“Was he driving a car or buggy?”
“Car.”
I recall being told Aden didn’t have a car. “Do you know what kind of car?”
“It was green, I think.”
I make a note. “What happened when you went with him?”
“He took me to the ice cream place and we got cones. Kept me laughing the whole time. Sweet like, you know? Then we were on our way to his house to get some tools. He said he’d fix the wheel for me.
“Only he didn’t take me to his house. He drove out to Layland Road and stopped the car.” She falls silent and stares at me, her mouth open, her lips quivering.
Layland Road is a desolate dirt road that parallels Painters Creek and a cornfield. It’s a favorite location for lovers to park or for underage drinkers to congregate. Pickles claims half the population of Painters Mill was conceived on Layland Road.
“He started … acting weird,” she whispers. “It was like he turned into someone else who wasn’t very nice. I didn’t know what to do. So, I got out and started walking. He came after me, so I ran into the cornfield. I was going to cut through and get back to the main road. But he caught me.”
Up until now, I’ve not heard a negative word about Aden Karn, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if this girl is fabricating a story to excuse what she did with the marker. I wonder if she’s confused or has a bone to pick with Karn. But I know a liar when I see one and this girl isn’t making up stories. In the back of my mind, my conversation with Emily Byler begins to churn.
He was good that way. Good to me. He was always good, you see. Always.
“And then it’s like … he wasn’t Aden anymore,” the girl whispers. “He was … somebody else. Something else. Something bad.”
Her face crumples and she lets out a wail. The words that follow pour out of her like poison from a festering wound, putrid and stinking. I listen, unable to move or look away, and cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
When she’s finished and it’s my turn to ask questions and seek clarification, I can’t speak. I can only stare because I don’t trust my voice. I don’t want these women to know I am so affected by what I’ve heard.
“He forced you?” I ask. “Sexually assaulted you?”
Crying, the girl looks at her mother. “Mamm … I can’t.”
The Amish woman takes her daughter’s hand and holds it tightly. “She came home covered with dirt and mud. It was in her hair. All over her clothes. She was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what to think, and she wouldn’t say. She didn’t say a word to anyone for five days, Chief Burkholder. She didn’t eat or leave her room. It was only when I did laundry that I found the blood on her clothes. Her underpants. And I knew.”
The mother makes a sound that’s part sob, part gasp. She quickly gets her emotions back under control. “We’re supposed to forgive. And I know that boy isn’t here to ask for forgiveness himself. But let me tell you something, Kate Burkholder. Aden Karn didn’t have a soul. Or a conscience. I had to take this poor child to the doctor. Get her fixed up. Her mind will never be the same. That’s all I’m going to say. That’s enough, dragging her through all of this again.”
I look at the girl and I see a thousand years of misery condensed into the span of minutes, a dark mix of horror and shame and grief reflected back at me. I feel those same emotions inside me, behind the door where I keep them locked down tight.
The woman shakes her head. “He took things from her that can’t be gotten back, Chief Burkholder. It’s taken six months for her to be able to go outside. Can’t even sell her bait anymore.” Her look turns pained. “The only time I heard her laugh since that day is when she found out he was dead.”
The girl turns sideways and curls into her mother and actually shields her face from me with her hand.
Naomi pats her daughter’s hand. “Everyone thought Aden Karn was a good man, but did they really know him?” She scoffs. “Let me tell you about Aden Karn. The devil whispered his name and Aden Karn took his hand and he went.”
* * *
I sit at my desk for a long time after Naomi and Christina leave, trying to pull the pieces of myself back together—and make sense of a case that’s gone in a direction I didn’t expect. Until now, I’d believed Aden Karn was a wholesome, well-adjusted, well-liked young Amish man who’d been the victim of a senseless crime. He personified everything I love about the Amish. I’d put him on a pedestal. And now, even though he’s three days dead, I feel as if he’s sunk a knife into my back.
Were the signs there? If so, how did I miss them? Am I so biased that I simply didn’t want to see? Did I believe in Aden Karn so steadfastly because I was once Amish and I feel more than I should for the community as a whole? The questions sting with enough force to make me question everything I’ve come to believe about the case.
I think of the brutality and violence of Karn’s murder, and I wonder if this is the missing link I’ve been looking for all along. Did someone find out what Karn had done to Christina and seek retribution? If so, who? A father? Lover? Another family member?
Is she the only one?
I pick up the phone and speed-dial Mona.
She picks up on the first ring. “Yeah, Chief?”
“I want you to get me everything you can find on Christina Weaver. Sixteen-year-old female. Amish. See what you can find on her parents and siblings, too. Check for warrants.” I give her the names I have. “Check social media, too.”
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” she asks.
“Names, mostly. Father. Uncles. Brothers. Known associates.” I kick myself for having not asked some of those questions when she was here, but I was so shocked by what she had to say …
“See if you can find out if she has a boyfriend or if she has any male friends. Find out if she’s working. If she has a male boss.”
“Got it.”
“Keep this under your hat, Mona, but I think Aden Karn may have been a sexual predator.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “You’re probably not going to find much since they’re Amish, but hang with it. See what’s out there. I’ll see what I can do on my end, too.”
CHAPTER 15
Elma Glick loved her in-line skates more than anything in the world. They were her Ferrari. Her jet airplane. The rocket ship that took her to exotic places that would otherwise be out of reach. Datt didn’t approve, of course, but then he didn’t approve of a lot of things, especially if it was a new idea. The Amish never approved of fads. Mamm wasn’t crazy about the skates, either. But when she needed groceries and didn’t have time to hook up the buggy horse and run into town to get them, it was Elma and her skates to the rescue.
“Just milk and cereal and a loaf of bread if it’s fresh,” Mamm had told her. “Just to tide us over till I can get to the grocery day after tomorrow.”
Elma didn’t mind. In fact, she thanked her lucky stars because she enjoyed getting out of the house this time of day, when the sun was sinking and the air was cool. When she skated, she could fly, and she wouldn’t trade these forbidden excursions for the world.