Among the Wicked: A Kate Burkholder Novel (5 page)

“They can put someone in there with undercover experience. Have him pose as some schmuck who saw God and wants to join the church.”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t arouse suspicion,” I say dryly.

“Not if he’s good, and most of these guys are.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” I point out. “They came to me. Betancourt drove all the way from New York to ask for my help.”

“You can say no. You don’t owe them anything.”

“I know that. But Tomasetti, they’re right. I’m the best person for the job. I know the Amish. I know the culture. The language. The religion. I know the dress and traditions. I can get in there. I can blend and do what needs to be done. And get out.”

“Kate, what exactly do you hope to prove? What’s your goal here?”

“Did it cross your mind that maybe I care? That I want to help?”

“If you’re looking for a spot with BCI, I can put in a good word for you.”

“I was hoping we could discuss this like adults.”

“You should know by now I don’t make nice. I don’t play fair.”

“Stop trying to manipulate me. It’s not going to work. I have my own mind and I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I know that. But I’m saying what needs to be said. In case you haven’t noticed, I love you. I love our life together, what we’ve built. I don’t want you taking on a dangerous assignment.”

His words deflate the anger burgeoning inside me. For a moment, the only sound is the tinkle of snow against the kitchen window and the thrum of my own heart. I watch Tomasetti pull himself back, reel in his temper. Stepping away from me, he goes to the cabinet and pulls out two water glasses.

“I want to do it,” I hear myself say.

“Yeah, I got that.”

I scramble for the right words, but they elude me. “I don’t know how to make this easier for you.”

“Say no.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He offers an unhappy smile as he drops ice cubes into each glass. “So your mind is made up?”

“Yes.”

Setting the glasses on the counter, he turns to me, gives me his full attention. “Look, I don’t like the idea, but if you want to do it, I’ll respect your decision.”

“Thank you.”

Two steps and I go into his arms. I press my mouth against his. He dives into the kiss without hesitation, and not for the first time I’m astounded that he can still move me so profoundly.

“Maybe we ought to sleep on it,” he whispers.

I start to speak, but he silences me with a kiss.

CHAPTER 3

It’s nearly eight
A.M.
and I’m in my office at the station, my phone pressed to my ear, listening to a bad rendition of Journey’s “Wheel in the Sky.” From the reception area, I hear Mona arguing with a caller about a snow plow that blocked her driveway with snow. So far Mona’s winning the argument.

I didn’t get much sleep last night. Not because I didn’t make good with Tomasetti. I did. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the assignment. I couldn’t stop anticipating all the things that could go wrong or wondering if I have what it will take to pull it off. Maybe Tomasetti was right. Maybe I’d get up there and find myself in over my head. Then I thought of the dead fifteen-year-old Amish girl, the forty children at risk, and an Amish community that has fallen under suspicion, and I realized I didn’t have a choice. All I can do is my best. It’s all any of us can offer. I hope it’s enough.

I rose early and left while Tomasetti was in the shower. I called Betancourt on my way to the station. He must have driven through the night because he was back in New York and already at his office.

“How soon do you need someone up there?” I begin without preamble.

“How fast can you get here?”

“I have a few things I need to tie up.” In the back of my mind, I’m already thinking about how the mayor and town council will react to a request for leave. “If you could e-mail me an official request, I’ll present it to the mayor.”

“Whatever you need, Chief. We appreciate your agreeing to come up here and lend us a hand. I know it’s a sacrifice to be away from home and your family and your own jurisdiction.”

“What kind of time frame are we looking at?” I ask.

“It’s hard to say. It’s going to depend on how quickly you can get in there and figure out what’s going on. Could be a week or a month.” He chuckles. “Hell, might be that there’s
nothing
going on.”

Neither of us believe it.

“I’m going to need an identity,” I tell him. “Social Security number. Address. In Ohio, most of the Amish carry ID cards. Tomasetti or Bates can probably help me get one under an assumed name.”

“You’ll need a work history,” he says, thinking aloud, and I’m reminded of Tomasetti telling me that neither Betancourt nor Suggs have thought this thing through.…

“Might be better if I did domestic work in the past,” I tell him. “I cleaned houses for people. Got paid in cash.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Nothing to trace.”

“Amish names are pretty specific, too.”

“Ah … that’s a little out of my area of expertise. You got a name in mind?”

I think about it a moment. “I’ll go by Kate Miller. That’s a common Amish surname here in Ohio. Thirty-five years old. Born August nineteenth.” I rattle off the address of a recently abandoned house on the outskirts of Millersburg. “I rented a farmhouse outside of Millersburg.”

“Did you stay up all night thinking about this stuff?”

“Actually, I did.”

“A lot of lies to keep straight.”

“I’d better get used to it.” We laugh, but my nerves are zinging.

“The closer to the truth, the better,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Suggs and I will brief you when you get up here.”

“In the interim, I’ll e-mail you everything I’ll need in terms of my background and things I’ll need once I arrive.”

“Great.”

“I’m obviously going to need to rent a place while I’m there. As close as possible to the Amish community. If you could look into that.”

“Sure thing.”

“A lot of Amish homes don’t have electricity. I’d appreciate it if you could find me a place that at least has electricity. At the very least I’ll need to charge my phone.”

“Of course. I’ll get right on it.”

“I’ll be driving my official vehicle to New York. I’ll need a secure place that’s out of sight from the public to park it while I’m there. I’m sure it’s overkill, but I don’t want anyone to see Ohio plates parked at the sheriff’s department.”

“I thought of that, actually. We got an impound garage.”

“That’ll work.” I think about transportation and not for the first time I’m reminded of just how complicated the assignment is going to be. “The Amish use drivers when they need to travel long distances. Here in Ohio we call them Yoder Toters. If you can manage it, I’m going to need to make contact with someone who regularly drives the Amish.”

“Shit, Chief, I don’t know anything about the Amish there in Roaring Springs, but I’ll get with Suggs. I’m sure he’ll get us what we need.”

“I’ll have two firearms with me. I’m assuming that won’t be a problem.”

“We’ll get all the official paperwork handled when you arrive. Might be a few forms for you to sign.”

“In the meantime, I’ll continue working on my story. My background. My family situation. Why I’ve relocated to Roaring Springs at this point in my life. Why I’m not married.”

“Maybe you’re a widow? Husband killed in a buggy accident, or something?”

“I like the widow part, but my dearly departed husband probably shouldn’t have met his demise in any way that would have hit the newspapers. Chances are, no one will be checking out my story, but if they do, it has to be something believable and untraceable. An illness would be better. Cancer or something.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’ll figure out the details before I get there, put everything on paper for you and Sheriff Suggs.”

We fall silent, everything that’s been said ringing over the line. “Do the Amish in that part of New York have a newspaper of any sort?” I ask after a moment.

“As a matter of fact, they do.
The Bridge
is printed every other week right in Roaring Springs.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d pick up a copy for me.”

“No problem.”

“I’m going to get things rolling here,” I tell him. “Hopefully, I’ll be there in a day or two.”

“I’ll call Suggs and let him know. He’ll be glad to hear it. In the meantime, Chief Burkholder, if there’s anything you need to get things moving, give me a call and I’ll make it happen.”

I thank him, but in the back of my mind, I know the most difficult part of the assignment has yet to begin, and it has nothing to do with Agent Betancourt.

*   *   *

An hour later, I’m in the City Building sitting across from Mayor Auggie Brock. He’s a portly man with hound dog jowls and the smile of a born politician. This morning, he looks as if he just lost the election.

“How long are you going to be gone?” he asks.

“I’m not sure, Auggie. I basically have to get inside this community, make contact with the right people, and try to find out what—if anything—is going on.” I shrug. “It could take a week, or a month.”

I cringe inwardly at the thought of the assignment taking that long. Even as I sit here across from the mayor, laying out the digest version of the case, it’s Tomasetti I’m thinking of, not the mayor or the town council or even my position as chief.

He sits back in his chair, looking at me as if I’ve somehow betrayed him. “A
month
? Seriously? Who’s going to run your department while you’re away?” he asks in exasperation.

“Glock is more than qualified. He’s got the experience. The team respects him. He can handle it.”

He picks up the letter from Betancourt and reads it for a third time, his eyes darting left to right, his mouth twisted into a frown. “You know we can’t pay you if you’re going to be contracting with another agency.”

“The sheriff’s department is going to match my salary.”

The news calms him down a little, but he’s still not happy with me. “You’re going to have to use vacation days. You know that, right?”

I’d been hoping the township would let me take the time off without burning through my precious vacation days. Tomasetti and I had been planning a trip to the Caribbean in the spring. I’ll probably regret it later, but I don’t argue. “That’s fine.”

“If something goes wrong here, will we be able to reach you?”

“I’m going to New York, not Mars. I’ll have my phone with me.”

I’ve known Auggie for nearly five years. While we’ve never been friends, he has been a professional and political ally. He’s been fair and supportive—albeit tight with my budget—even when the town council was not. It’s disheartening to realize that while this assignment will be an inconvenience for him, it could be potentially dangerous for me and he has yet to acknowledge that.

“So is this a dicey gig you’re walking into?” he asks.

I smile. “You know how dangerous those Amish are.…”

His eyes widen.

I laugh. “Auggie, I’m kidding.”

He actually blushes, and I’m reminded why I like him. “Well, it
is
undercover,” he mutters.

“Sheriff Suggs is concerned about the children,” I tell him. “I’ll need to be on my toes, but I don’t believe the assignment is dangerous.” I offer another smile. “But I’m glad you asked.”

“Oh … well. I’m relieved you won’t be in any danger. We want you back here in one piece.”

“Thanks, Auggie.” We rise simultaneously.

I motion to the letter. “I’d appreciate if you kept everything we talked about confidential.”

“I may need an explanation for the town council, Kate.”

“The council members are fine. And of course, I’ll fill in everyone in my department. But the fewer people who know where I am and what I’m doing, the better.”

“Sure.”

I extend my hand for a shake. “And if you could mention my vacation to the town council, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

CHAPTER 4

I spent a good part of the morning with my sister, Sarah. To say she was surprised that I wanted to borrow Amish dresses from her was an understatement. A small stab of pain caught in my chest when I saw the flash of hope in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking: that I’d come to my senses and decided to return to the plain life. I didn’t go into detail, but explained to her that I needed the clothes for an assignment.

“Your least favorites,” I told her. “I’m not particular, but the plainer, the better.”

“I’ve more bosom than you, Katie.” She patted her belly. “The baby, you know. I’ll need to take them in.”

“They don’t have to fit well, Sarah. Besides, there’s no time for you to alter them.”

“That’s my Katie, always in a hurry.” But she tempered the statement with a smile.

Remembering I’d be joining the church district in New York as a relatively new widow, I added, “And black, if you have them.”

“Black?” She tossed me a quizzical look, and not for the first time I’m reminded of the stark contrast between my life and hers.

“I can’t get into why,” I told her, relieved when she didn’t press.

An hour later, I walked away with five plain dresses. Three black, one navy, and one dark gray. Five aprons. An organdy
kapp
and a black winter bonnet. A quick stop at the Walmart in Millersburg, and I own two pairs of plain black sneakers. An insulated black barn coat that comes nearly down to my knees. Several pair of black cotton tights for warmth. Rubber boots for getting around in the snow. Betancourt warned me upstate New York is frigid, with plenty of lake effect snow in late January.

Next, I swing by
En Schtich in Zeit
, A Stitch in Time. It’s an Amish quilt and sewing shop on Main Street just two blocks from the police station. Twenty minutes later, I walk out with four crib quilts and half a dozen potholders—all by the same quilter so that the stitching and workmanship are consistent. I also purchased a used sewing kit—the kind any Amish woman might have in her home for mending clothes. All of it cost me a month’s salary—which will hopefully be reimbursed by the sheriff’s department—but I figure I’ll need an Amish-related vocation while I’m there. A profession that serves double-duty, because I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to use it to my advantage when it comes to meeting people and, hopefully, infiltrating the community.