“We’re still trying to put all of it together.” I pause. “What’s your relationship to Aden?” I’ve been told the two men are best friends and roommates, but I ask anyway, feeling him out. Always a good idea to confirm hearsay.
“He’s my best friend.” He gestures to the house, looking helpless, lets his hand fall to his side. “We live here. I just saw him this morning.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell him.
“Yeah. Shit.” He looks past me toward the house as if expecting his friend to appear and prove all of this is just some perverse joke.
I give him a moment to regain his composure, then motion toward the Nova. “Where are you coming from?”
He looks down at the ground and shakes his head, as if still trying to absorb what he’s been told. “Work. I get off at five. I stopped by the Brass Rail for a beer. Then I get that frickin’ phone call from Lester and I rushed over here thinking it was some kind of mistake.”
The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway draws my attention. I look up to see Skid’s cruiser pull up behind the Nova.
“When did you last see Aden?” I ask.
He slants a glance toward the cruiser, then turns his attention back to me. “Like I said. This morning. Before work.” His voice breaks, and he falls silent.
I pull out my notebook. “What time was that?”
“Six thirty or so. We were both rushing around, getting dressed.” He closes his eyes a moment, chokes out a one-syllable laugh. “Hungover.”
“Where did Aden work?”
“Buckeye Construction,” he says. “Been with them about a year now. He’s good with his hands. Likes to build stuff.”
“Did he drive at all?”
“He rides his bike just about everywhere. Some dude he works with picks him up every morning.” His face goes taut as if he’s struggling with another round of emotion. He gestures toward the workshop. “Aden just bought his first car. A couple of weeks ago. It’s a junker, but it’s got a big engine. He was excited, you know? We’ve been working on it.” He motions toward the workshop. “Gonna be badass when we’re finished.”
He closes his eyes as if trying to stanch tears. “Shit.”
“Do you know the name of the guy who picks him up?” I ask.
“Jeez, Aden mentioned him a couple times. Works at Buckeye, too. Kevin … something.” His brows knit. “Waddell. Kevin Waddell. That’s it.”
I write it down. “Where do they meet?”
“Jesus.” Turning away, he walks over to the Nova, sets his hands on the hood, and shakes his head as if he’s trying to wake from a bad dream. “A few miles north of here. They meet in the parking lot of that old Lutheran church off Township Road 34.”
I know the church and the area. It’s not terribly far from the property owned by Vernon Fisher.…
I look at Graber. He seems genuinely upset. I’ve got pretty good instincts when it comes to people. If someone is lying or being disingenuous, I can usually spot it. Shock is particularly difficult to fake. Grief even more so. That said, I’ve seen killers genuinely mourn the person they murdered.
“What happened to him?” Graber asks the question without looking at me. “Someone hit him or what?”
“The coroner hasn’t made an official ruling yet, but from all indications it looks as if he was shot.”
“Shot? With a gun?” Straightening, he turns to face me. “You mean like an accident?”
“We believe he may have been shot with a bolt from a crossbow or combination bow. We’re still trying to figure things out, but it was likely deliberate.”
“Oh my God. That’s … crazy. Why would—” Mouth pulled into a grimace, he slaps a hand down on the hood, angry and overcome. When he raises his eyes to mine, tears shimmer. “Who the hell did it?”
I hold his gaze, but he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. “We don’t know yet.”
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.”