“Graber is armed!” I shout. “Behind me!”
I jam my hand into my pocket, fumble the key fob. Tunnel vision on the Explorer. Shotgun in the rear. Two seconds to reach it.
Toing!
Heat tears into my side. A branding iron against my ribs. Intense pain knocks me sideways. Not going to make it to my vehicle, but Mona is armed. My only hope. I pivot left, enter the portico. She’s rushing toward me, hand over her weapon, eyes fixed on a point behind me.
“Crossbow!” I scream. “Shots fired!”
As if in slow motion, I see her draw her .38. I see her mouth moving, but I don’t hear her voice. I glance left, see Graber flip out another bolt. His face is a mask of rage. A predator in the throes of a kill.
Mona raises her weapon. “Halt!” she screams. “Stop!”
Toing!
I hear the zing of the bolt fly past. Graber slows, grabs another from his pack.
“He’s reloading!” I shout.
Mona has assumed a shooter’s stance. Good form. Feet spread. Finger inside the guard. Eyes on her target. In that instant, a thousand years seem to pass.
Frozen, I realize.
A curse flies as I sprint toward her. “Get down!”
I plow into Mona, fling my arms around her hips, shove her backward, toward cover. I take her to the ground. Then I’m on top of her, clamber to my knees. Keenly aware of Graber thirty feet away. No cover between us.
I snatch Mona’s .38 from her hands. Fumble it. I bring it up and fire blind. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.
Graber’s legs buckle. He goes down. The crossbow clatters to the ground next to him. Clutching his abdomen, he yowls like a panicked cat.
I scramble to my feet. Vaguely, I’m aware of Mona doing the same. “Radio,” I snap.
“Shots fired!” She chokes out the address. “Shots fired! Ten-thirty-nine!” Lights and siren. “Ten-fifty-two!” Ambulance needed.
Her voice falls away as I approach Graber. He’s lying on his back, legs kicking out, heels digging in to gravel. Hands spread over his abdomen, blood seeping between his fingers. I’m aware of sirens in the distance as I kick the crossbow aside. I’m shaking violently, my hands and legs. I see blood on his shirt, more on his thigh. The slow pound of dread in my gut because I didn’t want this to happen.
His eyes are open and he’s looking at me. Mouth moving, but no words coming.
“Do not move,” I hear myself say.
Groaning, he lifts his leg, bending it at the knee, dragging his heel through the gravel. “You fucking … shot me.”
“Be still.” I kneel, pull the handcuffs from my belt. “There’s an ambulance on the way.”
“Chief?”
I glance over my shoulder to see Mona approach. She’s pale and shaking. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I capture Graber’s wrist with one of the cuffs. “Give me a hand.”
He groans when we roll him over. I cuff his other hand and leave him on his side.
“Um … Chief.” Mona motions to my uniform shirt. “You’re bleeding like crazy.”
The amount of blood on my shirt shocks me. For the first time, I acknowledge the pain streaking down my side, the burn in my arm. “Got me twice, I think.” A quiver of uncertainty runs through me even as I say the words.
“Maybe you ought to lie down,” she says.
“I’m okay,” I say. When she only continues to look at me, her expression worried, I add, “I’m fine.”
She tilts her head to her shoulder mike. “Ten-seven-seven on the ten-five-two?” she says, asking for the ETA on the ambulance.
“Two minutes,” comes the dispatcher’s voice.
“I’m going to get my first aid kit.” Jumping to her feet, she jogs to her cruiser and goes to the trunk.
I look down at Graber. He stares back at me, his face pale, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. I’m not sure how many times I fired my weapon or how many times he was hit. A large amount of blood has soaked through his shirt.
“Ambulance is on the way,” I tell him.
He raises his head, grimaces, looks around. “I’m not a killer,” he rasps.
I say nothing.
“Karn wouldn’t have stopped,” he whispers. “He would have done it again. Dragged me down with him. I did what I had to do. It was the only way to keep him from hurting anyone else.”
“Tell it to the judge,” I say.
When I look back down at Graber, his eyes are closed.
* * *
It’s after one A.M. and I’m sitting in an interview room at the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department, trying not to relive the scene at Wayne Graber’s place. After the incident, because I was forced to use Mona’s weapon, she and I were separated, put into official vehicles, and interviewed first by the chief deputy with the sheriff’s office and, later, by an Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation special agent. Mona’s firearm was appropriated for processing. I made my official statement and for two hours I answered question after question after question. It wasn’t until the special agent I was speaking with noticed fresh blood coming through my uniform shirt that he offered to drive me to Pomerene Hospital. I spent a couple of hours in the ER for two bolt injuries. The one on my arm was taken care of with a butterfly bandage. The one that struck my rib required seven stitches to close. Lucky for me, it hit at an angle and bounced off the bone. A fraction of an inch in any direction and I likely would have spent the evening in surgery.
Wayne Graber was transported to Pomerene Hospital with two gunshot wounds. He’s listed in critical condition, but is—to my relief—expected to survive. The Holmes County Sheriff’s Department will be taking over the investigations into the homicides of Aden Karn and Paige Rossberger. BCI will be conducting the officer-involved critical-incident investigation. Both Mona and I have been placed on paid administrative leave until the investigation is complete.
This isn’t the first time I’ve resorted to the use of a firearm in the course of my job. I’m well versed on the protocol; I know what to expect in the coming days and weeks. That understanding does little to alleviate the emotional weight of having shot someone or the stress of being removed from my position as chief, if only temporarily. Though Graber was a direct threat and likely would have killed me and Mona if I hadn’t stopped him, I can’t help but wonder if there was another way. If I could have done something differently.
Sheriff Mike Rasmussen sits across from me, his expression grim. An Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation special agent sits at the head of the table, fingers pecking on the tablet in front of him. Because of our relationship and upcoming marriage, Tomasetti recused himself from the debriefing and for obvious reasons will not be involved in the case. I haven’t spoken to him since this morning, and I have desperately missed his solid presence through all of this.
Mona sits next to me, clutching a pen and staring down at the report form in front of her as if wishing she could take back every word. Despite the fierce expression and the I-got-this persona, she looks anxious, exhausted, and more demoralized than I’ve ever seen her.
“I think that’s about all we’re going to accomplish this evening, Chief Burkholder.” The special agent looks from me to Mona. “Officer Kurtz.”