident,’ she said to me. ‘Maybe he didn’t mean it.’”
Aaron was staring at Miriam, grim and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Miriam went on. “Don’t know what she wanted me to do ’bout it. Don’t know if she was lookin’ to find Katie, or maybe turn me against my husband or what.”
“I told her to get in the buggy so’s we could talk. No one saw us. I started drivin’ home, but I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bring her to the house, couldn’t let her talk to Aaron or the police. So I prayed. I prayed so hard for wisdom the whole time I was drivin’.
“That’s when it come to me. I said I had to check one of the horses that it was walkin’ funny, and I pulled
over. She got out and was standin’ there looking at the road when I come up behind her with a rock. I done her just the same as I done Katie. I didn’t want to, but . . . I had to do it.”
Her voice was getting wet-sounding. She paused for a moment, blowing her nose and swallowing.
“You struck Jessica in the head with a rock? What happened then?” Grady prompted once she seemed under control.
“I hid her there by the creek till I could figure out what to do.”
“Why didn’t you leave her there? Why did you put her in the Millers’ barn?” Grady asked in a neutral voice.
“Maybe I should have left her. But I meant to do just what I done with Katie. Send her down the creek. That night I put on some of Grandad’s old clothes and boots what was in the attic, in case someone saw me. I walked down the creek to get her. Had to go under the fences. But once I got to Jessica and got her in the water, I realized she weren’t gonna go far. The creek was too low. Guess I wasn’t thinkin’ clearheaded. Then I was stuck. I was afraid she’d be found too close to our place.
“I prayed again and it come to me, standing right there in the creek with Jessica’s body, to put her at the Millers’. I knew no one would suspect Amos Miller or his. And he didn’t have a dog or nothin’. I thought . . . if she was put in the barn like that, make it look like it had been . . . been about sex, the police would think the English had done it. It seemed like the sort of ugly trick they would do. It made no sense for an Amish to do somethin’ like that.”
She was right. That was just what we’d thought. If Katie’s body hadn’t been found, if my gut hadn’t made me keep pushing . . .
“You carried Jessica’s body across that field? Both of you soaking wet?” I asked, before I could remind myself that this was Grady’s show.
Grady shot me a look but he didn’t interfere. Miriam glanced at me, then away, probably not liking the reminder of her crimes in the big bandage around my head.
“Ja. It was very hard. I prayed for strength every step, and I thought of my children, of what would happen to them if that video of their father were seen, if . . .” She swallowed hard. “If their mother was caught. God gave me the strength to do it.”
I wanted to laugh at that—or vomit.
“You do realize that another man was about to be wrongly convicted of this crime?” Grady asked bluntly.
Miriam frowned, twisting that handkerchief in her lap. I wanted to believe she was insane, but maybe the truth was worse, that she wasn’t crazy, just someone with religious delusions who’d made some really horrendous decisions.
“Ja. I knew. When it was over, I put it in God’s hands, if I was caught out or not. If someone else had gone to jail, well . . . I’m sure God wouldn’t’ve let anyone suffer who was a true innocent. Katie and . . . and that Jessica too. They were harlots, whores. And Detective Harris is . . . a worldly woman. You see, God wouldn’t have let me hurt anyone but the wicked.”
Okay, I was wrong. She was totally insane.
“Tell us what happened that night with Detective Harris,” Grady prompted.
Miriam took a deep breath. “I also do confess that I struck Detective Harris over the head with a skillet and intended to do her the same way. Only Aaron wouldn’t let me finish her by takin’ her breath. It was my idea to put her in the creek, let God decide her fate. I pushed Aaron till he agreed. It weren’t his fault. I told him we had to, for the sake of the children. And Detective Harris looked nearly dead anyhow.”
I looked at Aaron. Even if he hadn’t known about the murders, even if he hadn’t been the one to strike me on the head, he could have stopped his wife from dumping my naked body in freezing water. But he hadn’t. Maybe he’d bought into her let-God-decide-her-fate bullshit. Maybe he’d hoped it would all go away, that his position in the community could be salvaged. He put his hand over his eyes and slumped forward. I felt sorry for him. But I didn’t forgive him.
Miriam finally raised her eyes to look around the room pleadingly. “I’m a sinner. And I do confess it. I asked God to forgive me. And I ask my family, and my good neighbors, and for the church to forgive me. What I done was wrong, terrible wrong. But I did it for you, to save the scandal. And Katie, you know what she was. You know I was driven to it.”
Hannah finally looked at Miriam, her face set hard. She stood up slowly and, without a word, turned her back. Isaac, looking more sad than angry, did the same. Aaron just stared at the floor, face unreadable.
The Amish bishop, with his long white beard and black hat, stood slowly and when he spoke it was with a terrible gravity. “Miriam Lapp. The law will sentence and judge you in this life, and God in the next. As for the church, you have violated our most sacred beliefs with destruction, deceit, and murder. It was not for you to punish Katie Yoder, or the young girl who came to you for help. As for Detective Harris—” He looked me in the eye. I saw genuine regret and sorrow on his face. “Please accept our sincere apologies for what was done to you, including the day we asked you to be removed from the investigation. We should not have interfered, and the harm that came to you in our community causes us great sorrow.”
He waited, as if really asking me for forgiveness. I found that I held no grudge against the Amish in my heart. I gave the bishop a brief nod. He bowed his head at me.
“Thank you. As for you, Miriam,” the bishop continued, “I forgive you, but I cannot accept your confession at face value. You say you repent, but true repentance can only come out of true understanding of what you did wrong and the harm it did yourself and others. And I don’t think God has touched your heart yet so. We will pray for you.”
With that, the bishop nodded to his men and the Amish filed silently out of the room, not looking at Aaron or Miriam. Miriam seemed surprised at not having been accepted back into the fold, at being left alone. I couldn’t help feeling gratified about that.
A warden went to Miriam, helped her to her feet with a strong hand, and put cuffs on her. As she was being led from the room, Aaron looked up at her.
“Miriam, forgive me,” he said. “My sin with Katie put you in a terrible place, confused and befuddled your mind. This is my fault.”
“I forgave you long ago,” Miriam said, in a simple voice, as though surprised. It was the last thing she said before the warden led her out the door.
EPILOGUE
On October 10, LeeAnn Travis held a memorial for Katie and Jessica. It was at a pavilion at Paradise Community Park, and Hannah Yoder, along with a host of other Amish women, provided food. It turned out to be a beautiful fall day, and the park was full of Amish who had come to show their solidarity. Dotted among the black dresses and black-and-white bonnets were teenagers from Jessica’s high school and a few of us from the police force too. The local press turned out, and even one of the major networks, but they respectfully kept their distance.
The bishop of Katie’s church gave a brief prayer. He talked about how Katie and Jessica had become friends despite being from different worlds, about how Jessica had never given up on finding Katie, and how her determination to find her friend had eventually led Jessica to her own death. It was moving to hear him acknowledge that—that Jessica and Katie’s friendship had been sincere and deep. Like Ezra, Katie had been a square peg unable to fit into the prescribed round holes of the Amish life, and in Jessica she’d found someone who accepted her as she was, someone who understood, someone with whom to dream of escape.
I’d thought a lot about the girls in the seven months since it had all gone down. I’d thought about what Katie had planned to do, selling a video of her and Aaron Lapp. It had been a nasty act. But when I considered her minimum-wage jobs, how she’d cleaned houses from the age of eleven, worked at the farmers’ market, and then sold her body for seventy-five dollars to strangers in an effort to save up that pouch full of money, I couldn’t judge her. She was fighting her way to a new life in the only way she knew
how. And maybe she felt, too, that Aaron deserved exposure, deserved to have his abuse of her seen by the world. I couldn’t blame her for that either.
Aaron’s abuse was exposed in the end—documented at his sentencing hearing and reported in all the major papers. He admitted to all of it, and Miriam too. They never stood trial because they did not contest their crimes. Aaron was sentenced to ten years for child abuse and conspiracy to murder. Miriam got twenty. But the video Katie had made never went public. The phone belonged to LeeAnn Travis, and it was up to her whether or not to release the footage to the public. She decided not to, despite being offered an obscene amount of money for it. The Amish community, and especially Hannah and Isaac, had been good to LeeAnn. They’d gone to her home to apologize right after Miriam Lapp’s confession, and they’d befriended her since. LeeAnn didn’t hold a grunge, and neither did the public. In fact, tourist season was bigger than ever in Lancaster County that summer, with all the curiosity-seekers coming for a closer look at where it had happened. Grimlace Lane had been getting a lot of traffic. Fortunately, Ezra didn’t live there anymore.
Hannah Yoder came up to us after the prayer. Her eyes were red but she looked at me kindly. To my surprise, she put her hands on my upper arms and briefly pressed her cheek to mine before pulling away. “Elizabeth, I haven’t had a chance to thank you before now. We’re so grateful to you for bringing home our Katie and . . .” She paused, her face pained as if the words hurt. “. . . and for helpin’ me understand her . . . why she was the way she was. Thank you.”
I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t trust my voice anyway. I managed a simple reply. “You’re welcome, Hannah. If there’s ever anything I can do for you or your family, please call me.”
She nodded with a sad smile and even gave a nod to Ezra too before walking away. “You okay?” I asked him as we stood at the edge of the crowd.
“Yup. I’m good.” He wasn’t though. I could see the strain in his shoulders. We knew it would be hard to come to this, but he’d wanted to do it anyway. As we expected, the Amish all ignored Ezra, though of course they recognized him, despite his jeans and blue blazer. Their loss. Ezra was the best, most appealing human being on the entire freaking planet. Of course, I could be biased. I suppose it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Though they ignored Ezra, no one gave us dirty looks.
