by Alison Stone
Still standing in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. The deputies were still wandering in for the start of the day shift. “I’m not exactly the most popular person around here.” But how could she suggest that one of her fellow deputies might be out to get her without sounding paranoid, or at the very least, like someone who wasn’t a team player?
The moment to offer a possible culprit passed and the sheriff gestured at her to come farther into his office. “Close the door.”
Becky’s heart sank. Close the door. Nothing good was ever said behind closed doors, unless it involved a raise or a promotion, neither of which she was in line for.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” the sheriff said.
TWO
“Bad news?” What more could possibly go wrong?
Sitting behind his mahogany desk, the sheriff forced a tight smile and held his hand out to Becky. “Have a seat.”
Becky wanted to refuse the seat, hoping that whatever he had to tell her could be said while she was standing, but her knees felt warm and wobbly. Swallowing hard, she moved around to the front of the chair and lowered herself into the seat as he requested. “What’s going on?” She hoped her crossed ankles, hands politely folded on her lap and her square shoulders exuded outward confidence. Inside she felt like puking.
The sheriff tapped the pads of his fingers together and seemed to be looking right through her, as if collecting his thoughts. “I know you’ve been having a hard time since the Elijah Lapp incident.”
“Yes.” Short of leaving her Amish family, the past week had been the hardest of her life. When she took the oath to uphold the law, she never thought it would include speaking out against one of her fellow deputies.
“You’ve been under tremendous pressure,” the sheriff said with a reassuring tilt to his mouth.
“Yes.” Becky swallowed hard, feeling a bit like she was being interrogated again. Like she had when she answered questions about The Incident. That was how she had begun to think of it. A young Amish man had led Deputy Ned Reich on a high-speed chase and only stopped when he bailed out of his car in the hopes of making a getaway on foot. Fueled by adrenaline and a well-known bad attitude, Deputy Reich had quickly caught up with the man and beaten him to within an inch of his life. By the time Becky—Reich’s backup—arrived on the scene, the young Amish man was on the ground and Ned was driving his fist into his face. Becky had stared at the ceiling each night wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t come by to put an end to the beating.
Even now she wondered how she had been able to stop the fight. The events of that afternoon blurred into an adrenaline-fueled haze. She thanked God she had the strength and inclination to do something.
Becky bent back her fingers on one hand in a nervous gesture. Once she became aware of it, she dropped her hand, only to absentmindedly pick it up and start again.
She had left the Amish because she felt like she had a bigger calling—to help people outside the small Amish community. But she was beginning to think this job was going to be the death of her. She never imagined small-town policing could be such stressful work.
The sheriff picked up a cell phone that had been face down on his desk, then put it back down again. “New evidence has come to light.”
“New evidence against Deputy Reich?” A part of her was relieved. The more independent evidence against Ned, perhaps the less they’d have to rely on her testimony when it came to his trial. For now she had only testified in the confines of the department, providing enough information to keep Reich out of uniform for the foreseeable future. Maybe forever, depending on what additional evidence the sheriff had found. She hated this situation, but if she could find a spark of hope, this was it. Maybe her life would get back to normal and her fellow officers wouldn’t treat her like a traitor.
The sheriff shot her a subtle gaze that chilled her to the core. She had misread this entire situation. “What is it?” Her body seemed to be hovering over her.
The sheriff touched the corner of his computer screen, adjusting its angle so she could see it. He clicked a few keys on his keyboard and a video frame popped up. The sheriff clicked the arrow button and an image of Ned pummeling the Amish kid while he was down on the pavement came into focus. The familiar uneasy feeling swept over her. The video had been taken from her dash cam on her patrol car. She wanted to look away, but didn’t. Couldn’t. There was a reason the sheriff was showing her this video, the same video she had seen play over and over again during her testimony against the man.
Her heart raced, just as it did the afternoon the events unfolded. Just as it did every time she had to relive the moment. She ran her hands up and down the arms of the chair. “I’ve seen this video more times than I can count, sir. Are we looking at something new?”
The sheriff cut her a quick gaze. “Hold on.” He moved the mouse and scanned over a few files. Perhaps he had shown her the wrong video. “Here it is.”
This time when he clicked on the arrow, another video played. She slid to the edge of her seat as the familiar scene played out from a new angle. One she had never seen before. She shot a quick glance to her boss, then back to the video. This time she appeared on the screen. She had out her baton. Nausea swirled in her gut.
“Stop. Stop. Stop.” Her terrified voice could be heard in the video. She had her baton raised, much like Ned had his fist raised moments ago in the other video.
“What is this?” Her voice cracked.
“Someone took a video with their cell phone.”
She stared at the screen as if watching someone else. A million memories from that day assaulted her, but this particular one escaped her. As she approached, Ned dragged the man behind his patrol car. This was when her dash cam lost coverage. But this video caught more, like a second camera on a movie set. This time Becky could be seen marching toward where the two men had disappeared.
The sheriff stopped the video and pointed to a part with the tip of his pen. “What are you doing here?”
“Um—” she stared at the computer screen until it went blurry “—I’m raising my baton.”
“What did you do with your baton?” The sheriff moved the pen away from the screen and covered the mouse with the palm of his hand. He clicked on Play. On the video, she was commanding that they stop.
Who? Her fellow officer? The man getting beat?
She blinked rapidly. “I needed to help...” The next word got caught in her throat. Did she need to help Ned? Her fellow officer? Or had she been determined to save the young Amish man?
“Who were you going to help, Deputy Spoth?” He hit Pause again.
Becky sat ramrod straight on the edge of her seat and squared her shoulders. She had the answer. The question was easy, right? “I had to stop the fight. I had to get the driver safely into custody and away from Deputy Reich. The situation had turned out of control.”
“Would you say you’d do whatever it took to stop the fight?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.” She flinched, then turned to stare at the screen, her digital form frozen with an anguished expression on her face. Becky may have been fairly naive because of her upbringing, but she studied people, knew how to respond. She was a quick learner and she wasn’t going to allow the sheriff to get her to say something that could jeopardize her career.
The sheriff clicked Play. Video Becky walked authoritatively toward Reich’s patrol car. She could be seen with her baton raised. To hit someone? Then she saw nothing.
On the video, someone muttered and then gravel came into view as the person took off running through what looked to be cornfields while still recording on their phone. Then the video came to a quick stop and the screen went black.
“I don’t understand.” A hot flush of dread blanketed her skin.
The sheriff sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. It groaned under hi
s weight. “This video was submitted to Deputy Reich’s lawyer.”
“Who?” The single word came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Who turned it in? Why not turn it in to the department?”
“We’re working on that. The lawyer said it was from an anonymous source. The witness claims you hit Elijah Lapp on the head with your baton, thus ending the fight and potentially leading to the young Amish man’s cracked skull.”
Cold dread washed over her and she thought she was going to be sick. “Wait...what? No. That’s not...” The memories of that day were disjointed, but she didn’t hit Elijah. No way.
“Deputy Spoth,” the sheriff said in a soothing voice, but she was having none of it.
“This is all a misunderstanding. I didn’t hit anyone with my baton. I used it to pry the men apart. That’s why I had the baton out.” It was all coming back to her now in a flood of formerly suppressed memories. Or was she grasping for the truth? Was she confused? Had she done something regrettable in the heat of the moment? She blinked slowly. The walls of the room closed in on her. She tugged on her collar. “You can ask Ned.” As soon as the words spilled from her lips, she realized the futility of it. Why would Ned help her after she testified against him? Cost him his job? She looked up and met the sheriff’s even gaze and knew she didn’t stand a chance to talk her way out of this.
“Ned’s lawyer insists that you landed the final blow that cracked Elijah Lapp’s skull. Ned’s lawyer provided the video.”
“But...”
“Reich’s been with the sheriff’s department for twenty-five years.” The sheriff glanced at the closed door behind her, as if to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Between you and me, he’s a hothead, but he’s never gone this far.”
“We can interview Elijah.” Becky leaned forward on the edge of her chair, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.
“Elijah has no memory of the incident.” The sheriff’s calm, cool demeanor only served to morph her initial fear to white-hot anger. “He’s recovering at home and his family isn’t allowing anyone from the sheriff’s department to speak with him.”
“I can’t believe this.”
The sheriff held up his hand. “I don’t believe you hit the young man.”
Hope straightened Becky’s backbone, only for her to be immediately deflated with the sheriff’s next words. “Despite what I think, I can’t ignore this video. I ran for sheriff on the pledge that this office would be transparent and not allow any wrongdoing. This community has a reason to mistrust the sheriff’s department after one of our own was arrested for murder.”
Becky grew dizzy. “That was so long ago.”
“But the perception that the sheriff’s department protected him has hurt us.” The sheriff shook his head. “We must regain the trust of the community.”
“But—” Her world was sputtering out of control.
“Until we can clear you, you’re suspended.”
Becky stood to leave when the sheriff held out his hand.
“I’ll need your gun and badge.”
* * *
Deputy Harrison James climbed behind the wheel of his patrol car and turned the key in the ignition. He took a minute to adjust the AC vents, directing them toward his face. It was going to be a scorcher today. But hot in the country was never the same as hot in the city.
Fighting crime in the city was a whole new ballgame when the temperatures rose. Tempers spiked in direct proportion. And the concrete buildings held the heat. Here, the soft wind had a chance to reach a person across the large open spaces giving him time to think before he threw a punch or pulled the trigger.
Most of the time.
He thought about the deputy he had chatted with on his way into the building at the start of his shift. He wondered if her shell-shocked expression was a result of being run off the road or if the tight lines around her eyes were the aftereffects of the incident splashed all over the news. It was probably a combination of the two.
Harrison knew what it was like to have personal business laid out for public consumption. That was a big part of why he had taken a job with the sheriff’s department in Quail Hollow. He never thought the small-town sheriff’s department would be dealing with a case of excessive force. But he supposed people were people and bad decisions could happen anywhere. He had come here to get his head on straight and he hoped he could keep his distance from any interoffice drama. He wanted to do his job and go home at night with a clear conscience.
Such as it was. He carried a lot of guilt with him regardless.
As Harrison pulled out of the back lot of the sheriff’s department, he noticed Deputy Spoth standing next to her personal vehicle. The petite blonde had caught his eye more than once, and not because she had arrived in a tow truck at the end of her shift this morning. And not simply because she was a woman—he had worked with plenty of female law-enforcement officers before. He noticed her because she seemed different. Almost too meek to do this job. Too nice. Yet she had somehow broken up a fight on the side of the road that, by all accounts, could have led to the death of a young Amish man. That was how he had interpreted the reports. Mumblings suggested other deputies thought differently. Not that he was willing to get involved in a heated debate.
Didn’t concern him anyway.
Harrison didn’t envy Deputy Spoth’s position. Not all law-enforcement officers could understand how a fellow officer could testify against them. Some would silently support their fellow officer no matter what.
One side was right. One was wrong. Clear lines.
He had done that with his brother. Harrison had only seen his side of things. Had let his brother know of his disapproval under no uncertain terms. Had purposely alienated his brother in hopes that he’d realize the error of his ways. Had seemed like a good idea.
Everything had always been clearly black-and-white—until life served him up some bleak gray.
Harrison squeezed the steering wheel and shifted his focus to the female deputy standing by the open driver’s side door. She had her hands planted on her hips and a frustrated expression on her face. At first he thought she was still carrying the weight of her rough shift in her posture until he dropped his gaze to the two flat tires on her personal vehicle.
He pulled up alongside where she was parked, jammed the gear into Park and climbed out, allowing the engine and the AC to run. The deputy glanced up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
The woman held out her hand toward her car. “Someone slashed all four tires.” Her cheeks filled with air, then she huffed in frustration. “Apparently, the number of people I’ve managed to irk has grown.”
Harrison crouched down and ran his finger along the clean slice in the rubber. “Man...” He angled his head toward the row of patrol cars across the parking lot. The heat was pulsing off the blacktop surface and he could feel the sweat forming under his uniform shirt. “I can put a call in to a local garage.”
“I already did. They’re on their way.” She dropped down on the curb and rested her arms on her knees, letting her hands hang limply. “Looks like bad things really do come in threes.”
He narrowed his gaze, not sure what she meant.
“Patrol car towed in. Flat tires.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “Got suspended.”
“Suspended? Why?” He thought she had come out smelling like a rose after her testimony against the other officer.
“New video.” She didn’t need to elaborate; her participation in the most talked about case was well known. “Apparently enough to make them question my involvement.”
“Really?” He ran a hand across his chin, reminding him that he should have shaved this morning. “How so?”
“The video’s not clear-cut, but a person with something to gain could s
uggest I used my baton on Elijah Lapp.” She shook her head, clearly dejected. “That’s exactly what Deputy Reich’s lawyer is doing. He’s using the video to spread the blame. It’s a mess.”
“Who sent the video in?”
“Good old anonymous.” She closed her eyes briefly and drew in a long breath, before finally meeting his gaze. “And now I’m out of a job.”
She pushed to her feet and pulled out her cell phone from her duty belt. She walked around to the back of the vehicle and snapped a photo. “Don’t let me hold you up. Pretty sure it won’t do you much good to hang out with me.”
He walked around to where she was standing to see what had caught her attention. He raised his eyebrows, surprised she seemed so calm. Is fattgange was written in soap on her back window. Gibberish as far as he could tell.
“What does that say? Anything?”
“It’s Pennsylvania Dutch. You know, the language the Amish speak.”
He hitched a shoulder. He had been here for less than a year, but other than a few bits and pieces here and there, he mostly heard the Amish speaking English, perhaps with a touch of an accent. “What’s it mean?”
“Go away.” Her tone was flat.
“I’m just trying to help.” Harrison held up his palms and took a step back, not sure what he had said to offend her.
For the first time, the young woman’s mouth curved into a grin and she laughed, adding to his confusion. “No, that’s what is fattgange means. Go away. In Pennsylvania Dutch.”
Harrison scratched his head and couldn’t help but laugh at himself. “Sorry, I haven’t picked up much Pennsylvania Dutch yet, beyond the basics.”
“You’ll learn a little here and there, but most of the adults speak English. That is, when they want to talk to you. The Amish, as a rule, don’t care to deal with law enforcement. The only problem you might run into is with little kids. Most of them don’t learn English until they start school. But it’s not likely you’ll run into an Amish child without one of their parents or older siblings around.”