Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

My relationship with God is complicated. That's not to say it isn't good; it is. I've had thousands of conversations with Him. Times when I've been angry or hurt or hopeless or some combination thereof; other times when I was overcome with joy and thankful for His blessings. But I've also cursed Him. I've begged Him. And I've questioned my faith. I've asked Him for help more times that I can count. Times when I probably didn't deserve it. I've asked Him to watch over my loved ones. I've asked Him to keep me safe when I found myself in a dicey situation. In all the years I've been talking to God, I've never been as desperate as those harrowing minutes when I didn't know if Tomasetti was alive or dead.

Under normal circumstances, John Tomasetti would have refused an ambulance ride to the hospital. By the time Emergency Services rolled into the Sugarcreek Sand and Gravel parking lot, I was in the early stages of hypothermia and in no condition to drive. Suffering with a compound fracture of his forearm, Tomasetti was in no condition to argue. The deputy who arrived on scene first took statements from both of us and then loaded us into the wagon and sent us on our way.

Upon our arrival at Pomerene Hospital, Tomasetti was immediately placed on a gurney and taken to the ER. I was given hot tea, dry clothing—a set of scrubs—and a thermal blanket, and I made my way to the restroom to change. I placed my sopped uniform and underthings in the plastic bag I was given, and put my muddy boots back on. When I was dressed, I lowered my face into my hands and I sobbed. At some point, a kind-eyed woman in a pink sweatshirt came in and murmured a few words of comfort. That small kindness was all I needed to pull myself together.

I find Tomasetti in the ER, encircled by a privacy curtain, and lying on a gurney. He's changed into a gown. A blanket has been placed over his hips. The lopsided smile tells me they gave him something for pain.

I go to him, set my hand on his shoulder. "You look nice in that gown."

"That's what the doc said." He shrugs. "I wanted to go commando, but she nixed the idea right off the bat."

"Uh-huh." I nod. "What did they give you?"

"Morphine."

His injured arm is elevated on a pillow, loosely wrapped, and supported with a temporary splint. "What's the verdict?"

"I told her I was a happily married man. She wasn't happy about it, but there you have it."

I can't help it; I laugh, and I feel another layer of stress fall away. I pretend-flick his arm. "I mean, about your arm."

"Oh. That." He indicates the splint with his uninjured hand. "X-ray shows the ulna is broken. Clean break, but it was a compound fracture. Ortho doc is talking about putting in a pin."

"So you need surgery?"

"Probably going to need another morphine, too. Hurts like a son of a bitch."

Taking in the heavy lids, I'm thinking he may not be the best source of information at this moment and I make a mental note to double-check with the doc.

"Chief?"

I glance toward the curtain to see Glock peek in. "Everyone decent?" he asks.

"Sure," I say. "Come on in."

He enters, nods at Tomasetti. "Heard what happened." He whistles. "Sounds like things got pretty gnarly. Glad you two are okay."

"Thanks," I say.

When Tomasetti and I left the scene a couple of hours ago, the Tuscarawas County sheriff's deputies hadn't been there long. The situation was hectic and fluid. Both Tomasetti and I answered questions and gave reports on what had transpired. There will be more questions to answer in the coming days.

"What's going on at the scene?" I ask.

"Skid and I went as soon as we heard it come over the radio," Glock tells us. "Heavy-equipment driver is deceased. Coroner had just arrived. A lot of law enforcement on scene. BCI crime scene van is there now."

"Did they find Hofer?" I ask. "Clarence Raber?"

He nods. "Deputy found Raber trying to break into your rental vehicle at the rear of the property. Probably after your shotgun. Evidently, he was wounded. They made the arrest and they took him out on a stretcher.

"As far as Hofer… it's not official, but one of the deputies I talked to said they found a body in the quarry. Male. Fully clothed. Dark hair. They got him out of the water. They're working on getting him IDed now."

"Any idea how he died?" Tomasetti asks.

"Deputy said it looked like he may have struck his head when he fell and died either from trauma or drowning."

I think about the chaotic turn of events at the quarry—and the implications of Hofer's death in terms of the case. "That leaves us with a lot of unanswered questions," I say.

"Would have been nice to talk to him," Tomasetti says. "Maybe punch him a couple of times."

"Raber might be able to fill in some of the blanks." I look at Glock. "Was there anyone else at the business?"

"Don't know." Glock's brows draw together. "Cops on scene are being kind of tight-lipped about it."

"Those BCI people are assholes," Tomasetti mutters.

Glock laughs outright.

"Chief?" comes a familiar voice from outside the curtain. "Anyone home?"

Sheriff Mike Rasmussen peers in through the gap and looks at us. "Now there's a sight to warm your heart."

"Thought there was a limit on the number of riffraff they allow back here," Tomasetti mutters.

"Shield got me in." Looking genuinely pleased to see us, Rasmussen strides to the gurney and extends his hand to Tomasetti. "Heard you had a close encounter with a backhoe."

"Tahoe got the short end of the stick." Tomasetti gives another wonky smile.

"Literally and figuratively," I add.

"Going to be fun explaining that one to the insurance company," Glock puts in.

"At least the Explorer wasn't involved," Tomasetti puts in.

Sobering, Rasmussen extends his hand to me. "I'm glad neither of you were seriously hurt. The deputy I talked to said it was one hell of a scene."

"Anything new?" I ask.

"BCI crime scene guys are processing the scene and will be for some time. Raber is being transported to the hospital. Needless to say, we've still got a lot to figure out." He looks at me and sighs. "Kate, I'd like to be the first to offer you an apology. You were right about everything. We got it wrong, and we treated you like shit. I'm sorry."

He offers his hand. I take it and we shake again. "Accepted," I say simply.

"Not bad for a politician." Tomasetti looks at me and raises his brows. "I especially liked the ‘we treated you like shit' line."

Glock clears his throat.

Rasmussen jabs a thumb at Tomasetti. "What the hell did they give him?"

Everyone laughs and some of the tension leaches from the room. All of us know that as bad as the situation was at the quarry, it could have been much worse and two of us in this room are lucky to be alive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Glock raise his hand. "See you tomorrow, Chief." Then to Tomasetti, "Good luck with that arm."

"Keep me posted on any news," I tell him.

"You got it."

He's slipping out when the curtain jiggles. My blood pressure rises at the sight of Neil Chambers. In the back of my mind, I wonder how he's going to twist things around to justify his overzealous attempts to keep me off the case.

"What were you saying about an apology?" Tomasetti says, but he's looking at Chambers.

Chambers offers a self-deprecating smile, making eye contact with each of us, and then raises his hands as if in supplication. "Go ahead. Get it off your chest. Have your fun. I deserve it."

"Did you release my brother from jail?" I ask.

"I put the paperwork through half an hour ago. Mr. Burkholder should be out within the hour."

"Was there an apology in there?" Feigning puzzlement, Tomasetti looks from Rasmussen to me to Chambers. "I didn't hear any groveling."

Chambers strides to me and, holding my gaze, he extends his hand, holds it out. "I screwed up, Chief Burkholder. I got carried away and I got this one wrong. That's not easy for an egotistical son of a bitch like me to admit, but there you have it. I hope you'll accept my sincere apology."

I wait an instant too long before taking his hand. "Apology accepted."

"I'll be making a formal apology to the mayor, too," he says. "And your team. I'll make sure all of them know how things went down."

"I appreciate that," I say.

Rasmussen clears his throat. "Evidently, we need a lot of questions answered before we can even begin to unravel this case."

"Has Clarence Raber been able to talk?" I ask.

Chambers shakes his head. "They flew him up to Mercy Hospital in Canton. He's in surgery now."

"He expected to make it?" Tomasetti asks.

He nods. "Doctor says we'll be able to talk to him in the morning."

The sheriff looks at me. "Kate, how much do you know about this Isaiah Hofer character?"

The final minutes I spent with Hofer flash in my mind's eye. The march to the quarry. The struggle to escape. The fall into the water. All the while not knowing if Tomasetti was dead or alive…

Though I'm plenty warm now, a chill passes through me. "Not much. I suspect he may be formerly Amish. He may have spent some time in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania."

"There was no ID on the body," Rasmussen tells me. "We're running his prints now."

"Agents are searching the sand and gravel office," Chambers adds. "Hofer's residence is on the property. We got the warrant so we'll be searching the entire compound in the coming hours. We also secured a warrant for Raber's apartment."

"How does Raber play into this?" Tomasetti asks.

"Milan Swanz is the common denominator." I remind them of my theory about the Schwertler Anabaptists and relay to them the exchange between Hofer and me during our walk to the quarry. "As far as Raber, maybe this group targeted him. Drafted him. Groomed him. Used him to get to Swanz."

Rasmussen shakes his head. "Almost like a cult."

I nod. "I don't have proof—yet—but I believe there's a small, underground community of religious zealots who use history as an excuse to murder."

"Are we talking Holmes County?" the sheriff asks.

"I think it's bigger than that." I tell them about the Lena Stoltzfus case in Lancaster County. "I don't believe Swanz and Stoltzfus are their only victims. And I don't believe Hofer acted alone."

The sheriff narrows his eyes on mine. "We're talking to several individuals who are living in the community," he says. "As soon as we locate the female who was working in the office, we'll haul her in for questioning."

"It sounds like this group has been operating for a long time," Tomasetti says.

I nod. "One thing that the Anabaptists are very good at, the Amish in particular, is the passing down of tradition to the next generation. In this case, even if that tradition is some bastardized version of their belief system."

Chambers nods, taking it all in. "We retrieved Hofer's cell, by the way," he says. "It's wet, but the data on the SIM card is likely recoverable. It's on the way to the BCI lab now."

"Speaking of his cell phone," I say, "I think Hofer is the one who called in the anonymous tip about seeing Jacob on Dogleg Road the night of the murder."

"We'll check it out." Rasmussen nods, looks from me to Tomasetti and back to me. "For now, I've got to get back to the scene. I'm glad you two are all right." He motions toward Tomasetti's injured arm. "Get yourself patched up, Agent Tomasetti, and we'll get the rest of this figured out in the coming days."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep me posted on any new developments," I tell them.

Chambers looks at me over his shoulder. "You got it, Chief Burkholder," he says.

And then they're gone.