An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(22)

I’m aware of Skid getting out of his cruiser, hanging back a few feet, watching the exchange.

“Mr. Graber, did Aden have any enemies that you know of?” I ask. “Was he involved in any disputes or have problems with anyone?”

“No, ma’am. He was a laid-back dude. Funny. Everyone liked him. They really did. They—” He stops talking and swings his gaze to mine. “Wait a minute. Vernon Fisher and his clan of losers. Aden and me … we sold him a truck. Fisher ran the shit out of it and blew the engine. Then he accused us of selling him a lemon and refused to pay. So Aden and I went over there one night and we repossessed it.” He relays a story similar to the one I heard from Vernon Fisher except from a contrasting perspective.

“If the truck wasn’t running, how did you get it home?” I ask.

“Tug strap and a big V-8.”

“Did Fisher threaten Aden?”

“Threatened to beat his ass. I mean, Fisher was pretty hot about the truck. You know, after we repoed it. Dude wanted his down payment back.”

I wait, but he doesn’t continue, so I press. “What else?”

He looks away and shakes his head. “Look, I’m not going to say anything bad about Aden. He was a good guy. Period. But to tell you the truth, Chief Burkholder, I think he should have considered giving Fisher his money back. I mean, we had the truck. We rebuilt the engine. Got it running. And we had it resold to someone else in a week.”

“How upset was Fisher?”

“He was pretty pissed off.”

“Do you think Fisher is capable of violence?” I ask.

He tightens his mouth as if reluctant to say. “He’s an asshole. He’s a mean drunk. Saw him get into it a few times over the years.”

“With who?”

“Just those clowns he hangs out with. I saw him get in a fight once at the Brass Rail, too. He’s a dirty fighter.”

I write all of it down. “Can you tell me how you spent your morning this morning?”

“Me?” His face darkens. “You think I…” He cuts the words short, looks down, shakes his head. “Maybe you ought to be asking Vernon Fisher that,” he snaps.

“Everyone gets asked,” I tell him. “Including you.”

He raises his head, looks from me to Skid and back to me. “I went to work, like always. You can check with anyone there. Left the house around six thirty or so and drove straight there. Clocked in at seven.”

“Did Aden have a cell phone?” I ask.

“No, but he was going to get one,” he tells me.

“How long had he been on rumspringa?” I ask.

He recognizes my pronunciation and looks at me a little more closely. “You’re the cop used to be Amish.”

I nod.

After a moment, he shrugs. “Aden started running around three or four months ago. I mean, he was twenty-one. Past time to have a little fun if you ask me. But talk about a fish out of water. Early on, the guy didn’t even know how to drink. You know how it is when you’re Amish. You go from living a godly life to hanging with the devil. I reckon I corrupted him.” He laughs, but there’s a shudder in his voice, as if his emotions are still too close to the surface. “He liked the freedom and all, but I figured he was going to get baptized pretty quick. He was seeing that Byler girl.”

“Emily Byler?”

He nods. “Aden was pretty smitten with her.”

“Do they get along?” I ask.

“They were tight. Everyone figured they were going to get married.”

“Did Aden see any other women?”

He looks away, shoves his hands into his pockets, and shrugs.

“Wayne?”

He sighs. “He might’ve … you know, seen one or two over the last few months. English girls, you know.” A ruddy hue climbs into his cheeks. “Look, he’s a guy. He’d just discovered his freedom. He liked women, if you know what I mean.”

“Any angry boyfriends?” I ask. “Or husbands?”

“No, ma’am, nothing like that. I mean, he’s pretty discreet about stuff like that. Especially since he was Amish and … you know, seeing Emily and all.”

“Do you have any of their names?” I ask. “The women he was with?”

“No, ma’am.”

I shove the notebook into my pocket. “Do you mind if we take a quick look around?”

His eyes skate from mine to Skid and back to me. “If you think it’ll help…”

He seems surprised by the request, so I add, “With your permission to search, I can forgo getting a warrant. That’ll save us some time. The sooner we can find the person responsible and get him off the street, the better for everyone involved.”

“Sure, just … do whatever you need to do. I’ll let you in.”

I make eye contact with Skid, then gesture toward the workshop. He nods and starts that way.

I follow Graber to the house, wait in the garage portico while he unlocks the door. “Sorry about the mess,” he mutters as we go inside. “Neither one of us is a very good housekeeper.”

The house is the epitome of a bachelor pad. There’s a ratty sofa, the arm damaged from cat scratching. A thin layer of dust on a 1980s coffee table. A pair of sneakers tossed on the floor.