Fallen

by Linda Castillo

  CHAPTER 36

  Day 6

  It’s just after eight A.M. when I walk out of the Butterhorn Bakery in downtown Painters Mill, a baker’s dozen of still-warm doughnuts tucked into a paper bag. I didn’t sleep last night after my conversation with Tomasetti and the ensuing research marathon. I couldn’t turn off my brain. Couldn’t stop thinking about Rachael Schwartz and Fannie Bontrager and all the ugly implications of a theory I’m still not sure of.

  I wasn’t surprised to discover several academic studies on “sensation seeking in children.” One of the articles I read used phrases like “novelty seeking” and “desire to engage in activities involving speed or risk” and “behavioral difficulties.” A second study used the term “heritable trait,” and I had my answer.

  I don’t like the idea of obtaining a DNA sample without a warrant. It’s not illegal in the state of Ohio, but as Tomasetti pointed out, even if I’m able to prove that Fannie Bontrager is Rachael Schwartz’s daughter, I can’t use the information as evidence. The one thing it will do is establish a motive for Ben and Loretta Bontrager, and set me on track to take a hard look at them.

  The warm cinnamon aroma of the doughnuts fills the interior of my rental car as I make the turn onto the township road and idle past the Bontrager farm. I look for garbage cans at the end of the lane, but like most Amish, the Bontragers burn their trash. No help whatsoever in terms of my gaining a DNA sample.

  Half a mile down the road, I make a U-turn and pull onto the shoulder. I don’t expect any problems with Ben or Loretta, but it’s always prudent to let a fellow officer know where you are no matter how benign the assignment.

  I call my on-duty officer, Skid. “Where are you?” I ask.

  “I just stopped Ron Zelinski’s kid,” he tells me. “Caught him doing ninety out on Township Road 89. Claims he was late for school.”

  That particular stretch is smooth, flat, and wide, which makes it a favorite spot for all sorts of illicit driving activities, everything from street racing to car surfing. Two years ago, a sixteen-year-old was thrown from a pickup truck and sustained a serious head injury.

  “Now he really is going to be late,” I say. “Don’t cut him any slack.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Kid’s a shit.”

  Like his dad, I think, but I don’t say it. “Look, I’m about to swing by the Bontrager place. I shouldn’t be there more than twenty minutes or so. I’ll call you when I finish up.”

  A beat of silence and then, “Something going on, Chief?”

  “Fishing expedition, mostly.” Because I’m not sure of any of my suspicions—because I’m dealing with the welfare of a minor child and the reputation of a well-thought-of family—I keep it vague. “I need to talk to them about the Schwartz case. There are a couple of things that don’t add up. I’m not sure I got the whole story from them.”

  “You want me to meet you out there?” he asks. “I can tie this up in two minutes.”

  “With their being Amish, I think they’ll be more apt to speak openly if I’m alone. I don’t expect things to go south—I just want you to know where I am.”

  “If I don’t hear from you in twenty, I’ll call out the posse.”

  “Roger that.”

  I pull onto the road and make the turn into the Bontrager lane. The horse I’d seen Fannie riding a few days ago grazes in the field to my right. I continue on past the house and park in the gravel area between the house and barn. The reek of manure drifts on the breeze as I take the sidewalk to the front porch. I’ve barely knocked when the door swings open.

  “Katie! Hello!” Loretta motions me in. “Kumma inseid.” Come inside.

  “I won’t take up too much of your time.” I hold up the bag of doughnuts. “I come bearing gifts.”

  “Oh, how nice.” She smiles. “The Butterhorn Bakery. Fannie’s favorite.” She laughs and touches her backside with her hand. “Mine, too, as if you can’t tell. What brings you to our neck of the woods this morning?”

  “I’m about to close the case and I wanted to tie up a couple of loose ends.”

  Her expression turns thoughtful. “This has been a dark time for all of us. I’m glad it’s over. I reckon you are, too.” She glances over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I’ve got bone broth on the stove. We can sit in the kitchen if you’d like.”

  I follow her through the living room, to a big typically Amish kitchen. Cabinets painted robin’s-egg blue. Formica countertops. The cast-iron woodstove throws off a little too much heat. A kerosene-powered refrigerator vibrates in the corner. Ahead, a doorway leads to the mudroom. There, I see the coat tree, laden with kapps and a man’s flat-brimmed hat.

  “Bone broth smells good.” I set the bag of doughnuts on the table and pull out the three paper plates and napkins I brought with me.

  “It’s my mamm’s recipe. An old one.” At the stove, she stirs the broth and replaces the lid. Mild surprise registers in her eyes when she sees that I’ve set out plates and napkins. “Well then, while Ben’s in the barn, maybe the three of us will just sneak a few of these doughnuts.

  “Fannie!” she calls out, and then to me, “Kaffi?”

  “Dank.” Using a napkin, I set doughnuts on the plates.

  Fannie appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a green dress. White kapp. Gray sneakers. I’m surprised to see the pediatric sling that secures her left arm in place across her chest.

  “Hi, Chief Burkholder,” she says with a smile.

  “That’s a nice-looking sling you’re wearing,” I say to the girl. “What happened?”

  Loretta pours coffee from a percolator, looks at us over her shoulder. “Snuck out of the house to ride that horse last night is what happened.” She clucks her mouth. “Going too fast, I imagine. Fell off down by the creek. Broke her clavicle.” She carries two cups to the table, sets one in front of me. “We knew she was going to get hurt sooner or later.”

  I look at Fannie. “You weren’t speeding, were you?”

  A not-so-guilty grin. “The rein broke and I couldn’t stop him.”

  “Sitz dich anne un havva faasnachtkuche.” Sit yourself down and have a doughnut.

  The girl pulls out a chair next to me and sits. Despite her injury, she goes directly for the doughnut and bites into it with relish.

  At the counter, Loretta pours milk into her coffee. “You’ll be lucky if your datt doesn’t sell that horse.”

  “He’s a good horse,” Fannie defends.

  Knowing I don’t have much time, I smile at Fannie and touch the side of my mouth with my finger, indicating to her she’s got a speck of doughnut on her lip.

  “Oh.” She scrubs the napkin across her mouth and raises her brows.

  “Let me.” I take her napkin, blot in a place where I’ll likely get spit. “There you go.”

  The girl grins, takes the napkin, and for an instant I can’t look away.

  Rachael Schwartz had strawberry-blond hair, eyes the color of a tropical sea, and a face so pretty it hurt to look at her because the world somehow never seemed to measure up. Fannie is brown haired and brown eyed. She’s plain, her face unremarkable. Except for that dazzle of light in her eyes …

  “Katie?”

  Loretta hands me a cup of coffee. She’s looking at me oddly. Fannie, too, and I realize one of them said something I didn’t hear.

  “Dank.”

  “Are you feeling all right?” Loretta asks.

  “Just a little sleep deprived,” I tell her.

  “Well, now that this horrible mess is over, maybe you can get some rest,” the Amish woman tells me.

  I glance toward the doorway to the mudroom, where the coat tree holding the kapps stares back at me. Most Amish women have at least two. One for every day and one for worship. From where I’m sitting, I can see that one of the kapps has a tiny bow at the back. A shadowy spot of teal paint on top. Fannie’s kapp. The one she wears every day that’s waiting to be washed—and likely laden with DNA. If I can’t get Fannie’s n
apkin into a baggie without being seen, I might be able to pocket the kapp.

  “All right, my girl.” Loretta brings her hands together. “Why don’t you run next door and see if Mrs. Yoder wants some of this nice broth, so Katie and I can talk.”

  “Can I have another doughnut?” The girl rises, scoots her chair back to the table.

  I look at the napkin on her plate. The one I used to blot her mouth. I’m aware of the baggie in my jacket pocket.

  “She eats like her datt.” Loretta shakes her head. “Go on now. Tell Mrs. Yoder I got plenty.”

  I rise to gather the paper plates.

  At the doorway, Fannie looks at me and smiles. “Bye, Katie.”

  I grin, look at her over my shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.”

  Aware that Loretta is at the stove, replacing the lid on the Dutch oven, I snatch up the girl’s napkin. Keeping my back to Loretta, I flick out the baggie, tuck the napkin into it.

  “Oh, I can take care of the throwaways, Katie. You just sit and enjoy your kaffi.”

  “No problem,” I say easily. “I’ve got it.”

  I’m sealing the baggie when I hear the creak of a floorboard. I look up to see Ben Bontrager standing in the doorway of the mudroom, looking at me.

  “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

  I hear Loretta’s voice behind me. The tap of her spoon against the Dutch oven where the bone brother simmers. I can’t stop looking at Ben. I don’t know how long he’s been there. If he saw what I did. If he understands what he saw.

  “I mainly just wanted to bring the doughnuts.” As nonchalantly as I can manage, I shove the baggie into my jacket pocket.

  I meet Ben’s stare, force a smile. “If you like doughnuts, you’re in luck.”

  “I like them just fine.”

  He steps into the kitchen. He’s been working. Leather gloves in his left hand. A shovel in his right hand. Mud on his boots. Bits of hay stuck to his trousers.

  “Now just look at all that mud you’ve tracked in,” Loretta says.

  Ben says nothing. Continues to stare at me. The hairs prickle at my nape. I’m aware of my police radio clipped to my shirt. My .38 pressing against my hip. “I’ve got to get back to work,” I say.

  The blow comes from behind. A clang! of steel above my ear. The force snaps my head sideways. A lightning strike of pain as my scalp splits open. Before I even realize I’m going to fall, my knees hit the floor.

  I shake myself, glance right, see Loretta swing the cast-iron lid lifter. I block the blow with my forearm. The steel zings against bone. Another explosion of pain. The length of cast iron clatters to the floor between us.

  I yank out the .38, bring it up. “Do not move! Get your hands up!”

  I get one foot under me, lurch to my feet when another blow smashes against the back of my head. My vision narrows and dims. I swivel, catch a glimpse of Ben. Shovel at the ready. Lips peeled back. Teeth clenched.

  I fire twice, the sound deafening in the confines of the kitchen. My timing is off, my balance skewed. I sway right. The shovel goes up again.

  “Drop it!” I shout.

  The steel spade crashes against my crown with the force of a freight train. Consciousness spirals down, water being sucked into a drain. The lights flicker. Then my cheek slams against the floor and the darkness welcomes me in.

  CHAPTER 37

  Spring 2009

  For the first time in her life, Rachael Schwartz mourned the loss of her faith. Tonight, the darkest of nights, she needed the comfort of knowing she wasn’t going to die alone and in agony, and that she wasn’t the last person left on earth.

  She should have been prepared. She’d known this moment would come. She and Loretta had discussed it. For months now, they’d planned everything down to the last detail. But Rachael had been in denial. She’d spent weeks ignoring the changes, hiding the weight gain and the swelling of her breasts. Not only from her parents, but from herself. She’d denied the cold, hard truth of what had happened.

  Of course, Fate didn’t give a good damn if she was ready or not.

  Pain screamed through her body. The power of it took her breath, frightened her. It shook her physically, emotionally. Rachael was no stranger to pain. She’d broken her arm when she was nine. Last year, she’d had her wisdom teeth pulled by the English dentist. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced.

  Rachael hadn’t told anyone. Not even her mamm. No one in the Amish community knew she was ime familye weg. She’d known they would judge her harshly. And so she’d weathered this storm alone.

  The pains had started after supper. At first, Rachael thought it was indigestion. By midnight she was pacing and upset and she knew it wasn’t going to go away. If she didn’t leave soon, everyone would know; her life would be over. And so after her parents went to bed, she’d sneaked from the house. She cut through the cornfield, fighting her way through mud, panting like an animal, bending and clutching her belly with every wave of pain. She called Loretta from the phone shack and asked her to meet her at the bridge, like they’d planned. By the time Rachael got there, she was hysterical and crying and certain this would be her last night on earth.

  Relief swamped her at the sight of her friend’s buggy.

  “Rachael!” Loretta rushed toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s time,” she cried.

  Loretta reached her, set her hand on her back. “You’re going to be all right. Come on. Let’s go.”

  She choked out a sob as another cramp ripped through her middle. She staggered right, leaned against the beam. A warm flood gushed between her legs, soaking her underthings and shoes. Horrified, Rachael looked down, watched it run down her legs, and splash onto the ground at her feet.

  She knew what it was; she’d read about all the things that would happen. But to see it was an out-of-body experience.

  “I don’t want to do this!” she cried.

  “It’s okay,” Loretta said. “It’s normal. But we don’t have much time.”

  Loretta put her arm around her. Rachael closed her eyes and let her friend guide her to the buggy. For the first time in hours, she didn’t feel alone. Still, she sobbed while her friend climbed onto the driver’s bench. She lost herself to the pain as they drove, the horse’s shod hooves clanking against the asphalt.

  The Willowdell Motel was a trashy old place that had been sitting on an unsightly slice of land for as long as Rachael could remember. For weeks now, she’d debated where she would go. She’d thought about the abandoned Hemmelgarn place down by Dogleg Road. The old barn out on Township Road 1442. At one point, she’d even considered going to the midwife in Coshocton. In the end, she’d decided on the motel, where there was a bed and towels and a shower.

  Lying in the back seat of the buggy, Rachael rode out another cramp while Loretta went inside and paid for a room. Rachael had given the money to her a week ago, after she’d made the decision to do it here.

  “Room 9.”

  Rachael looked up from her misery and watched her friend climb into the buggy. “Park in the back,” she said. “Where no one can see the buggy. Hurry.”

  The room was furnished with a single bed draped with a blue coverlet. A window covered with ill-fitting curtains squatted over a metal air conditioner that blew air reeking of mildew and rattled like a train. While Loretta tethered the horse, Rachael went inside, dropped her overnight bag on the chair next to the bed, and went to the bathroom.

  Fear and a terrible sense of disbelief roiled inside her as she stripped off her clothes. Bare feet on a broken tile floor. A smear of blood on her leg. A bright red drop of it on the tile next to her toes. Fear pulsing in a body that was no longer hers. A body she didn’t recognize or understand. Pain so frightening she could do nothing but sob as she stepped into the tub. She soaped up, not caring that her hair got wet. Twice she went to her knees. Not to pray, but to ease the pain.

  Still damp, she crawled into the bed, pulled the sheet and coverlet over he
r. She barely noticed when Loretta came in. But she saw the uncertainty on her friend’s face as she took the chair next to the bed. “I brought Tylenol.”

  Rachael knew it wouldn’t help. Nothing would help. She didn’t even care at this point. “Give them to me. Hurry.”

  Quickly, Loretta went to the bathroom and filled a plastic glass with tap water. Next to the bed, she tapped out four acetaminophen tablets and handed them to her.

  Rachael snatched them up, tossed all four into her mouth, and swallowed them with a gulp of water. She’d never been prone to tears; not like some girls. She was tougher than that. But at some point, she’d begun to cry again. The helpless, whimpering sobs of a dying animal.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” she cried.

  “Yes, you can. Women do it all the time.”

  Agony ripped at her insides, turning her inside out. Nausea seesawed in her gut and for a moment she thought she might throw up. “I have to…” Rachael bit down on the word, grinding her teeth. “Use the bathroom.”

  “No, you don’t,” Loretta said. “It’s just the baby telling you he’s ready to come into the world.”

  Rachael fisted the sheets, turning left and right, trying to find a position that would ease the pain. Angry now because nothing helped. “I don’t know how to do this! I don’t—” A wail squeezed from her throat. “I have to…”

  “Shhh! Quiet!”

  Rachael squeezed her eyes closed, brought the pillow to her face and screamed. “It hurts!”

  Straightening, Loretta rushed to the bathroom and returned with two face cloths. A damp one, which she placed on Rachael’s forehead. A dry one, which she rolled up and handed it to her. “Bite down on this when the pain is too much,” she whispered.

  Rachael grabbed her friend’s hand, squeezed it hard. Before she could say anything, the pain gripped her. Writhing, she fumbled with the cloth, jammed it into her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could. She rode the wave that way, biting down so hard she thought she might shatter her teeth.