An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(64)
“You just settle yourself down.” The Amish woman turns to me, her expression angry but controlled. “We buried her beau yesterday, Chief Burkholder. I think she’s had enough questions for one day.”
I hold her gaze for an instant, then turn my attention back to Emily. “If you want to talk, call me anytime. Day or night. I’ll listen.”
Without waiting for a reply, I go through the door.
* * *
Wayne Graber gets off work at five, so I wait until early evening to talk to him. I find his car parked beneath the carport. As I crunch across the gravel, a flock of crows caw from the cornfield beyond.
“Chief Burkholder?”
I look toward the door beneath the garage portico to see Graber coming through, a beer in hand, his hair damp from a shower. “Is everything all right?” he asks.
“Everything’s fine.” I reach him and we shake hands.
“You’re working late again,” he says.
“I didn’t want to bother you at work.” An awkward silence and then I add, “I have a couple of follow-up questions if you have a moment.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
I pull out the photo of the vehicle. “I’m wondering if you’ve ever seen this vehicle.”
He leans closer to the photo, seems to examine it carefully. “Looks like a 2012 or thereabouts.”
“Twenty thirteen,” I tell him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”
“What about here at the house?” I ask.
“Jeez, I don’t think so.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Whose is it?”
Instead of answering, I pull out the photos of Paige Rossberger. “What about this woman? Have you ever seen her? Spoken to her?”
He stiffens at the sight of the photo. “That’s the girl who was killed.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you keep asking me about her? What does she have to do with Aden?”
“We believe there may be a link.”
“What kind of link?”
I say nothing.
He tightens his mouth. “You’re not going to try and pin what happened to her on Aden, are you?”
“We’re not trying to pin anything on anyone. I just want to know if she was ever here. If her car was ever here.” I shove the picture closer to him, urging him to take a more careful look. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” This time, he doesn’t look at the photo. “Trying to lay some random girl’s murder on Aden is a shitty thing to do. Just because you can’t figure out—”
“That random girl was twenty-six years old,” I snap. “She had a family. A life. People who loved her.”
He looks away, unapologetic, says nothing.
Taking my time, I put the photo back in my pocket. “In the last week before his death, was there a night when Aden didn’t come home? Or a time when you couldn’t reach him?”
“He didn’t have a phone, so it’s not like we texted or anything like that.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think he spent a night out. I really don’t.”
“When’s the last time he had a female visitor here at the house?”
“Last one…” He looks up as if trying to recall. “A couple of weeks ago? I don’t know. I didn’t even meet her. I just remember seeing her walk from his room to the bathroom when I was getting ready to go to work.”
“You sure you’re not trying to cover for your friend?”
He frowns. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
I stare at him until he looks away. In the periphery of my thoughts, I’m aware of the crows cawing in the cornfield. Time ticking away. That I’ve reached one more dead end.
“Sooner or later, I’m going to find out who killed Aden Karn,” I say. “I’m going to find out who killed Paige Rossberger, too. And I’m going to figure out how all of this fits together.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because when I do, you had better hope that every word that came out of your mouth is the truth because if it isn’t, I’m going to come for you, too. Do you understand?”
Shaking his head, he sighs. “I got it.”
“Have a nice day,” I tell him, and I walk away.
CHAPTER 22
I wake with a start from a hazy and disturbing dream. My heart beats a hard tattoo against my ribs. From the dream? Or something else? Beside me, Tomasetti breathes softly. Rolling, I reach for my cell on the night table, check the time. Three sixteen A.M. I’ve been asleep for two hours. I lie in the warmth of the bed, listening, trying to pinpoint what woke me. I’m aware of the patter of rain against the window. The distant rumble of thunder. I’m about to doze off when the sound of pounding sends me bolt upright.
Next to me Tomasetti sits up and we look at each other. “You expecting someone?” he asks.
“Not this early.”
He rolls from bed, slides open the nightstand drawer, and snatches up his Kimber. I get up, yank my sweatpants off the back of the chair, and snag my .38 off the night table.
Tomasetti is already down the hall, his silhouette moving silently into the living room. It’s too dark to see much. I’m ten feet behind him when I spot the light slanting through the window near the front door.