“Four years is too long for rumspringa.”
“There’s no set amount of time, and his hesitance wasn’t too unusual for his age. They eventually come around.”
“Gideon was afraid he wouldn’t. He pushed, and Jeremiah responded by rejecting even more of our Plain ways and turning toward the Englisch life.”
“The rodeo.”
“Ya. Though in truth, the boy loved to be on a horse as soon as he could walk.” Ruth folded her arms and stared out into the darkness as if she might find answers there, or maybe she was simply looking for comforting memories from the past. “He was good with them—both the buggy horses and the Percherons. I thought he might become a farrier or even a breeder.”
“I had the impression he was doing well here,” Emma offered.
Ruth shrugged. “I fed him. I made all of his favorite meals so he’d eat. At the first of the summer he was as thin as a reed, but he seemed to be filling out and sleeping more. His moods were less volatile, and the rodeo… well, it meant the world to him. Maybe more than it should have.”
“What do you mean by that?” Henry asked.
“I don’t think he planned to return to Goshen, and I’m not even sure he intended to remain Amish. The Englisch world was calling him, and though he appreciated some aspects of our life, he was dazzled by the possibility of success on the rodeo circuit. He told me he would prove his father wrong or die trying. That’s what he said.”
She closed her eyes then, and Emma knew she’d once again slipped into despair.
Seven
Sheriff Grayson didn’t show up at the hospital until nearly one that morning. By that time, Henry, Emma, and Ruth had all succumbed to the need for caffeine. The vending machine coffee was only palatable with the help of small packages of cookies. Even to Henry they tasted like sawdust. Not that he was a baking expert, but he’d done his fair share of eating.
At ten minutes before one, the automatic doors to the hospital’s emergency room opened, and Sheriff Grayson stepped in with a gust of wind. He walked straight to them, removing his hat as he did so. He repositioned a chair so that he was sitting at the end of a U shape, with Ruth on his right and Henry and Emma on his left. Fortunately, they were still the only ones there. Other than Jeremiah’s murder, it was a quiet night in the valley.
Grayson directed his first comments to Ruth. “Your grandson is being delivered to the morgue now. You’ll be able to go back in a few minutes if you’d like to.”
“I would.”
“All right. I’ve already cleared it, and of course Henry and Emma can accompany you.”
“Danki.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulled out his small notebook and stared at it, running his left thumb over his eyebrow. “If you feel up to it, I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”
“Of course.”
“We found a cell phone on your grandson, but it’s passcode protected. Would you have any idea what that passcode might be?”
“Nein. I knew he had a phone, but he never brought it into the house, so I let it slide.” She stared down at her empty hands, as if the phone might suddenly appear and answer all of their questions.
“All right. Judge Alvarez has signed a warrant for the information on the phone, and I’ve scheduled it for data extraction, but it may be a day or two before we have results.”
“What do you hope to find?” Henry asked. He thought he understood well enough what data could be stored on a cell phone, but he wanted Ruth to hear it from Grayson. He suspected that in the coming days she would learn things about her grandson she couldn’t have imagined. Henry had never owned a phone, but he understood that teenagers and young adults left a digital record that closely resembled a diary.
Grayson sat back, tapping the small pad against his knee. “I don’t really know. It’s possible that he knew someone who was upset with him, someone who would want to kill him. We’ll be able to see who he communicated with, what friends he had who might know something. And we’ll also be able to monitor his computer activity, including what social media sites he visited.”
“I don’t understand,” Ruth said. “What does his phone have to do with a computer?”
“The type of phone he had—a smartphone—also provided Internet access.”
“Oh.”
Grayson glanced back down at his notebook and flipped it open. “How long had Jeremiah been involved with the rodeo?”
“For years. Even back in Goshen, though his father, my son, forbade it.”
“It was a source of contention between father and son?”
Ruth glanced at Henry and Emma. “Ya, but then nearly everything was.”
“He was staying with you. What can you tell me about his friends? Did anyone come over to your house—Amish or Englisch?”
“He was seeing Naomi Miller. I don’t know if they were courting exactly, but they seemed to be… friends.”
“Anyone else?”
“Now and then someone would pick him up in an automobile.”
“Can you describe it to me?”
“Truck—always dirty, so the color was hard to tell. Gray or white.”
“Did you ever see who was driving?”
“A teenage boy, I think. Long hair, wore a baseball cap. He never came up to the house.”
“Any other girls he might have been involved with?”
Ruth hesitated, stared out the window at the darkness, and finally looked over to meet Grayson’s gaze. “I think so, but I don’t know who it was. I don’t even know if she was Englisch or Amish.”
“Can you recall anything that upset him recently?”
“He was excited about the rodeo and in an unusually good mood. I remember thinking that maybe… maybe the rodeo around here would be a good experience, and then afterward he would be willing to settle down.”
That statement sat between them for a moment.
Finally, Grayson turned back a few pages in his notebook and began reading. “We won’t have all of the forensic evidence processed for a few days, but preliminary reports indicate your grandson was killed by a rifle, shot from more than a hundred yards away.”
“From across the arena,” Henry said. To him, it seemed the only logical explanation.
“It would have to be. We’ve interviewed every person working with the rodeo contestants in the arena—all of the workers, in fact. Even the ones in the food booths. So far we have no reports that anyone saw a person with a rifle.”
“Was the man who did this lurking in the stands?” Emma asked. “It seems there would be witnesses if he was.”
Grayson didn’t correct her on the assumption that the shooter was a male. Henry supposed that in all likelihood it was. He also understood that the sheriff wouldn’t be discounting any possible suspects—male or female—at this point.
“It’s something we’re working on.”
“How?” Ruth asked.
“Ma’am, we’re going over statements and collecting forensic evidence, and I’ll be conducting interviews of any possible suspects. Rest assured we want this case solved, and we want it solved quickly.”
Ruth studied him a moment and finally nodded her head in agreement. “Thank you for all your efforts. It seems… it seems you would have a small list of suspects, of people who could possibly do such a thing.”
It occurred to Henry that Ruth might be on to something. “Wasn’t it an awfully long shot? To shoot from that distance, with Jeremiah a moving target? Do you think you’re looking for an expert marksman or… or a military person?”
“In the past, yes, but nowadays one hundred yards is the minimum distance for modern rifle shooting and hunting. Many gun, scope, and cartridge combinations are capable of two to three times that distance.”
Technology seemed to affect every aspect of their lives no matter how much they sought to separate themselves from it. Now someone in their community had been killed, and the way it happened was possible because of advances in the making
of firearms. Though Amish practiced nonresistance, they still hunted, and the animals they harvested provided meat for much of the year. Henry had only ever used his father’s rifle, made back in the 1920s, but he’d seen some of the newer rifles. They were quite sophisticated.
“Witness reports?” Emma asked.
“Still working on them. We handed out forms to everyone in the arena. As you can imagine, it’s going to take some time to work through that amount of information.”
“When will Jeremiah’s body be released?” Henry knew firsthand that the investigation could go on for days, weeks, or even months. But the process of grief was the same, and that was what he was interested in guiding Ruth through. “Jeremiah’s parents will be traveling here from Indiana.”
“Will he be buried there?” Grayson asked.
“Nein.” Ruth rubbed at her eyes. “We’ll lay him to rest here, beside his grandfather.”
“His body will be released as soon as they’re finished with the autopsy.”
“Is that really necessary?” Henry asked. “You know the cause of death.”
“I’m sorry. It’s required on all homicide victims.”
Henry nodded as if he understood, though in truth he didn’t. There were times when the reasons for Englisch ways completely eluded him, but the law was the law, and there was no use fighting it.
Grayson shifted in his chair. “Forty-eight hours, at the most.”
“Then the body would be released on Monday. We could have the visitation and burial on Tuesday. Ruth?”
“Ya, that sounds right.”
Ruth Schwartz was a strong woman. She’d stayed at her husband’s side the last year of his life, nursing him and tending to many of the farm chores, though neighbors often offered to help. Since his death, she’d gone into business with two other women, and then she had provided a home for her grandson. It shouldn’t have surprised Henry that she was coping so well, but it did. The human heart’s ability to persevere was a miracle.
Eight
Transcript of interview between Monte Vista Sheriff Roy Grayson and Justin Lane regarding the July 27 homicide of Jeremiah Schwartz. Audiotapes and a transcript of the interview are included in the permanent case file.
Sheriff Roy Grayson #3604
INTERVIEW WITH Justin Lane
Case #4751.06
3:15 a.m., Saturday, July 28
Sheriff Grayson (SG): Could you state your name for the recording?
Justin Lane (JL): Justin Lane.
SG: Middle name?
JL: Tanner. Tanner Lane. I always hated that. Sounds like a road or something. I go by Justin T. Lane.
SG: Okay. And you live at 14771 North Avenue, Del Norte, Colorado?
JL: (inaudible)
SG: I need you to say yes, for the recording.
JL: Yes.
SG: Your birthday is 12/03/96?
JL: (inaudible) Yeah.
SG: Do you know why we’ve brought you in tonight?
JL: It’s not because of the weed in my truck. (inaudible) That was a joke. There’s no weed in my truck. Honest. You want the keys? You can go check.
SG: You’re not under arrest at this time, Justin. You’re free to leave or contact a lawyer at any point in this interview. We just want to ask you some questions since you were friends with the deceased.
JL: You mean Jeremiah.
SG: Yes.
JL: I wouldn’t call us friends.
SG: How would you characterize your relationship?
JL: I don’t know.
SG: Acquaintances?
JL: Nah.
SG: Enemies?
JL: Nothing like that.
SG: Then what?
JL: We hung out sometimes. I guess because we were both steer wrestlers.
SG: How long had you known Jeremiah?
JL: A couple weeks? Maybe longer. I guess he moved in with his grandmother first part of the summer. He worked at her farm during the week and then bulldogged on weekends.
SG: Bulldogged?
JL: That’s what we call steer wrestling.
SG: Was he any good?
JL: (inaudible)
SG: I need you to answer verbally for the recorder.
JL: He was okay. Nothing to write home about.
SG: So you’re the better bulldog?
JL: Sure, but ask around. Don’t take my word for it.
SG: Actually, it seems you and Jeremiah were pretty even as far as steer wrestling ability goes.
JL: I wouldn’t call us even.
SG: You won the first three stops on the circuit—Elizabeth, Cortez, and Evergreen.
JL: I’m pretty good at what I do.
SG: But you didn’t win by much, and Jeremiah won the last three—Alamosa, Greeley, and Gunnison.
JL: These chairs aren’t very comfortable, are they? This is like some old movie where you stick me in a small room with nothing to eat or drink, hoping I’ll grow uncomfortable enough to confess.
SG: Do you have something to confess?
JL: No.
SG: We have vending machines if you’d like a candy bar or a beverage.
JL: Nah. I’m fine. Just messing with you.
SG: Back to you and Jeremiah. You’d each won half of this year’s regional events.
JL: He was on a lucky streak, yeah. A lot of it’s skill, but some of it’s which steer you draw.
SG: Is it fair to say that the Ski Hi Stampede was an important event… say, if someone were considering going pro?
JL: (laughter)
SG: Why do you find that amusing?
JL: You sound just like him.
SG: Like who?
JL: Jeremiah. He was always talking about going pro, but we all knew that wasn’t going to happen.
SG: Why is that?
JL: Look, Jeremiah was a nice kid, and he had some skill—yeah. But he was Amish.
SG: He couldn’t be a pro because he was Amish?
JL: Amish kids play around on the circuit sometimes. We’ve all seen it. They’re good with the animals and seem to have this uncanny understanding of what they’re going to do next. But an Amish guy or girl is never going to win the big one. They don’t go pro.
SG: And why is that?
JL: Because they’re not competitive enough. It’s just not in them. You ever see them play baseball? They don’t even keep score.
SG: Were you watching when Jeremiah was shot?
JL: Sure. Everyone was watching.
SG: What did you see?
JL: Not much. Saw him fall off the horse. Like I told your deputy, no one knew he’d been shot, and we sure didn’t see where the shot came from. You know how loud an arena is? I didn’t even hear the pop of the rifle.
SG: Do you know anyone who would want to kill Jeremiah?
JL: No. I don’t.
SG: Is there anything else you’d like to add?
JL: I think you’re looking at this all wrong.
SG: How so?
JL: It wasn’t someone with the rodeo. We’re like a family, you know?
SG: Even families have trouble—jealousies, rivalries, bitterness.
JL: But it couldn’t have been a rodeo person. We don’t kill each other. You have a beef with someone else? Then you ride better than them the next time out. You prove you’re the better man.
SG: Do you have a theory as to who might have wanted Jeremiah dead?
JL: Maybe it had something to do with that Amish girl he was hanging around–
SG: Naomi?
JL: Yeah.
SG: Why would you say that?
JL: Aren’t most murders crimes of passion?
SG: Were there problems between the two?
JL: He’s a man. She’s a woman. There are going to be problems.
SG: Anything specific he mentioned to you?
JL: No. We didn’t talk about stuff like that.
SG: We have statements that say you and a Daisy Marshall double dated at least a couple of times with Jeremiah and Naomi.
JL: Not against the law last time I checked. Just because we grabbed a burger together doesn’t mean he spilled his guts to me. Look, like I said, Jeremiah was a good kid, but he was still a kid.
SG: Nineteen isn’t exactly a child.
JL: When I was nineteen, I still thought I could win the gold before I was twenty. Now I understand it takes years and determination to perfect your skill. Jeremiah had natural talent, but he wasn’t really dedicated to winning.
SG: Can you think of anyone else I should speak with?
JL: I don’t know. Maybe that chick from Alamosa he hung out with sometimes when Naomi wasn’t around.
SG: Do you know her name?
JL: Nah. He never introduced her, and she didn’t hang with him at the rodeo because… you know, he was with Naomi. But I’d see her there, watching.
SG: Description?
JL: Dark haired. Indian, I think—like Native American Indian. Not like the foreign kind. She’s little.
SG: Anything else?
JL: Tattoos on her left arm.
SG: Tattoos of what?
JL: I don’t know, man. I didn’t date her. I just saw her a few times.
SG: Thank you for coming in. I’ll be in touch if we have additional questions.
Nine
The sun was peeking over the horizon when the Monte Vista police officer drove Henry and Emma and Ruth back to the rodeo grounds. Henry was worried that Ruth might want to go inside the arena to see the scene of her grandson’s death once again. She didn’t. Instead, she stared at it for a moment, her shoulders slumped and her fingers pressed to her lips. Finally, she straightened and turned toward her horse and buggy.
But they weren’t where she’d left them. Someone in their community no doubt had driven the buggy to her house and had driven Henry’s buggy and horse, Oreo, to his house as well.
The officer offered to take them to their homes. They all piled back into the vehicle and proceeded to Ruth’s house.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” Emma asked.
“No, but thank you, Emma. You’ve been a gut friend—you and Henry both. What I would like most now is some time to rest and pray.”
When they arrived at her home, she gave Emma a brief hug, squeezed Henry’s hand, and then tottered off to her house.
Who the Bishop Knows Page 4