“The store could be a real blessing to our community,” Henry said. “I hope this won’t prevent them from finishing it.”
“I’d hate for Silas to lose his job,” Clyde admitted. “The money has come in handy.”
“I prefer to support small businesses, but I was looking forward to its opening as well. A big discount store here in town could help everyone. Fortunately, they don’t carry the types of items we sell to tourists.” This from Leroy as he wiped at his beard with his napkin. “I’ve heard their prices are quite reasonable.”
“This will put off the opening for sure.” Clyde shook his head. “I wonder if it was an accident or—”
“Surely it was.” Henry stabbed his fork into the raspberry pie. He didn’t usually care for pies, but this was one of his favorites. There was something about tart mixed with sweet that he found particularly pleasing. “The Englischers are required to have insurance on their job sites.”
He put the fire out of his mind, finished his pie, and then moved from table to table, talking to the members of his congregation. Usually after a funeral there were people to counsel and console, but no one seemed particularly bereft about Vernon’s passing. There had been a small dustup of some sort in the kitchen. Emma had assured him everything was fine and then pushed a mug full of coffee into his hands.
Within two hours, the kitchen was cleaned, the benches loaded back into the wagon, the furniture returned to his rooms, and folks had started drifting toward their buggies. Henry was on the front porch, watching the last of his congregation drive away, when he saw a Monte Vista police car turn into his lane. Sheriff Roy Grayson pulled up close to the house and then stepped out of the cruiser, though he didn’t turn off the automobile’s engine.
“I need you to come with me, Henry.”
“Come where?”
“To the station.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve arrested Sam Beiler. He’s waived his right to an attorney, but he’s asked that you be present during his questioning.”
“Sam Beiler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Arrested for what?”
“The murder of Vernon Frey.”
“That’s not possible.”
“We caught him at today’s fire, Henry.”
“Today’s fire?”
“The one at the construction site. It would seem he started it as well as the fire at Vernon’s place.”
Henry didn’t believe a word of it. He hurried into his house and confirmed the women had taken care of turning off the stove. There was nothing for him to do but grab his hat and make his way back out to the sheriff’s car.
“I could take my buggy.”
“Best if you ride with me. Quicker, anyway.”
They rode in silence into town. But when they turned into the police station, Henry glanced at Grayson and said, “There’s been a mistake. Sam would not do such a thing.”
“I hope you’re right, but the evidence seems to suggest otherwise.”
“What evidence?”
“It’s not my investigation anymore, so I can’t say. The district office is fully in charge now. We’re hoping you can talk some sense into Sam. If he did this thing—and I’m not saying for sure he did because that’s for a jury to decide—the court might show leniency if he confesses.”
Henry would not be advising Sam to confess. Henry didn’t believe him capable of such a deed. While it was true he’d had troubles lately what with the new acreage and his broken plow, those things did not push a man to arson and murder.
As he followed Grayson through the lobby and down the hall, he prayed for wisdom, and that God would clear their minds so that both he and Sam might see the way through the next few crucial hours.
Fifteen
They stopped outside a locked door that had a window in it. Grayson glanced through the glass, knocked once, and then opened the door with a key. Henry was led into a small, sparsely furnished room. A rectangular table, with two chairs on each side, made up the furnishings. The walls were painted a drab gray, and a large mirrored window was situated along one side.
Sam was handcuffed, his callused farmer’s hands resting on the table in front of him. His gaze shot up when they walked into the room, but other than nodding at Henry, he showed no real reaction. Instead, he stared back down at his hands.
The arson investigator, Meg Allen, sat across the table from Sam. She stood as they walked into the room. Her bright red hair looked almost orange in the fluorescent lights, and Henry could see freckles sprinkled across her nose. She wore blue jeans, a khaki-colored button-up shirt, a simple gold chain with some sort of pendant, and a watch. She motioned for Henry to take a seat beside Sam, and Grayson took the seat beside her.
“Thank you for coming, Bishop.” Her tone was formal.
Henry noticed a small recording device on the table. He nodded to the camera in the far corner of the room. “It’s against our religious practices—”
“To be photographed. Yeah, I know. However, in a criminal proceeding, this is not negotiable.”
Grayson nodded in agreement, and Henry decided not to push the point. The main thing was to get Sam out of the building and back home where he belonged.
“Has he been formally charged?” Henry asked.
Allen looked surprised, but then she probably didn’t know about his history in Goshen. He’d learned more about the legal system than he’d ever wanted to know. And although he understood laws varied between states and even municipalities, the general way of things was the same.
“No, he hasn’t. Whether he will be depends on how he answers our questions, as well as what lab results show based on evidence we gathered from his home.”
“His home?”
“We have cause to believe Sam set the fire at Vernon Frey’s property, as well as the one at the JSW Construction site today.”
“I did not do either thing.”
Henry sat back and crossed his arms. “Did you have a warrant to search his home, or rather his parents’ home?”
Allen stared at Sam for a moment, as if she could will him to confess to this thing. Finally, she turned her attention back to Henry. “Based on tips we received, we were able to acquire a warrant to search the home of Abigail and Daniel Beiler. While we were in the process of that search, the fire at JSW occurred. Sam was seen running from the construction site when the fire trucks arrived.”
“I wasn’t running from it!” Sam’s temper flared.
Henry cleared his throat and offered one short, definitive shake of his head. Sam needed to keep his emotions under control. Words said in anger would only cause him more trouble.
“I wasn’t running from it,” Sam said again, less forcefully. “I was running to the store across the street, to call the fire department.”
“Convenient,” Allen said softly.
“What were you doing at the site?” Grayson asked. “Weren’t most of your friends and neighbors at Vernon’s funeral?”
“They were.”
“Why didn’t you attend?”
Henry wondered the same thing, but he kept his expression neutral and waited for Sam’s reply.
“There was no love lost between me and Vernon. That’s no secret. And ya, I should have gone to the funeral, but I’m going to lose my fields if I don’t get them cleared. If I can’t clear them, I can’t plant them. Our growing season is short, and I’m already behind.”
So that was the reason for the cloud of despair that had surrounded Sam when Henry had visited him two days before. Henry realized he should have asked, but he’d been preoccupied with Vernon’s passing and the upcoming funeral.
“All right. So you didn’t attend the funeral.” Allen crossed her arms and sat back. “Why were you at the construction site?”
“I need another plow, a newer one than the old thing I was trying to use when you came by, Henry. I soon figured that at the rate I was progressing, I wouldn’t be done until fall, and the
plow Vernon sold me was defective. I went into town to see about purchasing one.”
“Did you? Purchase a plow?”
“Nein. The prices were too high.”
“But you looked for one.”
“I stopped at both the hardware store and the resale shop.”
Allen scribbled something on a small pad of paper. Looking up, she asked, “Did you talk to a salesman at either place? Someone who can verify your story?”
Sam nodded. “Tall black man at the hardware store, probably in his fifties, clean shaven.”
“And you went there first?”
“I did. Probably around eleven. I meant to go earlier, but I was late getting away. My mamm needed some work done around the house, and they were… they were going to the funeral.”
Henry had a brief impulse to correct Sam then. If he’d only gone to the funeral, as he should have, he wouldn’t be sitting here now constructing his alibi. No doubt he realized that, so Henry kept quiet.
“And the resale shop?”
“I spoke with the guy who owns the place.”
“All right. Now let’s talk about the construction site. Why were you there?”
“I wasn’t there!” He raised his hands to his hair and attempted to push it away from his eyes. The movement reminded him that his wrists were still shackled. He stared at them a moment and dropped them back to the table.
“Surely there is no need for the handcuffs.” Henry spoke softly, as if he were mildly surprised at such a thing. He wasn’t, but he hoped Allen would relent, and that young Sam would relax once the cuffs were off.
Grayson glanced at Allen, who shrugged. Taking that for a yes, Grayson pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the cuffs, and returned them to a leather pouch attached to his belt.
Sam rubbed his wrists and continued his story. “I was riding by the job site—”
“Horse and buggy?”
“No, my bicycle. I don’t own a horse and buggy, though my parents do. I borrow it from time to time, but mostly I use my bike or my scooter.”
“How were you going to carry a plow home on a bike?”
“They deliver.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d visited both shops, realized I couldn’t afford to buy from either, and was on my way home when I smelled smoke.”
“You smelled smoke?”
“I did.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Allen shook her head in mock despair. “A lot of people were on that construction site, but you were the only one who noticed the fire?”
Sam shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him what she believed.
Henry decided it was time to interject. “Sam’s on the volunteer fire crew. He’s taught to recognize—”
“We are aware of his association with the volunteer fire department. Unfortunately, many arsonists volunteer. They enjoy being around fires—both extinguishing and setting them.”
“I did not set that fire.” Sam pushed away from the table and began to rise from his seat.
Henry’s hand on his shoulder calmed him down. Sam sank back onto his chair. “Maybe the workers were at lunch. The fire was at the back part of the site. I didn’t see anyone there, so I rushed across the street to call it in.”
He raised his head and leveled his gaze directly at Sheriff Grayson. “I was hurrying back to help when a police officer arrested me. If he’d let me do that, maybe it wouldn’t have spread as far as it did.”
“You’re admitting to calling the fire in?”
“Ya. Of course.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Henry asked. “Calling in a fire is a good thing to do. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Sure it is, unless you set the fire.”
“That makes no sense,” Sam said.
“Neither does setting a fire at Vernon Frey’s house, killing a man, and then calling it in.”
Sam fell silent.
“That’s what you did, Sam. Isn’t it? You crept onto Vernon’s property in the early morning hours of May first, set the fire, waited until it was out of control, and then you called it in to 9-1-1.”
Sam had looked beaten earlier. Defeated and maybe even a tiny bit guilty. But he managed to tap into some reserve of strength or faith, or a combination of both. He sat up straighter, squared his shoulders, and spoke in a quiet, confident voice. “Okay. All right. Ya, I did call in that fire. I didn’t tell you before because I knew how it would sound. If reporting a fire has suddenly turned into a crime, then convict me. But I tell you this and with no uncertainty—I did not kill Vernon Frey.”
Sixteen
Henry requested a fifteen-minute break.
Allen shrugged. She gathered up her pad, pen, and recorder and then exited the room.
“Can I get you anything?” Grayson asked gruffly.
“Sam could use a cup of coffee or can of soda.”
Sam shook his head as if none of that mattered.
“And I’ll take some water.”
“You got it.” When he reached the door, Grayson turned and directed his next comment to Henry. “Remember what I told you in the car. If he confesses, the judge is more likely to show leniency.”
“I won’t confess to something I didn’t do.”
Grayson nodded as if he had expected that answer and left them alone.
Henry waited one minute and then two. He allowed the silence to minister to Sam’s soul. He prayed for guidance and truth and wisdom and strength. Then he scooted his chair back so he was facing the boy. Sam wasn’t a boy, of course. He was a man with a man’s problems. But as the clock ticked toward the dinner hour, Henry thought of him as a boy. His parents would be worried. His friends and neighbors would want to know how to help. His fields were waiting.
“Quite a mess, eh?” The question was casual with a hint of amusement, and it was all Sam needed to unlock the dam of words built up inside him.
“I told you the truth, Henry. Yesterday when you stopped by, I told you the truth. However, I didn’t tell you everything.”
“Of course you know that withholding the truth—”
“Is the same as telling a lie. Ya. My pop has told me as much more than once.”
“We only have a few minutes, Sam. So why don’t we start with the most serious charge. Did you kill Vernon?”
“Nein. I did not.”
“Gut! But you were there that night?”
“I was. As I told you before, I took the buggy to his house, returned the plow, and attempted to get my money back. I went home after arguing with him, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing, worrying, and the… the injustice of it all made me crazy.”
‘’Probably a word you’d rather not use around Investigator Allen.”
“I kept hearing his snide remarks over and over in my head.” Sam was staring at the wall, reliving the events of his past that had led to the room, the table, the handcuffs. “The way he looked at me so contemptuously. He seemed… seemed to enjoy the game of it, pulling one over on me. Only it wasn’t a game. It was all the money I had. Mom and Pop don’t have the resources to help me with the acreage.”
“Ya. I understand.”
“What Vernon had done… it wasn’t right.”
“You could have come to me. You should have.”
“Ya. I see that now.”
“What time was it when you returned to Vernon’s?”
“Close to two. I rode my bike instead of hitching up the mare.”
“In the middle of the night? Sam, you could have been killed.”
“Nein. I’m always careful on the bike, and the Englisch vehicles… you can hear them a long way off.”
Henry glanced at the clock. He needed to hurry the conversation along to the crux of the matter.
“What did you find when you arrived at Vernon’s?”
“I smelled smoke almost as soon as I pulled into his drive, but I thought it was only from a fire he’d used to warm the house.”
“You walked up to the
front door?”
“I did, and that’s when I noticed the glass broken from the window.”
“What else did you see?”
“Flames. I ran inside, determined to find him, to save him.”
“But you were angry with him.”
“Not enough to watch him burn to death.”
Henry glanced up, saw Investigator Allen through the small window in the door. She was talking to someone in the hall and was about to enter the room.
Sam raised his left hand to his face and wiped at the sweat beading on his forehead. “I made it upstairs, even into his room where he was lying on the bed. He was already dead. I picked him up, fireman carry and all, and started back down the stairs, but the fire had accelerated, faster than a regular fire would. I laid him back on the bed and tried to think of a way out.”
“And you’re sure he was dead?”
“I know how to check for a pulse. Either he’d had a heart attack or he’d died from smoke inhalation. Most folks don’t know to get to the floor or to cover their mouth and nose.”
“But you knew what to do.”
Sam nodded. “I couldn’t carry him out through the window, and I couldn’t leave the way I’d come. The fire had blocked the stairs. So I left him there, on the bed, and I scrambled out onto the roof. I dropped to the ground, grabbed my bike where I’d left it next to the front porch, and hurried to the phone shack to call 9-1-1.”
Henry let the confession of Sam’s deeds, his sins if they were to be deemed as such, fade from the room.
“I know it was wrong.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. Arguing. Lying. Leaving… leaving his body there.”
“Sam, if what you say is true, and I have no reason to believe it isn’t, then ya, there was sin in having an unforgiving heart, in treating Vernon as anything other than your brother in Christ—” Henry held up a hand to silence his objections. “Regardless of how you were treated, Sam. The Lord’s Word is plain on this.”
He waited for Sam to raise his eyes. “Ya, you’ve sinned. But Sam, the fact that you left Vernon in his home was not such a thing. His life was complete, and you did all in your power to respectfully care for him. It wasn’t possible.”
What the Bishop Saw Page 7
