Harmless as Doves (3 page)

2

Wednesday, October 7

6:00
A.M.

THE BISHOP ran back toward the house shouting, “Katie! Katie, wake up!”

He hurtled two steps at a time up into the mudroom and dashed into the kitchen, where Katie was standing at the sink, holding a half-peeled orange, head turned in his direction.

“Katie!” he shouted, waving her forward, “Help!” Then he ran back outside.

Barefooted, and dressed only in her pink sleeping gown and blue quilted robe, Katie followed her husband out into the backyard. There the bishop knelt at Burkholder’s head and rocked him by his rounded shoulders, trying to secure a grip on the lad. Katie knelt at Burkholder’s side and pushed against his elbows, which were locked in place over his knees, and together the Shetlers managed to roll Crist onto his back.

Burkholder’s arms slipped from his knees, and his legs straightened. He lay flat in the dirt, his eyes popping open and then closed, as if he were testing his vision, coming up from a deep sleep.

The bishop bent over Burkholder and asked, “Crist, are you sure he’s dead?” and Katie drew a startled breath, stood up, and cried out, “Who?”

Shaking Burkholder to rouse him, the bishop said to Katie, “Crist says he killed Glenn Spiegle.” He wedged his hands under the boy’s shoulders and heaved him up to a sitting position, adding, “He says he struck Spiegle in a fight, and Spiegle fell dead.”

With her fingers laid across her lips to stifle a cry, Katie stood stiffly beside her husband. Stunned, she asked, “Are you sure he’s really dead?”

Coming somewhat back into awareness, Burkholder focused his eyes on the bishop’s face and said, “I felt his neck. Like they do on the TV.”

Shetler positioned himself behind Burkholder and braced him under his arms to help him up onto his knees. Then Burkholder stood to full height, two heads taller than either of the Shetlers, and wobbling on his unsteady legs, he stepped to the hack in front of the barn doors and leaned over to plant his forearms on the buckboard seat, head hanging down.

“Where is he?” Katie asked at Burkholder’s side. “Where is Glenn Spiegle?”

“Inside Crazy Darba’s barn,” Burkholder muttered. “Just outside the Rum Room. I left him lying in a heap. On the concrete pad. Right where he fell.”

Then with sorrow cast in his eyes, Burkholder turned to Katie and asked, “Do you think Vesta knows by now?”

“I don’t know, Crist,” Katie said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “News travels. Have you told anyone else?”

“No,” Burkholder said. “But Darba saw me running up her drive.”

“Will she know to check in the barn?” the bishop asked.

Crist shrugged. “I left my Chevy running. With the lights on. So maybe she’ll go down there.”

“I need to go to Darba,” Katie said. “She’s gonna need some help today.”

The bishop disagreed. “No, Katie. We need to find a phone.”

“You two can do that, while I check on Darba.”

“No, Katie. I need you to get the Burkholders.”

“OK, but I can do both.”

The bishop hesitated, and then nodded. “Which phone should I let on that I know about?”

Katie thought. “You know there are a lot of cell phones. If people were aware of that, you’d have to pass a ruling.”

“I was thinking about Mony’s phone. In the woods behind his barns.”

“If he knows that you know about that phone,” Katie said, “he’ll expect you to tell him to take it down.”

“But I do know about his phone,” the bishop complained. “And I know about all the cell phones, too.”

“Are you ready to rule against all the cell phones?” Katie asked.

“I don’t know,” the bishop said, shaking his head. “Probably not yet.”

“Then use Mony Detweiler’s phone in the woods. You can think about the cell phones later.”

* * *

With Crist Burkholder on the buckboard seat at his side, Bishop Shetler whipped his horse out onto Township Lane 601 and turned south to descend the high hill where the Shetler farm commanded a view of the wide pastoral valley of the Salt Creek South district. Shetler kept after his horse with an impatient whip, and a half mile later, he turned right to drop over a ridge into the long drive that cut the wide fields of Mony Detweiler’s farm, on a west-facing slope between 601 and the narrow creek far down in the timbered bottoms.

As he pulled to a stop in front of the Detweilers’ white frame house, Shetler shouted out, “Mony!” and climbed down, stepped around, and eased Burkholder down from the buckboard.

The front door opened, and a stocky woman in a plain rose dress and white lace apron stepped out onto the front porch, holding a kitchen towel and a white china plate that she was drying.

Shetler called up to her. “Lizzie, I need to use Mony’s phone.”

Other than the slight arching of an eyebrow, Lizzie Detweiler displayed no surprise. Circumspectly, she said, “Mony’s out in the barn, Bischoff.”

Shetler scolded, “I know about the phone, Lizzie,” turning to round the corner of the house with Burkholder in tow.

When the bishop confronted Mony Detweiler in the barn about his phone, the thin Amishman showed only a faint disappointment at losing his secret. When Shetler explained why he needed to use the phone, Detweiler took a sympathetic
step toward Crist Burkholder, and then waved the two men forward, setting a hurried pace through the back doors of the barn, out into the woods behind.

Young Burkholder and Bishop Shetler followed Detweiler along a trail for nearly a hundred yards through the timber, coming at last to a small glade, where an old-fashioned black dial phone was mounted on a wooden shelf fastened to the broad trunk of a maple tree. A small, shingled roof with sideboards sheltered the phone.

Taking the lead, Detweiler stepped up to the phone, spun the dial through a nine and two ones, and held the phone receiver out for the bishop. Shetler took the phone, held it to his ear tentatively, and then pressed the earpiece closer to listen, saying, “Yes, I have an emergency. One of my boys has killed a man. Glenn Spiegle.”

Then Burkholder and Detweiler heard the bishop answer several questions from the 911 operator:

“No, Crist Burkholder. It is Glenn Spiegle who has been killed.”

“Crist has told me only that he struck Glenn Spiegle in a fight, and that Spiegle is dead.”

“In Darba Winters’s barn, on Township Lane 601.”

“Yes, Township 601. The Billy and Darba Winters residence.”

“It’s the brick ranch home, across the road from the Spiegle farm.”

“Really? How did that happen so fast?”

“OK, we’ll go there now.”

“Yes, tell the sheriff we will be there in ten minutes.”

“No, Crist says openly that he did it.”

“No, not really.”

“OK, but please tell the sheriff that we are coming there now, so that Crist can turn himself in for the murder.”

When he handed the phone back to Mony Detweiler, Bishop Shetler said, “The sheriff is already at Darba’s place. There’s a bit of a crowd out front on the lane, and the sheriff is down in the barn with the coroner.”

Hesitating, the bishop added, “They’re expecting us, so we should get going.”

Crist fell in behind Detweiler, who led the men back up the trail, with the bishop following after Crist. The morning light was stronger now, casting long shadows behind the tall hickory, walnut, and maple trees of the wood. The splashes of fall color overhead were backlit by the sunlight, giving a red-orange glow to the trail. Leaves already down crunched underfoot, and the acorns and twigs cracked and popped as the men paced along, Burkholder whispering, “I need to talk to Vesta.”

Behind him, the bishop said, “First, Crist, you need to tell the sheriff exactly what you did. There’ll be plenty of time to talk to Vesta, after that.”

Stopping to turn back to the bishop, Burkholder asked, “What makes you think she will come to see me in jail?”

Thinking compassion appropriate where encouragement wasn’t reasonable, Shetler took Burkholder by the shoulders, and said gently, “I’ll bring her down to see you, Crist. Once she is ready to talk.”

Privately, Shetler wondered, How many bishops do you know, Old Leon, who would know what to do now?

3

Wednesday, October 7

7:00
A.M.

THE BISHOP drove Crist back to the Shetler farm on the high ground along 601. In the kitchen, they found a note from Leon’s wife. Shetler read the short note and handed it to Burkholder. Crist read it while the bishop pulled a pitcher of fresh milk out of the heavy wooden icebox beside the pantry:

Leon—I have gone to get the Burkholders. I will meet you at Darba’s place. I finished milking Hedda. You should eat something.

Shetler poured two glasses of milk and handed one to Burkholder, saying, “You should eat something.”

While Crist sipped milk, the bishop pulled two oranges out of the crate under the kitchen sink and handed one to Burkholder. Crist set his glass on the counter and absently rolled the orange in his fingers. The bishop took it back, pierced the peel with his thumbnail, worked some of the peel loose, and handed it back to Burkholder. “You can eat that in the hack. On the way to see the sheriff.”

* * *

A mile north on 601, the bishop pulled his horse left into Darba Winters’s drive and stopped at the top of the slope that led down to Darba’s red barn. The coroner’s wagon was parked in front of the barn doors, which were closed.

At the top of the drive, Deputy Stan Armbruster stroked a palm over the nose of the bishop’s buggy horse and then stepped to the side to talk.

Shetler said, “We need to see the sheriff. This is Crist Burkholder.”

Armbruster keyed his shoulder mic and said, “Crist Burkholder is here.” Below at the barn, a small door swung open, and Sheriff Bruce Robertson and Sergeant Ricky Niell stepped outside to wave Shetler and Burkholder down the long drive.

Abruptly, Burkholder leapt off the buckboard seat of the hack and started down the drive with a determined gait, shouting, “I did it. I killed him.”

Robertson started up the drive with Niell, and they met Burkholder halfway. Holding out his wrists for cuffs, Burkholder confessed again, saying, “I killed him. I killed Glenn Spiegle.”

Gently, Robertson pushed Burkholder’s hands down and said, “We’ve no need for that, Crist. Not yet.”

“I did it. I killed him.”

“I know,” Robertson said. “Can we ask you some questions? In the barn?”

By now, Bishop Shetler had pulled his rig off to the side, and he joined the men on the gravel drive. The four men turned for the barn, with Robertson leading and Ricky Niell following after Burkholder and Shetler.

Inside the barn, Coroner Missy Taggert had set up three stands with bright floodlights powered by batteries on the ground. Lying in the focused beams of the lights, on the concrete slab behind a powder-blue Chevy Bellaire, was a prone body, covered with a long tarp.

The shock of seeing the covered body caused Crist Burkholder to double over at the waist, and he turned into a corner of the barn and began to vomit up milk and bits of orange.

Deputy Pat Lance, working beside the body with Missy Taggert, stood up and walked over to Crist, offering him a towel for his mouth. She laid her hand gently on his back, and Crist straightened up at her touch and pulled away, seeming shamed by his weakness. Lance, a stocky, blond Germanic woman in uniform, handed the towel to Burkholder and took a step back to give him some space for his embarrassment.

Ricky stepped over and said, “Crist, we want you to look at the body. Tell us what you did.”

“I can’t do that!” Crist cried out. Doubling over again, he heaved from his gut.

The bishop said, “I can look,” and moved to Taggert’s side.

Coroner Taggert, kneeling by the head, lifted the tarp for Shetler, and Shetler looked down, gasped, and stepped back. “That’s Glenn Spiegle. He’s got the farm across the road.”

In the corner, Crist groaned, “I killed him,” and straightened up. He used one end of Lance’s towel to wipe his lips and the other end to dry his eyes. “I hit him as hard as I could, and he dropped straight down.”

Robertson stepped up to Burkholder and asked, “Why did you fight, Mr. Burkholder?”

“We fought about Vesta Miller. He said he wanted to marry her, and he knew I was going to.”

“That’s all?” Robertson asked.

“He said he’d die if he couldn’t marry her. Then he offered me fifteen thousand dollars to let her go. He just threw the money into the trunk of my car, so I got mad, and I hit him. After he dropped, I don’t remember much, until I was standing in Bishop Shetler’s barn.”

Ricky Niell’s handset chirped, and Armbruster said over the radio, “The bishop’s wife has Burkholder’s parents up here. Should I send them down?”

Robertson shook his head no, and Ricky said into his handset, “No, Stan. We’ll come up there.”

Moaning, Crist said, “I don’t want to see my parents right now.”

To that, Robertson replied, “You stay here with Sergeant Niell, Mr. Burkholder. Consider yourself under arrest. We’ll go talk to your parents.”

And he waved the bishop outside.

* * *

Wayne and Mary Burkholder stood in plain Amish attire beside their buggy at the top of Darba’s drive, and waited
for the rotund Sheriff Robertson to struggle up the graveled slope. After he had managed the climb, Robertson took out a handkerchief and wiped perspiration from his brow, saying, “I’m sorry about this, folks, but Crist has confessed to killing Glenn Spiegle, and I have placed him under arrest.”

Bishop Shetler crossed the drive to stand with the Burkholders, and said, “He’s down in the barn, Wayne. He says quite plainly that he did it.”

Crying, and holding a kerchief to her nostrils, Mary Burkholder asked, “Can we see him, Sheriff?”

“Not just yet. I want to take him down to the jail. Get him charged. Then you can talk to him in my office, before we take him to his cell.”

Wooden-faced, Wayne Burkholder asked, “Will this take long, Sheriff?”

“Maybe an hour,” Robertson said. “We’ll try to finish up with our questions just as soon as we can.”

On the lane behind them, there was the clatter of horse’s hooves and the rattle of a buggy pulling to a stop in front of the Winters house. They all turned to look, and tiny Vesta Miller, hair tucked up in a loose bun under a bonnet hanging somewhat askew, jumped down out of the buggy before it had come to a stop. The horse angled off into the middle of the road, and Vesta ran up waving her cell phone. Showing panic in all of her features, Vesta cried out, “Is it true?” and stopped beside Mary Burkholder to catch her breath.