Kingdom Come (21 page)

“Ezra! Ezra!” I didn't sound like myself. It was desperate, hoarse screaming. “Ezra!”

It was raining, raining hard, the drops striking my face. The current began to push me along the log, determined to send me on my way, maybe to the Susquehanna where I would finally wash up, like Katie had, on Robert Island. I had no way to cling to the log. My legs ran under it into clear water and could not rise high enough to catch hold. My hands were bound. I pushed my shoulders into the bark as hard as I could, trying to stay put.

“Ezra!” I screamed.

I stopped moving, a small branch bracing me and bending under the strain. Where was I? I remembered crossing one fence; had I crossed others? Was I still near the Lapps' farm? Ezra's? Or was I far downstream by now? I searched the creek banks but it was dark and there was something wrong with my eyes. Everything was blurry and doubled.

Concussion. Dear God, I'm badly hurt.

The twig bent further. I slipped another inch down the log.

A kind of resignation stole over me. I was going to die after all. There was nothing I could do about it. I wished I'd been able to tell someone about the Lapps. I wished I'd been able to get
justice for Jessica and Katie. And I wished, more than anything, that I didn't have to leave
him
.

Something lighter came into my view of the bank, something large and moving. It took me a long moment for the shape to coalesce enough to recognize what it was.

It was a horse. No, it was Horse. He was watching me.

“Ezra,” I said. “Ezra.”

I must have scared Horse, and I couldn't blame him. He turned and stormed away.

But that meant I had to be on Ezra's land, didn't it? If I could just make it to the bank, maybe work my way along the fallen tree . . . The branch that had snagged me bent further, threatening to give way, and my body was moved another inch toward the middle of the creek.

No, not this close. Please. Give me strength.

The branch gave way.

—

“I called an ambulance. They're comin'. Hang on, Elizabeth.
Gott im himmel
, please.”

The voice was anguished—and familiar. My eyelids seemed to weigh a hundred pounds each, but I forced them open a crack. Ezra's face loomed over me. It was fuzzy but it was undeniably his face.

“Hey,” I said. My voice croaked like a dying bullfrog.

“Oh, thank the Lord!” Ezra's hand wiped at his mouth, his eyes. He was shaking so hard I could see it, even though I couldn't see much.

“Don't,” I said.
Don't cry. It's fine.

“Oh, Elizabeth. Your head . . . I thought. Who hurt you like this?”

I wished he didn't sound so upset. I was happy, so happy. I wasn't dead, and Ezra had found me. There was even a heavy coat laid over my body. I wasn't warm, but I was out of the water, I was on solid ground. I wasn't fighting for air. Didn't he know how amazing that was? That everything in the entire world had to be all right now? But then I remembered I had something I needed to tell him, something important.

“Miriam Lapp. Tell Grady.”

“Oh Lord. Oh no.” He sounded disbelieving, horrified.

“The phone,” I said, despite my chattering teeth. “In the woodbin. Grandfather's smell. Solved the snow. I mean, the case. I solved the case, Ezra. Where are my notes?”

“It's okay,” he said, rubbing my arms and legs under the coat, trying to warm me up. They were starting to prickle and hurt where the numbness was wearing off. “Rest now. The ambulance comes soon.”

“But I solved it. I solved the case.”

“I knew you would. I had faith.”

His face swam a little more into focus and I could see the emotion in his eyes, still damp with fear, but full of so many other things as well—relief and love. So much love.

“I have faith in you,” I said. And yeah, I had a concussion and I'd just nearly died, but I meant it. I meant every word.

In the end, what else was there to have faith in? Not in the fairness of life, or in a perfect world, or the goodness of man. What else, but the ones we love?

Snake in the Grass

I was in the hospital for two days. They stabilized my knee, salved and bandaged my rubbed-raw wrists and various cuts and bruises, and stitched my head back together and watched for it to explode. It didn't.

The doctors told me the creek had saved my life. The cold water lowered my blood pressure, stopped the bleeding, and kept my brain from swelling inside my cranium like a soufflé. Ironic, that the thing that almost killed me had ended up saving my life. Or maybe that's just the way it works.

Ezra came both days to see me. He had an English driver drop him off at the hospital in the middle of downtown Lancaster and wait in the cafeteria while we visited for a few hours. He was a little shy about holding my hand at first, but I clung to him even when people entered the room, not letting him retreat. I think he was surprised when the nurses didn't pay any attention to us. God love those Lancaster General nurses. Ezra was still dressed
Amish, and they knew I was a cop, so they had every reason to be confused. But in fact, they seemed particularly smiley about the two of us. It was nice. I was done hiding.

Ezra told me about the small farm he'd gone to see the week before. He showed me pictures on his cell phone.

“Only a fifteen minute drive to Lancaster. In a car, that is,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

“I need thirty days to get out of my lease,” I replied.

He smiled and nodded once. I smiled back. Screw it. If Grady and the police department didn't like me living with Ezra, they could find another detective.

I thought it would be all right though. Because when Grady came to see me, he yelled at me for about five minutes for going into the Lapps' barn on my own, and then told me they'd never have solved the murders without me. He and the chief were grateful. “Grateful” is a word I very much like to hear from my bosses. As long as there isn't a “but” attached. Grady also said he was glad I'd survived my stupidity because he “needed me.”

“Hell yeah. You really, really do,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “Don't let it go to your head, Harris. But—”

“But?”

“But yes, I do. You're a hell of a detective.”

That was the kind of “but” I liked to hear.

—

The case caused the kind of hue and cry Grady had feared. Jim Johnson broke the story about Katie's abuse and murder in the
National Tattler
and it spread fast. It even made the national news,
on some talking-heads show where they brought in experts to talk about sexual abuse of young girls in religious communities. They had to put an armed cop on my door to stop the reporters. Ezra Beiler's name was never mentioned. Everyone in Lancaster County was in shocked disbelief over the arrests. Fortunately, the police department had every leg to stand on. They'd found Katie's phone and traces of blood in the Lapps' kitchen and barn. More important, Miriam and Aaron Lapp had surrendered themselves willingly.

The day Miriam Lapp made a full statement was my first day back at work. She'd asked for me to be there, and I'd insisted on it, even though Grady wanted me to take more time off. I wanted to hear what she had to say. I deserved to hear it.

And Katie and Jessica deserved for it to be heard.

—

“It was last October. Katie come to clean house. I sent Sarah, Job, and Rebecca out to the barn to get the corn and eggs ready for market. Told 'em not to come in till it was done. I wanted to talk to Katie alone.”

Miriam Lapp spoke slowly and calmly. Only her stiff back, the pallor of her face, and hands twisting a handkerchief in her lap betrayed any emotion. She looked straight ahead at nothing as she spoke. She'd been in jail for a few days, but she'd requested, and been allowed, her own clothes for what she'd called her “public confession.” With her white bonnet and black dress, and with the Amish elders in the room, it reminded me of a scene from some medieval trial.

We were in the largest conference room the police station
had. Miriam had said she'd tell everything, but she wanted the church elders present, and Aaron—in handcuffs and with a warden at his side—and Katie's parents and Jessica's mother too—and me. She wanted to confess and she only wanted to do it once, she'd told Grady. One of our techs was filming it with a small camera on a tripod and there was a stenographer there too, and two armed men outside at the door. Grady was taking no chances.

“Always knew what was goin' on between her and Aaron. She didn't hide it. She goaded me with it. Smiling at him when he came in and givin' me these knowing looks. She was only a girl when it started. It was a terrible thorn in my side for years. Aaron, he wouldn't let me fire her. Said people would talk. Said Katie might tell stories. But he didn't give it up. Whenever I saw Katie head out to the barn, I knew. . . .” She twisted her handkerchief tighter and took a deep breath. Aaron stared at the floor, his face drawn and troubled.

“I bore it. I didn't chide my husband. I knew I was never . . . never pretty. And after Rebecca was born, the doctor said I'd not have another. I was hurt for a good while. Inside. Couldn't . . . I figured that ruined me for Aaron.

“Then God heard my prayers. Katie stopped going out to the barn. 'Twas two years before, 'bout. Aaron . . . he come back to me after a time. Thank the Lord. I thanked God with all my heart.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight.

“Then, that last October, Katie come to work one day and I knew. She had this look in her eyes and color on her lips. She went out to the barn and stayed out there a good, long while. When she come back in she was pleased as anythin'. Humming as she worked, and she give me these looks. . . .”

“I knew it was startin' up again. I couldn't bear it. And I . . . I knew Katie'd been wantin' to leave, see. So next time she come over, I made sure the children was out of the house. Aaron was gone visitin'. I offered Katie money if she would just go. Go to the city. Leave us alone. I offered three hundred dollars, my pin money I saved up for Sarah's weddin'.”

Katie's mother, Hannah, and her father, Isaac, sat listening with closed eyes. I had the feeling they were praying. The pain on their faces was not obvious, but that just made it worse.

“You know what she done? Katie? She laughed at me. Said she had a lot more money than that, twenty-five thousand dollars that she was gonna get from the papers when she told her story. Said she had video of her and Aaron, that she'd gotten him to confess everything. She was gonna . . . she was gonna . . .” Miriam's small blue eyes grew red with tears. She wiped at them with her handkerchief and pushed on. “Don't see? She meant to bring Aaron down, ruin him, ruin me, ruin our children's lives, and Hannah's too. She was gonna shame the whole community.”

She took a moment to get herself back under control. Everyone stayed silent and grim, waiting for the rest of it. This confession felt as much our punishment as hers.

“We was in the kitchen. I was at the stove brownin' some onions, and Katie, she sat at the table shellin' beans when she told me 'bout the video. I wasn't angry. I didn't think 'bout it. I just knew I had to stop her. Knew it was up to me.” Miriam's eyes had gone a bit glassy, as if reliving the scene, and her voice grew more impassioned. I knew what was coming, but there was no way to be prepared.

“I took the skillet off. Scraped the onions onto a plate, like
any other time. Then I hit her on the head with it. So hard. It was like . . . like it wasn't even my arm. Like I was the hand of God.”

Hannah Yoder made a small sound and Isaac Yoder squeezed her arm tight.

“And then . . . there she was on the floor. . . .” Miriam continued, her voice faint. “So much blood. I made sure she was dead. Like this.” She covered up her nose and mouth with her hand and held them there. I'd seen a lot of things as a cop, but seeing Miriam Lapp make that gesture was one of the most horrible things I'd ever seen.

“Couldn't move her far in daylight. So I sent the children to the neighbor's for some flour and I drug Katie out to the barn and put her in the wood bin. Covered her up. That night, when everyone was sleepin', I drug her to the creek and God took her away. It seemed like . . . like that flood was there to help me. Like this was all part of God's plan, to stop Katie and not allow this shame to be brought on all of us. You see?”

Miriam finally looked up. She looked at Hannah, as if pleading for understanding. But Hannah stared steadily at the floor.

“What about Jessica?” Grady asked. He was seated on a chair in front of Miriam.

Miriam touched her throat. “Can I have some water?”

Grady nodded, and Hernandez got up and left the room. He returned a moment later with a plastic cup full of water. Miriam drank it all almost daintily, then gave Hernandez the cup. He sat down again.

“The day it happened with Jessica,” Miriam continued, once again in an eerily calm voice. “I went to the market. I come out to the buggy with my shoppin' and there stood this blonde girl, an
English. I'd seen her once before, in that same market with Katie, and Katie must have told this girl who I was. Because she come up to me that day in January and said she was scared Aaron had done somethin' to Katie. She knew all about it, even 'bout the video. She thought it was Aaron what killed Katie. ‘Maybe it was an accident,' she said to me. ‘Maybe he didn't mean it.'”

Aaron was staring at Miriam, grim and shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Miriam went on. “Don't know what she wanted me to do 'bout it. Don't know if she was lookin' to find Katie, or maybe turn me against my husband or what.”

“I told her to get in the buggy so's we could talk. No one saw us. I started drivin' home, but I didn't know what to do. I couldn't bring her to the house, couldn't let her talk to Aaron or the police. So I prayed. I prayed so hard for wisdom the whole time I was drivin'.

“That's when it come to me. I said I had to check one of the horses that it was walkin' funny, and I pulled over. She got out and was standin' there looking at the road when I come up behind her with a rock. I done her just the same as I done Katie. I didn't want to, but . . . I had to do it.”

Her voice was getting wet-sounding. She paused for a moment, blowing her nose and swallowing.

“You struck Jessica in the head with a rock? What happened then?” Grady prompted once she seemed under control.

“I hid her there by the creek till I could figure out what to do.”

“Why didn't you leave her there? Why did you put her in the Millers' barn?” Grady asked in a neutral voice.

“Maybe I should have left her. But I meant to do just what I done with Katie. Send her down the creek. That night I put on some of Grandad's old clothes and boots what was in the attic, in case someone saw me. I walked down the creek to get her. Had to go under the fences. But once I got to Jessica and got her in the water, I realized she weren't gonna go far. The creek was too low. Guess I wasn't thinkin' clearheaded. Then I was stuck. I was afraid she'd be found too close to our place.

“I prayed again and it come to me, standing right there in the creek with Jessica's body, to put her at the Millers'. I knew no one would suspect Amos Miller or his. And he didn't have a dog or nothin'. I thought . . . if she was put in the barn like that, make it look like it had been . . . been about sex, the police would think the English had done it. It seemed like the sort of ugly trick they would do. It made no sense for an Amish to do somethin' like that.”

She was right. That was just what we'd thought. If Katie's body hadn't been found, if my gut hadn't made me keep pushing . . .

“You carried Jessica's body across that field? Both of you soaking wet?” I asked, before I could remind myself that this was Grady's show.

Grady shot me a look but he didn't interfere. Miriam glanced at me, then away, probably not liking the reminder of her crimes in the big bandage around my head.

“Ja. It was very hard. I prayed for strength every step, and I thought of my children, of what would happen to them if that video of their father were seen, if . . .” She swallowed hard. “If their mother was caught.
God
gave me the strength to do it.”

I wanted to laugh at that—or vomit.

“You do realize that another man was about to be wrongly convicted of this crime?” Grady asked bluntly.

Miriam frowned, twisting that handkerchief in her lap. I wanted to believe she was insane, but maybe the truth was worse, that she wasn't crazy, just someone with religious delusions who'd made some really horrendous decisions.

“Ja. I knew. When it was over, I put it in God's hands, if I was caught out or not. If someone else had gone to jail, well . . . I'm sure God wouldn't've let anyone suffer who was a true innocent. Katie and . . . and that Jessica too. They were harlots, whores. And Detective Harris is . . . a worldly woman. You see, God wouldn't have let me hurt anyone but the wicked.”

Okay, I was wrong. She was totally insane.

“Tell us what happened that night with Detective Harris,” Grady prompted.

Miriam took a deep breath. “I also do confess that I struck Detective Harris over the head with a skillet and intended to do her the same way. Only Aaron wouldn't let me finish her by takin' her breath. It was my idea to put her in the creek, let God decide her fate. I pushed Aaron till he agreed. It weren't his fault. I told him we had to, for the sake of the children. And Detective Harris looked nearly dead anyhow.”

I looked at Aaron. Even if he hadn't known about the murders, even if he hadn't been the one to strike me on the head, he could have stopped his wife from dumping my naked body in freezing water. But he hadn't. Maybe he'd bought into her let-God-decide-her-fate bullshit. Maybe he'd hoped it would all
go away, that his position in the community could be salvaged. He put his hand over his eyes and slumped forward. I felt sorry for him. But I didn't forgive him.