In Dark Company_A Kate Burkholder Short Mystery

by Linda Castillo

  The last thing I want to do is add another complication to an already confusing situation. But if I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I have to ask all the questions, especially the hard ones. “What kind of relationship do you have with Stahl?”

  “He’s been a mentor,” she says. “And a friend.” The words come too quickly, with a little too much certainty that doesn’t ring true.

  Tyler mutters a curse. “That son of a bitch has been after her for weeks,” he says. “She doesn’t want to see it. But that’s why I’m here. To get her away from all this.”

  Els lowers her gaze, but not before I discern the sick expression on her face.

  I divide my attention between them. “Stahl went to the Mercer County Sheriff and told him the two of you stole money from him.”

  “What?” Tyler jumps to his feet. “That’s a lie!”

  “Sit down,” I snap.

  He sinks back onto the sofa cushion.

  Els presses a hand to her mouth. “Why would Leanard do such a thing?”

  “We didn’t steal anything,” Fournier growls. “Els has never stolen anything in her life.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  “I don’t need his money,” he shoots back. “I’ve got a good job in Saint Paul.”

  “Are we in trouble?” Els asks.

  “We’re going to ride over to the sheriff’s department and get this straightened out.” I look at Els. “Do you remember what happened back there in your office?”

  Her expression pinches, the wheels in her mind churning. “I was working that evening. Like always. But there was something going on. I was upset because I’d found . . .” She presses her lips together. “Chief Burkholder, I think there was something going on with the books.”

  “That’s the night she called me.” Tyler’s gaze slides from Els to me. “She was crying. I told her I was going to drive down. She asked me not to and we argued.” As if realizing the words could be misconstrued by me, he raises both hands. “Not that kind of argument.” He makes a sound of frustration. “I wasn’t angry with her. I was frustrated because I wanted to be with her.”

  “What did you find?” I ask Els.

  “The letters.” She gets to her feet. “From clients who’d given Leanard money. To invest.”

  Tyler and I rise, too.

  “How many people are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Hundreds,” she murmurs. “Freindschaft. Amish. Mennonite. And Hutterite.”

  Energized now, she starts toward the office; Tyler and I exchange glances and follow. I stop in the doorway and watch as she goes to the desk, rights the chair, and sits. She pulls open a drawer, then raises her eyes to mine. “They’re gone.”

  Els closes her eyes, puts her face in her hands. “Chief Burkholder, what are we going to do? How could he do this to me? To us?”

  “What did the letters say?” I ask.

  “I don’t—” She raises her head. “Wait.” Jumping to her feet, she rushes to a small closet where a printer and office supplies are stored. Tugging out a stool, she steps onto it, and stretches to reach the top shelf. She pulls out a stack of crinkled papers bound with a rubber band, and then looks at it as if it’s something grotesque.

  “These are the originals,” she murmurs. “The first one came about six months ago.”

  Peeling off the rubber band, she goes back to the desk and sets the stack on the blotter. Moving closer, I look down at the top sheet. It’s a letter written in pencil on a wrinkled sheet of lined notebook paper. I pick it up and read.

  Dear Leanard,

  I hope this finds you well. Mary and I are buying that new buggy. I need the $489.00 I invested with the foundation to pay for it. Please send a check to our address in Shipshewana.

  God bless,

  Raymond Miller

  I go to the next letter.

  Dear Mr. Stahl,

  Mamm passed last night. We are heartbroken, but we know she is with God now and for that we are happy. I need to withdraw my cash to buy a new generator for our milking business. Last I heard from you it was $898.00, but you can just send me $600.00 or so.

  God be with you and your family . . .

  I flip through dozens of letters just like it. Some are second and third requests for money they’d invested in the foundation. I look at Els.

  “None of them got their money,” she whispers. “At first, I thought Leanard was taking care of it. He’s good with money. Always making wise investments and letting his clients know they’ve made a good return. But when the letters started coming . . .” She looks down at the stack and shakes her head. “They broke my heart. I kept hoping I was wrong. That Leanard would make it right. Those people believed in him. They trusted him, and he stole from them.”

  “Did you confront him?” I ask.

  Nodding, she looks down at her hands. “At first, he told me he’d paid them, and I should mind my own business. For the first time in my life, I didn’t believe him.” She shakes her head. “Chief Burkholder, in all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him angry. I’ve never heard him raise his voice. That night, he was a stranger to me, and I was afraid of him.”

  “Tell me what happened,” I say.

  “I called him around five o’clock or so and told him about the letters. He came right over. I was in my office, working. I figured he and I would work together and make it right, you know? Pay those poor people back. But he was furious. He demanded the letters. And then he fired me. Told me to get out. Go back to Minnesota. Keep my mouth shut.”

  Her voice breaks on the last word. “I was sitting at my desk, crying. He was pacing and ranting, saying the most ungodly things. I remember seeing him pick up the lamp.” She shakes her head. “The next thing I know, we’re in the car, out in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea where we were. He had a gun, and he was panicked. There’s no doubt in my mind he was going to kill me. So I jumped from the car and I ran.”

  “Holy shit,” mutters Tyler.

  “All right.” I look at them and nod. “I think it’s time we talked to Chief Deputy Light.” I’m reaching into my pocket for the Explorer keys when the lights blink and go out, plunging us into the waning light of dusk.

  “Stay quiet.” Tugging the mini-Maglite from my pocket, I flick it on, averting the beam so it’s not visible from the windows. “Don’t move.”

  I take the hall to the living room, go to the front window, part the curtain, and look out. A cold, steady rain falls from a darkened sky. Tendrils of fog rise from the ground. My Explorer is still parked behind Tyler’s truck. There are no other vehicles, no sign of anyone else.

  “What’s going on?” comes Tyler’s whispered voice.

  I glance over to see them coming down the hall. “Let’s go.”

  The front door bursts open. I see a dark figure. Male. Six one. Two-hundred pounds. A hot burst of adrenaline zings when I see the stainless steel .380 mini-revolver in his hand.

  “If anyone moves, I will shoot you dead,” he says in a deep voice.

  The trailer rocks slightly as he enters. Stepping back, I ease my hand toward the .38 in my pocket. “I’m a police officer,” I say. “Drop your weapon. Right now.”

  He shifts the gun to me. “You reach for whatever is in that pocket and I will kill you. Then I will kill them. Do you understand?”

  “Leanard!” comes Els’s voice from behind me. “What are you doing?”

  “Stay put,” I tell her. I’m thinking about the cell phone in my left pocket. The .38 in my right. I wonder if I can reach either before this crazy son of a bitch starts shooting.

  “Leanard Stahl?” I say.

  Using the revolver, he motions toward the living room. “Sit down. All of you. Keep your hands up.”

  Keeping my hands at shoulder level, I back toward the sofa. I’m vaguely aware of Els and Tyler moving with me.

  “Not you,” he says to Els. “Come here.”

  Sending an anxious glance my way, she walks sti
ffly to Stahl. “What are you doing with that gun?” she says. “This is crazy.”

  “Shut your mouth.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a tangle of rope. “Tie them up.”

  Leanard Stahl is a far cry from what I expected. He’s kindly looking with salt-and-pepper hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a black felt fedora. He’s using a walking stick, holding the curved handle in his left hand, but I don’t detect a limp. I guess him to be in his mid-fifties. Outwardly, he seems as harmless as a grandfather, but I don’t miss the glint of malevolence in his eyes. Something dark creeping around just beneath the surface.

  “A deputy with the Mercer County Sheriff is on the way,” I tell him.

  “Shut up.” He looks at Els, his mouth constricting into a snarl. “I would have given you everything. All you had to do was love me.”

  “I do love you, Leanard,” she cries. “Please don’t do this. It isn’t our way.”

  “What do you know about our ways? Soiling yourself with a non-believer. Acting like some farm animal in heat.” He tosses the rope at her. “Tie them up!”

  I use the moment to get my first decent look at the revolver. It’s a Taurus .380, double action, with five rounds. I’m looking for vulnerabilities, wondering if Tyler will be any help, wondering if I can get to my cell . . .

  Without warning, Tyler charges Stahl. He goes in low and head butts the older man’s abdomen. Stahl reels backward. A roar of fury tears from his mouth. The two gunshots that follow deafen me.

  Tyler drops to the floor. Els screams, but I tune it out. Focus on yanking the .38 from my pocket. I bring it up fast. Finger inside the guard. Seek center mass.

  Stahl swings the cane. I squeeze off a shot as the wood cracks against my right temple, Hank Aaron slamming in a home run. Pain sings across the right side of my head from crown to jaw. Darkness closes in. My knees hit the floor. Vaguely, I’m aware of someone shouting my name. Then I’m laid out on the rug, some rude son of a bitch running a chainsaw in my right ear . . .

  “What have you done? What have you done?”

  Screaming brings me back to full consciousness. I raise my head, glance over to see Els kneeling next to Tyler. Eyes wild with terror. Horror etched into her every feature. “Tyler!”

  I have no idea how long I was out. At some point Stahl bound her hands behind her back. Fournier lies supine, stone still. I see blood on his jacket. More soaked into the rug. Dear God, he looks dead . . . I glance around for my .38, but it’s nowhere in sight. I shift, realize my hands are bound, too.

  Son of a bitch.

  Rolling onto my side, I blink to clear my vision, look up at Stahl. “Sheriff’s deputy is on the way,” I lie.

  The Hutterite man ignores me, stares at Els. “I would have loved you for all of eternity,” he whispers.

  She doesn’t acknowledge him, instead focusing every ounce of her attention, her energy, on her fallen lover. “We were going to get married,” she sobs.

  I focus on the rope at my wrists, work it back and forth, trying not to attract attention.

  Els leans forward, tears streaming, and sets her cheek against Tyler’s. “We have to get him to a hospital,” she sobs.

  Stahl walks to the kitchen. Dread sweeps through me when he twists the four stovetop burners and the oven to the On position. Then he plucks off each knob and drops them into his pocket.

  For the span of several heartbeats the only sound comes from Els crying and the hiss of gas. Then he turns to Els. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  “I’ll go to hell before I go anywhere with you!” she screams.

  “As you wish.” Eyes blazing, Stahl picks up the letters lying on the table. Removing a lighter from his coat pocket, he lights the corner, carries them to the window, and sets the curtains on fire.

  “Don’t do it, Stahl,” I tell him. “Shut off the gas. Let her go.”

  “Too late,” he says as he walks back to the living room.

  I smell the rotten-egg stink of the gas as it creeps from the kitchen to the living room.

  Els looks at Stahl. “You’re a monster.”

  “And you, my dear, are a whore.” Taking a final, lingering look at her, he crosses to the door, yanks it open, and then he’s gone.

  “Els! Get up!” I scramble to my feet, lurch over to where she’s kneeling next to Tyler. “Is he alive?”

  “He’s breathing.”

  “We have to get him out of here. Gas is going to blow. Get me a knife. Cut this rope. Hurry!”

  She darts to the kitchen, turns, and yanks out a drawer. I follow her, go to the stove, try to twist the knob assembly prong. It won’t move without the knob.

  I glance at Els, see the steak knife in her hand. “Cut my rope. Hurry!”

  She crosses to me, spins so that we’re back to back. Her entire body shakes against mine. As she saws, I’m keenly aware of the curtains burning, flames licking the ceiling, and smoke filling the room. I hear the hiss of gas pouring from the stove. And then my hands are free.

  Snatching the knife from her, I spin her around, set the blade against the rope. I slice hard, and it falls away. “Open the door!” I shout.

  Vaguely, I’m aware of her running to the door. I go to Tyler. His face is the color of paste. Eyes partially open, unseeing. There’s too much blood. Bending, I grab him beneath his arms. He’s heavy, but my adrenaline is pumping, and I drag him to the door.

  “Open it!” I shout.

  “It won’t open!” she screams.

  I lurch to the door, twist the knob. Panic stabs me when it doesn’t budge. Only then do I realize it’s been jammed from the outside.

  “Back door!” I say. “Help me.”

  Black smoke billows. To my left, flames devour the wall, a beast consuming everything in its path. Els and I grab Tyler’s wrists and drag him toward the back door. He’s dead weight, feet dragging, head lolling.

  When we’re a few feet away, Els rushes forward and yanks it open. Cold, clean air pours in. She goes through, onto the deck outside. Gripping Tyler’s wrists, I haul him through the door. I’ve just stepped onto the deck when a tremendous roar shakes the trailer. The concussion slams against my back like a hot, cast-iron skillet. I pitch forward, lose my grip on Tyler, and tumble into space.

  The fall knocks the breath from my lungs. I get to my hands and knees, see Tyler lying a few feet away. “Els!”

  “I’m here!” She crawls toward Tyler.

  Ten feet away, a window shatters. Flames shoot twenty feet into the air as the trailer burns unchecked. Taking Tyler’s hands, we drag him to a safe distance. Only then do I reach for my cell and call the Mercer County Sheriff.

  “Send an ambulance,” I tell them. “I’ve got a gunshot victim. The shooter is Leanard Stahl. He’s armed and dangerous.”

  Ending the call, I drop the cell into my pocket. Ten feet away, Els is sitting on the ground, holding Tyler’s hand, her head bowed in prayer. I go to them, sit down beside her, and I take her other hand.

  “Ambulance is on the way,” I tell her.

  “Tyler’s going to be okay,” she tells me.

  “I know.” I put my arm around her shoulders. “I know.”

  * * *

  Sometimes it’s the mundane cases that turn out to be unexpectedly perilous. The kind in which some unsuspecting cop misjudges the potential for danger and walks into it with her eyes closed. That was certainly the case with Els Tsechetter and our fateful trip to Coldwater. In retrospect, all I can do is chalk it up to experience with the hope that it will make me a better cop.

  Ten days have passed since Els and I dragged Tyler Fournier from that burning mobile home. He survived the ordeal, despite a serious gunshot wound, and was released from the hospital four days ago.

  According to Chief Deputy Light, Leanard Stahl was pulled over and arrested without incident by an Ohio State Police trooper a few hours after the shooting. He was booked into the Mercer County jail on a multitude of charges, including the attempted murder of a public
official.

  Chief Deputy Light transported us to the ER at the community hospital. Tomasetti showed up a short time later. He did his best not to look too worried. But he held me for a beat too long, and he stayed with me while my head was stitched and a CAT scan ruled out the possibility of a concussion. He wasn’t happy that I’d ended up in the ER once again, though he couldn’t tell me what I should have done differently. In the end we decided that hindsight is 20-20, and we left it at that.

  This afternoon, I’m sitting at my desk at the police station, listening to the radio Lois has turned up a little too loudly.

  “Chief?” Lois appears in the doorway of my office. “You’ve got visitors.”

  I’m about to ask who it is when Els Tsechetter and Tyler Fournier come up beside her. Both are grinning like fools and I find myself smiling back. “Thanks, Lois.”

  Rising, I motion to the visitor chairs adjacent my desk. “Come in and have a seat.”

  Tyler Fournier moves with the slowness of a man twice his age. He’s lost a few pounds since I last saw him. But his color is good and the smile on his face tells me he’s on the mend.

  “Good to see you getting around so well,” I tell him.

  “I have a good nurse.” He grins at Els.

  Letting go of his hand, she crosses the short space between us, and encases me in a hug. “I just want to thank you, Chief Burkholder.” She pushes me to arm’s length and blinks back tears. “For saving Tyler’s life. For giving me back mine. Thank you.”

  I bank an un - chief - of - police - like rise of emotion. “You know I was just doing my job.”

  She laughs. “That’s a likely story.”

  Indeed.

  “What brings you to Painters Mill?” I ask.

  Els and Tyler exchange a look. “I wanted Tyler to see Behalt,” she tells me. “I want to thank the director.”

  “He’ll appreciate that.” I turn my attention to Tyler. “You’ll enjoy it.”

  “I’m leaving the colony,” Els blurts.