An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(36)
Sighing, he obeys. “I don’t have anything on me.”
“We’ll see.” I don’t expect to find any weapons; I don’t expect any problems from him at all. But I go through the motions, mainly to let him know the police showing up isn’t some joke to be laughed at.
“You can turn around,” I tell him.
Turning to me, he leans against the fender, and folds his arms in front of him, petulant.
“You know I could haul both of you to jail right now.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Frowning, he looks down at the ground and shakes his head. “I don’t know what else to say, Chief Burkholder. We didn’t do anything wrong and we sure don’t want any trouble.”
“Two days ago, you and Vernon Fisher were archenemies and arguing over a truck. Now you’re drinking buddies? Wrestling partners?”
“Look, he’s a jerk. We had a legitimate disagreement … I mean, before—” He cuts off the sentence without finishing. “After what happened to Aden … I just didn’t want to deal with it so I gave him his damn money back.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I ask, “If you made things right, why were you fighting?”
“Just because we worked out a problem doesn’t mean we like each other.”
It’s a plausible story. I have no way of knowing if he’s telling the truth or lying through his teeth or if reality falls somewhere in between. But I’ve been around long enough to know I’m not getting the whole story.
“Does any of this have to do with Aden Karn?” I ask.
“This isn’t about Aden.”
“What about Emily Byler?” I say, fishing.
“What about her?”
“Fisher had a thing for her and now Aden’s dead.”
He tosses me an irritated frown. “I got nothing else to say.”
“I’ve been talking to a lot of people about Aden. I keep hearing he was a good guy. Kept his nose clean. The only ongoing disagreement he had was about the truck. And Emily.” I motion toward Fisher. “And now I catch you and Fisher in a physical altercation. What am I supposed to think?”
Temper darkens his face. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“The whole truth would be a good start.”
“I loved Aden like a brother.” For the first time, emotion resonates in his voice. “Not a minute goes by that I’m not thinking about him. Or wishing he was still around.” Even as his voice breaks his hands clench into fists, his anger focused on me, as if I’m responsible for the pain.
He’s on the edge, so I give him another push. “I’m getting the runaround and I don’t like it.”
“You want the truth?” His mouth pulls into a snarl. “Maybe you ought to do your damn homework.”
“Why don’t you get me started? Point me in the right direction?”
“If you want the truth so badly, maybe you ought to get the hell off my back and go talk to Emily Byler’s ex.”
My interest surges. I’d asked about the existence of an ex-boyfriend, but no one had mentioned it and not once did a name come up. “Who is he?”
“Try Gideon Troyer on for size.”
I almost can’t believe my ears. Gideon Troyer is the grandson of the bishop, a larger-than-life man who’s presided over the church district since I was a kid. In the backwaters of my mind, I recall Clara Byler’s reaction when I’d asked about a past boyfriend and for the first time her discomfiture—and her silence—makes sense.
“Emily was involved with Gideon before Aden?” I ask.
“How’s that for an inconvenient truth?”
I search my memory for what I know about Gideon. He still lives in the area. I’ve pulled him over once or twice … I pin Wayne with a look. “He’s quite a bit older than Emily, isn’t he?”
Wayne hefts a bitter laugh. “No one wants to talk about that, either, do they?”
“Were there problems between Aden and Gideon?”
“You mean aside from Gideon being a jealous son of a bitch?” His eyes harden on mine. “And yet here you are hassling me and that dumbshit Fisher.”
Ignoring the jab, I pull out my notebook and write down the name, underscore the words jealous and age. “Why didn’t you mention this last time we talked?” Even as I ask the question, I already know the answer.
“That’s a stupid question coming from a formerly Amish woman.” Another bitter smile twists his mouth. “You know as well as I do that there’s not a soul in the district willing to break that Amish code of silence, especially when the guy’s name is Troyer.”
CHAPTER 12
When you live in a town the size of Painters Mill, especially if you’re a cop, you know or know of just about everyone. I’ve known Gideon Troyer since I was a kid simply because I was Amish and he is Bishop Troyer’s grandson. I never knew him well; he’s quite a bit younger and male to boot, so our paths never crossed. As chief, I know he leads a quiet life and has never been in trouble with the law.
After arriving home last night, I spent an hour or so combing through the ever-growing file I’ve amassed on the murder of Aden Karn, trying to connect the dots, and failing miserably. I ran Gideon Troyer through the pertinent databases only to determine I was right about him. He doesn’t have a record. Never been arrested. Not even a traffic citation. The only information I could come up with was his age and address. Striking out there, I turned to social media. Most people assume the Amish don’t have online social lives. For the vast majority, that is correct. But during rumspringa, or if a guileful adult has access to a computer or cell phone for his business, some find a way. Keeping all of that in mind, I spend a couple of hours scrolling through page after page of more-than-I-ever-wanted-to-know brain rot.