When the Bishop Needs an Alibi

by Vannetta Chapman

  “What is this list?” Tess asked, staring down at the sheet of paper they’d written on.

  “I believe Sophia thought someone was following her.” Henry studied the picture of Sophia helping the older woman, the one that showed the scar on her neck. “When I drew this picture, she was quite frightened, and I think it was because of this detail. This scar on her neck.”

  “She didn’t have that when I saw her last.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “And how long ago was that?”

  “After Cooper died.” She sank into a chair. “I flew into San Diego to help with the funeral.”

  “Is now a gut time to do this?” Emma asked. “Perhaps you need to get some rest, and we could go back at it again tomorrow.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I’m too keyed up.”

  “All right, but tell us if you want to stop.” Rachel nudged the drawing toward Tess. “Do you notice anything else? Anything that could be important that we wouldn’t see?”

  “Her hair. It’s a little longer. When I saw her—”

  “When was this?” Clyde asked.

  “Middle of July. Cooper was killed on July 15. I remember because that was our mother’s birthday.”

  Katie Ann glanced at her own mother, and then reached over and snagged her hand.

  “Anything else different?” Katie Ann asked.

  “Her hair was lighter than the shading appears here, like mine.”

  “The Sophia we knew had dark-brown hair,” Emma said.

  “So she dyed her hair and let it grow longer.” Katie Ann picked up another of the drawings from the diner. In it, Sophia was carrying a tray of food to a table. “Maybe she was trying to make herself look different.”

  Tess nodded in agreement and pulled Henry’s tablet toward her, the same tablet they’d been making their list on. She drew a line across the page, left to right. On the far left, she tagged the line and wrote Cooper’s death. Under this she put the date 7-15. On the far right she put Sophia’s death, with the date 9-20.

  “I didn’t know she’d left San Diego. She didn’t answer my calls, but she would text occasionally. I thought she needed her space and time to grieve. I didn’t know she was keeping all this from me.”

  “Sophia knew how much you cared for her,” Henry said. He waited a few seconds and then pointed to the left of her line. “She’d been working at Maggie’s Diner for six weeks.”

  “All right. That would put the date at around August 1.”

  “And she must have come here for a reason,” Katie Ann said. “No one just picks Monte Vista off a map. We’re too small.”

  When her parents looked at her quizzically, she added, “Which is what I like—nice and small.”

  Clyde drummed his fingers against the table. “Sometime between when you saw Sophia in San Diego and when Henry drew this first picture of her at the diner, she got that scar on her neck.”

  Tess notched a spot halfway between 7-15 and 8-1. She drew a question mark below it and above it the word scar.

  “It was a week ago Sunday that she spent the night with me,” Emma said. “That would have been…”

  “The seventeenth! I remember because I came home from the singing, and she was in my room. We had a nice long talk, which seemed odd since I didn’t know her, but Sophia—she was easy to talk to.” Katie Ann had been smiling as she remembered, but her expression quickly grew somber. “If only we knew what files she was talking about.”

  “We might have figured that out,” Henry said. “Emma remembered that Sophia gave her something.”

  “This big.” Emma again demonstrated with her thumb and forefinger. “Plastic or maybe some kind of metal. Very light.”

  Tess dug around in her handbag and pulled out a small green device. “Did it look like this?”

  “Ya. Same size, only not green.”

  “It’s a flash drive. It’s what we put computer files on. Do you know where it is?”

  “I put it in the pocket of my apron, which is either in the dirty laundry basket or my sewing basket. I can’t remember.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t wash it.”

  “Nein. I don’t think so. Why? Would water and soap ruin it?”

  “Possibly.” Tess was up out of her chair and drawing the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Can we go and get it?”

  “We can.” Henry didn’t stand. “But perhaps we should talk about the list first.”

  Slowly, Tess sat back down and nodded in agreement.

  Clyde crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Henry drew four scenes from the diner. One when she was helping the older woman, one carrying a tray of food, another as she stood at the window to the kitchen, and this final one where she’s checking someone out at the register. We noticed that in each of them, we see some of the same people.”

  “Which doesn’t mean anything necessarily,” Katie Ann was quick to point out. “Small town and all. You’re bound to run across the same people again and again.”

  “That’s true, so for instance, we see Jared Anderson, the Monte Vista police officer you met, Tess, in three of the four pictures. But only one where he’s looking directly at your schweschder.”

  Tess shook her head in amazement. “I know I read about accidental savants, but seeing these…are you sure they’re accurate? That what you drew is exactly as it happened?”

  “Ya,” Henry said simply. “We’re sure.”

  When she still looked doubtful, Emma explained, “His mind is like a camera since the accident.”

  “With the baseball. I read about that.”

  Emma wondered how the Englisch newspapers had so much information on Henry, but what difference did it make? They had nothing to hide, and his ability was nothing to be ashamed of. “He doesn’t remember things consciously. In fact, he misplaces his reading glasses at least three times a week.”

  “It’s possible I should buy another pair for backup.”

  “It would save you a lot of aggravation.” Emma turned back to Tess. “His memory isn’t perfect. But what he draws? That comes from the subconscious part of his brain—”

  “The camera,” Tess said.

  “Exactly,” everyone said in unison.

  “All right. So we have this officer in three of the pictures.”

  “Right, but in two of them he’s looking elsewhere—at his phone once, and out the window once.” Katie Ann pulled out the four drawings from the diner and laid them side by side.

  “Only one time he’s looking at your schweschder,” Emma said.

  “He’s frowning.”

  “True, but he could be frowning about any number of things—a call that just came in, something that happened earlier that day, even his bill.” Rachel turned her coffee mug around in her hands, though it was empty.

  “Who else did you find?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting,” Henry said. “A wildlife employee is in every picture. We can tell by the uniform.”

  Emma leaned closer to the drawing. “Can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, but there’s a long scuff mark across the toe of his or her right shoe.”

  “There’s a rancher in three of them, and a member of our community in two.”

  “A member of your community? An Amish person?”

  Emma noticed Henry and Clyde share a quick glance. Now probably wasn’t the time to bring up the fact that Leroy was one of their deacons. Surely he had nothing to do with Sophia’s death, but it only seemed fair to list him while they were listing Englischers.

  “We think one of these people might have been watching Sophia,” Henry explained. “Maybe not harmed her, but knew something about what she was doing here and could possibly lead us to the killer.”

  Forty-Seven

  They decided Tess would take Emma, Katie Ann, and the bag of drawings in her car to retrieve the flash drive, while Clyde and Rachel rode home in the buggy. Henry would harness Oreo and meet Tess at th
e diner, where, as they now knew from Silas, there was free Wi-Fi.

  “I could read the files anywhere, but I think we might want to check a few things online as well.”

  “The diner’s open until eleven,” Henry said. “And the dinner crowd will be gone.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the diner too?” Clyde asked.

  “Or me?” Rachel said. “I could catch a ride with Tess and Emma.”

  “Nein. You’ve all done enough for one day, and I know the morning starts at four in your home.”

  “Don’t hesitate to wake us up if you need us.” Rachel squeezed Henry’s hand and then walked outside.

  Tess was already in her car, making a phone call.

  Emma was the last to leave. She only said, “Be careful,” and then kissed his cheek—as he had kissed hers. It was such a simple thing. Something a grandmother might do to a grandchild, and yet it filled Henry’s heart with no small measure of joy. When you were a widower as long as he’d been, you could sometimes go days or weeks with no physical contact. But it wasn’t the kiss. It was that Emma felt comfortable enough to kiss him and that she cared so much.

  He was thinking on those things as he walked back inside, retrieved his jacket and hat, and then—as was his custom—picked up the pocket change on his dresser. There among the nickels and quarters, he saw the device he’d found on his clock. After some thought he’d taken a hammer to it, smashing it once. What was left was flatter and hopefully no longer working. He was certainly glad he hadn’t had it in his pocket when he was arrested. He wasn’t ready to hand it over to the Monte Vista police. Perhaps Tess could tell him what it was. He gathered it up with the change, dropped it all into his pocket, and walked outside toward the barn.

  Lexi danced at his feet.

  “Too late for you to go with me this time, girl. Stay here and guard the place, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  It was just past eight, and he was carrying a battery lantern, so when Lexi stopped suddenly, stood on point, and began to growl, Henry knew in what direction she was looking. Was Sophia’s killer here? Had he been foolish to feel safe on his own property?

  “Tell that beast not to bite me, Henry.” Sheriff Grayson remained in the shadows, but when Henry raised the lantern he could see him well enough. Grayson wore jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and a baseball cap.

  Henry blew out a sigh of relief. “Give an old man a heart attack.”

  “My apologies, but I didn’t feel like I could walk up to your door and knock.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because they could be watching.”

  “They?”

  “The people who killed Sophia Brooks.” Grayson motioned toward his lantern. “Maybe you could douse the light.”

  Henry did as he asked. “Should we go inside?”

  “Out would be better. I want to see anyone who’s coming.”

  Henry thought Grayson was being a bit paranoid. Lexi would let them know if anyone was approaching.

  As if reading his mind, Grayson said, “They don’t have to get that close if they have a high-powered rifle and a nightscope.”

  “You’re scared.”

  “I’m cautious, and you need to be too.”

  Grayson nodded toward the other side of the barn, where they could sit on a bench situated against the barn’s south wall and watch out over the field. The large water trough might provide some protection from spying eyes—or bullets.

  “I see Kiana got you out of jail.”

  “She did. Danki for sending her. I was surprised she didn’t ask for a retainer.”

  “I vouched for you.” Grayson crossed his arms, deep in thought. “She’s good, she doesn’t have any direct ties around here, and she’s had some experience defending Amish before. She was the obvious choice.”

  “But how did you know I would need a lawyer? She said you think I’m being railroaded?”

  “This was a setup from the word go.”

  “Explain that to me.”

  Henry’s eyesight was adjusting to the darkness. He could see that his friend looked tired, that he had three days of stubble on his face when he normally shaved every day, and that he’d walked through high weeds to reach him. The hems of his jeans were covered with bits of brush.

  “I’m not even sure I can explain it to myself. Look, you placed the emergency call to 9-1-1 at 7:25 on the morning of September 21.”

  “Sounds right.”

  “I was on scene by 8:10. We talked, and you left.”

  “Stuart brought me home. I got here a little before ten.”

  “Right, but Agent Delaney called before I had even left the crime scene.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “You bet it is. Usually we assess a scene, and if we decide it falls under another jurisdiction, we make the appropriate calls. I was planning to contact him as soon as I got back to the office.”

  “But he called you first.”

  “How did he even know about the case? When I asked him, he changed the subject, started asking me questions about who I had interviewed so far.”

  “Which was me.”

  “I hadn’t even been to the diner yet.”

  “All right. So Delaney gets tipped off about the case somehow, and he takes it over before you’ve had a chance to make a call or file a report.”

  “He stayed on scene until late that night, Thursday, and we came to see you early Friday morning.”

  “The day I found the device.”

  “What device?”

  Instead of answering, Henry pulled out the small electronic object he’d discovered in the wall clock. He put it in Grayson’s hand and explained how he’d found Lexi unconscious in the horse stall and how when she came to, she’d led him to the device.

  “What happened to it?”

  “I smashed it with a hammer.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Wasn’t sure what it was, but I didn’t like the idea of it doing whatever it was supposed to do inside my house.”

  “Next time take it to the barn.”

  “I hope there won’t be a next time.”

  Grayson grunted in agreement. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “What is it?”

  “A surveillance device, and a fairly sophisticated one, by the looks of it. Can I keep this?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me about how you found Lexi.”

  “She was in the stall with the door shut, something I take care not to do. She looked as if she was sleeping, only I couldn’t wake her.”

  “Any sign that she’d been kicked or hit?”

  “Nein. No bumps at all. She was simply out, and then she wasn’t.”

  “It sounds as if she was drugged.”

  “Why would someone drug my dog?”

  “The better question is why they didn’t just kill her, though you might have reported such a thing to the police.”

  “Why put her in the stall? Wasn’t it enough to drug her?”

  “Maybe they were sending you a message, Henry. What we know for certain is that someone was here, at your place, and left this surveillance device. Someone’s watching you, Henry.”

  “Who?”

  “The same person trying to frame you for Sophia’s murder.”

  That sat between them for a moment. Henry braced his elbows on his knees and stared at his dog. Finally he said, “You were telling me about Delaney. About the day he came back to collect evidence.”

  “I was not happy with how the previous interview had gone. Delaney was jumping to conclusions, which isn’t like him.”

  “He’s an aggressive sort of fellow.”

  “True, and he always has been. I’ve worked with him on a couple of other cases. He’s blunt and forceful, but he’s also always been methodical. With you it was as if he had information he wasn’t sharing, some reason to believe you were involved.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  �
�Of course you weren’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Henry asked softly.

  “Because I know you, Henry. I have enough instinct to know who is and who isn’t a killer, and yes, I understand that people can fool you sometimes. But I know you, plus killers rarely call police to the murder scene. Nothing about what Delaney was assuming made sense. After we left here, I called him on it.”

  “I can imagine how that went.”

  “Not well.” Grayson pulled off the ball cap and ran a hand over the top of his head. “There’s more. An hour after we left here, I received a call from my supervisor telling me I’m required to take a vacation every year, and I haven’t done so in the last twelve months.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes, but no one has ever called me on it before. I eventually get around to using my time. I was basically relieved of duty. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was to let Delaney handle the case, and that I should not report into the station for fourteen days.”

  “Does that mean your supervisor is in on this, whatever this is?”

  “Not necessarily, but it does mean someone has the ability to remove me from the case.”

  Henry tried to wrap his mind around everything Grayson was saying. Lexi had hopped up on the bench between them and was leaning against him. He placed his arm around her and scratched under her chin.

  “Delaney somehow found out about the investigation from another source.”

  “Someone who wanted him on it. That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “And for some reason he zeroed in on me.”

  “From what I heard—”

  “Heard from whom?”

  “A few guys at the station I’m in touch with. From what I heard, Delaney got your name from the tip hotline.”

  “I guess that’s possible. I did know Sophia, and I did give her a ride in my buggy.”

  Grayson was shaking his head vehemently. “No way. Those tip hotlines receive all sorts of calls, and it takes days at the very least to comb through them. They help the most with cold cases highlighted on a news program or in local papers. None of that had happened with your case. The chances of Delaney receiving a tip, an actionable piece of information in that time frame, is almost nil.”