An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(61)

I look down at the cup of coffee in front of me that’s long since gone cold. I didn’t want to leave without finding something—anything—that might move the investigations forward.

Shoving the mug aside, I pick up my notes from the day Glock and I interviewed June Rossberger. The words are blurred.

No ties to Painters Mill

Fired from job

Possibly still working the street

Not answering cell—calls or text—responds to texts

No boyfriend

No close friends/associates

No known enemies

Vehicle missing—red Altima—BOLO!!

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was one of her men.”

“Only dates safe guys.”

I drop the papers with enough flourish to draw the attention of both men.

“Paige Rossberger’s mother told me her daughter only dated ‘safe’ guys,” I say.

Rasmussen sighs. “I’m just not buying into the Amish-kid-calls-hooker theory.”

“It’s viable,” Tomasetti puts in.

“Paige Rossberger was careful about who she hooked up with.” I look from man to man. “She would have considered Karn safe. He was Amish. A twenty-one-year-old farm kid. He called her for a date. And she came.”

“Loose connection.” But some of Rasmussen’s skepticism falls away. “If you want to run with that theory, you’re going to have to back it up with something.”

I don’t have anything solid, but I run with it if only to see where it goes, if there’s something there besides a brick wall. “According to his roommate, Karn’s girlfriend refused to have sex with him until after they were married. But Karn liked women, liked sex, didn’t want to wait. Let’s say he made contact with Rossberger.”

“He didn’t own a car,” Rasmussen points out.

“She did,” I counter. “The red Altima, by the way, which is still missing. Let’s say she drove from Massillon to Painters Mill and they met up.” I remind them of the sex toys I found in Karn’s closet. “According to Wayne Graber, Karn was sexually active with other women, even though he was engaged. So, it’s feasible that they met up.”

“Scenarios?” says Tomasetti.

Rasmussen goes first. “Where did they meet?”

“Karn’s place,” I say. “Wayne Graber told me Karn had brought women there on occasion.”

“Would be easy to check registration with the Willowdell Motel, too,” Tomasetti puts in.

I make a note to follow up. “I’ll do it.”

“Sex toys and hookers is kind of risqué for an Amish kid, isn’t it?” Rasmussen mutters.

“Fits with the profile we’ve built on Karn.” Tomasetti keeps pushing forward. “When did they meet up?”

I flip the page of the legal pad. “I’ll see if I can get my hands on Karn’s work schedule. Talk to his roommate and see if I can come up with a timeline of when he might’ve been free. Compare all of that to the time of death from the coroner.”

The meeting has become an open brainstorming session. Verbal free association. No direction or self-censoring. It’s a technique used to unearth new ideas or take an investigation in a different direction. Put forth theories no matter how unlikely. Discard what you don’t use. Dig into what’s worth digging into.

Tomasetti picks it up from there. “Rossberger was killed first. She was sexually assaulted. Strangled. Asphyxiated.”

“This is where the theory falls apart.” Rasmussen takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “It’s a fucking leap. Karn doesn’t even have a record.”

I remind him of my conversation with Christina Weaver. “She’s credible, Mike. I couldn’t get the whole story from her, but the incident was extremely violent. Her mother had to take her to the doctor. That’s all they would say.”

The sheriff digests the information, his mouth looking as though he’s bitten into something rancid. “Jesus.”

“I think Mr. All-American Boy had a dark side,” Tomasetti says. “He meets up with Rossberger. Takes her somewhere private, rapes and murders her. Wraps her body in plastic and dumps it.”

The sheriff throws up his hands. “Okay, so we add a dead guy to our suspect list?”

Tomasetti laughs, but it’s a cynical sound. “And of course, it leaves us with a big, fat glaring question.”

“Who killed Karn?” I mutter.

“I think the pimp or boyfriend angle might work,” Rasmussen says.

I plow ahead. “Let’s say the boyfriend followed her. Realized she had sex with another guy. He stalked her. Accosted her. Murdered her. Dumped her body. The next day, he takes care of Karn.”

“Again, all of that would have required some degree of privacy,” Rasmussen points out.

Tomasetti steps in. “There are several deserted properties in the area. Abandoned barns. Plenty of woods.”

“What about security cams?” I ask. “Game cams? Any businesses or homes we can check?”

“I’ll get some deputies on it first light.” Rasmussen punches something into his cell. “We get anything on Rossberger’s cell phone?”

“We expedited a warrant to the provider,” Tomasetti tells him. “We’re still waiting. I’ll light a fire first thing in the morning.”