“You’re right. Just bring the girls. That’s all that matters.”
“I’ll be watching to make sure you’re alone.”
The line went dead. Henry gently replaced the receiver, and then he reached into his pocket for a quarter and placed it in the can next to the phone.
“Where’s Seth?” Emma asked.
“I told him to be here at 3:40 exactly. The call was shorter than I thought it would be.”
“So what do we do?”
“We stall.”
Sixty
They stepped out of the phone shack. Henry stumbled and then dropped to the ground.
Emma flew to his side. He winked at her and said, “Look concerned, Emma.”
“I am concerned!”
“Good, because he’s probably still watching.”
She helped him to stand. He put weight on his left leg, scrunched up his face as if that hurt, and placed an arm around Emma’s shoulders.
Then they both heard the clip-clop of a buggy horse.
Emma understood now why Henry had told Seth to come to the phone shack. It was the only way it could possibly look like a random meeting. By the time Seth had pulled his buggy up next to Henry’s, Henry had hobbled over to the driver’s side, leaning on Emma’s arm.
“Henry, are you all right?”
“Emma and I are both fine. I didn’t really hurt my leg. Is Lexi okay?”
“Roseann has her. She’s good.”
Emma could just make out Grayson in the back of the buggy, but there was no mistaking the man’s voice.
“I don’t like this, Henry. It’s too dangerous.”
“We received a ransom note from the person who took the girls, probably the same person who killed Jeremiah. He wants ten thousand dollars.”
“So this is about money?”
“At least partially. I’m to get it from the bank and drive straight to the arena.”
“It’s deserted during the week. He must know that.”
“His instructions are for us to enter through the east side in one hour, wait fifteen minutes, and then walk to the middle of the arena.” Henry reached down to rub his left leg, and added, “He’s probably still watching us now.”
“I had an inkling about what we’d need when your note confirmed a kidnapping. We have a team assembled, but only local people. If you can give me more time, I can get a sharpshooter, even a hostage negotiator there before you arrive.”
“He won’t wait.”
“Do you think this person will follow you to the bank?”
“I’m sure he will.”
“I’ll send my men to the arena ahead of you, then. They’ll position in the breezeway on the east side.”
“Why did he tell us to wait fifteen minutes before going on through?” Emma asked.
Grayson glanced left and right, as if he could see through the walls of the buggy to what lay ahead. “He’s going to watch you enter, make sure you aren’t followed, and then get in position.”
“Ya. Likely you’re right.”
“We’ll be there before you. Try to stall at the bank.”
Emma didn’t think either of them falling down again would work, and she didn’t know how Henry was going to withdraw ten thousand dollars without suspicion, and she wasn’t sure Grayson’s men would be able to get in place at the arena that quickly.
But the die was cast.
She raised her voice a little and told Seth to have a good day. In a near whisper she added, “And don’t forget to make a call so he’ll believe that’s why you came to the phone shack.” Then she helped Henry as he hobbled over to his buggy.
They drove slowly to the bank.
“Do you think he bought that Seth just happened to be at the phone shack when we were leaving?” Emma worried her thumbnail, wanting to feel the peace and certainty she’d felt back at Henry’s workshop, but she was caught up in the danger and precariousness of their situation. Her hands were sweating, and her heart was thudding in her chest. She wanted to be calm, but her body was reacting as if she were being chased by a wild animal—which she supposed she was.
“I think this person, whoever he is, is arrogant.”
“No doubt about that.”
“He considers himself more intelligent than others.”
“I wish I could feel pity for him, but at the moment all I feel is anger.”
“He’d have to know we could get a note to someone…”
“No one would believe Lexi capable of that. I still can’t believe it.”
“He would never guess that an Amish person would go to the local sheriff and entice him into hiding in the backseat of a buggy to a clandestine meeting.”
“Does seem a bit far-fetched.”
“There’s something else. He’s focused on the drawings. I think he’d planned all along to kill Jeremiah here, during the rodeo, when there would be so many people and no one would really see anything. But he didn’t count on my being there. He’s not that familiar with our community.”
“Something else we know, then—he isn’t actually from Monte Vista.”
“He spent many days planning his retribution. For what, I have no idea. But he couldn’t have known about my ability to draw, and convincing him I didn’t see anything? I’m afraid that will be impossible.”
Emma shook her head. “This time it’s not what the bishop saw. It’s what the bishop knows… or who the bishop knows.”
When Henry cocked his head, she added, “We have a profile of the killer, but more importantly, you know the people who can help us.”
“Like Seth and Sheriff Grayson.”
“And you know that God will protect us.”
“He promised as much.”
“Indeed He did, Henry. Indeed He did.”
Sixty-One
Henry limped a little into the bank, pretending his leg was better but still sore. Unsure exactly what he was going to do. Emma offered to wait outside, but they were afraid the person watching them might try something. Better that they stick together. The bank was about to close, so Henry didn’t have a lot of time to devise his course of action.
He walked up to the teller window and presented the woman with his identification card, though she knew who he was and greeted him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lapp.”
“And to you.”
“How can I help you today?”
“I’d like to withdraw some money from our church account.”
She tapped something on a computer, confirmed that he was authorized to withdraw funds, and then she reached for a withdrawal slip and penned the account number in the appropriate box.
“How much would you like to withdraw?”
Henry glanced at Emma, who raised her eyebrows.
“The thing is, perhaps one-dollar bills would be best.”
“That’s not a problem.”
“I’m going to need a lot of them.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place. We are, after all, a bank.”
Henry smiled at her little joke, and then said, “They come in bundles, correct?”
“Yes, sir. We band them together. You can receive $25, $50, $100, $200, or $250 to a bundle.”
“I’ll take the $250.”
“Sure thing.”
“And I’ll need ten of them. If that’s not a problem, since you’re a bank.”
She smiled brightly. “No problem at all. You all must be having one of those auctions coming up. Folks are always wanting one-dollar bills for auctions and garage sales.”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll just have to ask a manager to get that from the vault.” She tapped something on her computer. “I’ll be right back.”
Henry was terribly proud of the way Emma was holding together. If anything, hearing from the killer, from the kidnapper, seemed to have solidified her resolve. Instead of becoming emotional, she’d turned to her practical side. The Emma who had cried on his shoulder was gone. Standing beside him was a woman de
termined to do whatever she had to, to see Naomi and Katie Ann safely returned home.
Good to her word, five minutes later the bank teller returned with ten stacks of one-dollar bills, each banded together with a pink paper strap. She counted them out, had Henry sign the withdrawal slip, and then asked, “Can I get you anything else today?”
“Perhaps something to put these in?”
She reached under the counter and pulled out a small canvas bag with the bank’s logo printed on the side.
“Thank you very much. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
“You have a good day.” They had nearly reached the door when the teller called out, “And good luck with your auction.”
They walked across the parking area to Oreo, Henry now limping so slightly he thought he could get away with walking normally at the arena. The horse was cropping at the grass near the railing where she was tied. Handing the bank bag to Emma, Henry winked and squatted down next to Oreo’s front left hoof. He ran his hand down the horse’s leg, and she picked up the hoof, never bothering to pause in her foraging.
“She’s well behaved,” Emma noted.
“Indeed.”
“Do you think we’re still being watched?”
“I do.”
“And you’re stalling?”
“I am.”
Emma sighed as Henry cleared the horse’s hoof of imaginary pebbles. Standing, he patted Oreo’s neck. Then he nodded and said, “I can’t think of any other way to postpone this.”
He glanced about, but he saw no signs of Grayson or his officers or the killer.
Had he given Grayson enough time to move his officers into place? What was their plan once they arrived at the arena? How would he convince Jeremiah’s killer to come to his senses, drop his vendetta, and turn himself over to the authorities?
Henry helped Emma into the buggy, shut the door, and shuffled around to his side. He wished he’d done a better job of stalling while inside the bank, but at the time he couldn’t think of any other reason to stay.
But fate was on their side, or perhaps God did care about the day-to-day trials of man, because road construction was going on through the middle of town. Crews halted everyone on their side and allowed the traffic heading toward them through. They were third in line, behind an Englisch pickup and a person on a motorcycle. The road worker finally turned the sign he was holding on a tall pole from STOP to SLOW.
By the time they cleared the intersection, the delay had used up another fifteen minutes.
When they pulled into the arena parking area, the time on Henry’s watch read twenty-eight minutes past four o’clock, and the sun was shining brightly as it descended in the western sky.
Henry allowed Oreo to slow to a stop, and they sat there looking out over the property. No cars were in the parking lot. The area where the carnival had been was now swept clean. The banner from the rodeo still stretched across the front of the arena.
San Luis Valley
Ski Hi Stampede
Colorado’s Oldest Pro Rodeo
“Place looks deserted,” Emma said.
“It isn’t, though.”
“Are you certain?”
“Grayson promised.”
“He’s a good man.”
“I’m sure he has a plan.”
“Any idea what it is?”
“Nein. You heard as much from him as I did.”
“I suppose we’ll have to take a step of faith, then.”
“We’re not alone on this, Emma. Grayson is here. His officers are here.” Henry cupped her hands in his, marveling that they were ice cold but steady, that despite her fear Emma was holding her emotions together. “And maybe, just maybe, Naomi and Katie Ann are here as well.”
Sixty-Two
They parked the buggy where they normally did when attending an event at the arena. A utility shed at the back held mowers and other equipment the city used on common areas. Perhaps that was why the gates were open, as they were most days. Oreo seemed appreciative of the shade. “Back in a few minutes,” Henry assured the mare, but he wondered if that was true. Would they be back in a few minutes? No doubt Jeremiah had thought the same thing. He’d expected to be on the floor of the arena for less than two, three minutes at the most. But he’d died there.
The person who killed him wasn’t stable, and there was no way to know what he would be willing to do to ensure his own safety.
Emma smiled at him weakly as she accepted the paper bag holding four of the drawings. Henry held the money bag in the crook of his right arm, and with his left hand he clasped Emma’s hand.
“Looking forward to our wedding, Emma?”
The question seemed to catch her off guard.
“I had been. The last few weeks I’d been thinking of little else.”
“And then?”
“Then Jeremiah was killed, Seth was run off the road, Katie Ann and Naomi were taken.” She blinked several times, took a deep breath, and said, “But ya. I surely am looking forward to the day we are wed.”
“Do you know what I’m looking forward to the most?”
She shook her head.
“Sitting on the front porch of our dawdi haus, watching the grandkinner play in the yard, Lexi chase butterflies, and Katie Ann tend to her animals.”
And with that image in his mind, Henry’s doubts fled. He could look past the present hour and glimpse the future God had for them.
Emma glanced at Henry, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
“Stephen and Thomas mention it to me every day.”
“Is that so?”
“They have it in their minds that you’re going to be their fishing buddy.”
“Perhaps I will.”
They stepped into the east entrance and walked through the breezeway.
Sheriff Grayson stepped out of the area usually reserved for food service workers. “Good job stalling, Henry.”
“The roadwork helped.”
“As did your request for twenty-five hundred dollars in ones. Good thinking.”
Henry started to ask how Grayson knew about that, but the sheriff had already turned to one of his officers and said, “Our fifteen-minute window begins now. Make sure everyone is in position.”
To Henry he said, “Let’s get you suited up.”
“Suited up?”
Grayson motioned them into the kitchen area, and Henry and Emma quickly followed. Officer Ellen Cunningham moved forward and offered to hold the bag of money. Then she moved over to Emma and accepted the paper bag holding the drawings. She opened it, peeked inside, and let out a long, low whistle.
“Take off your jacket,” Grayson said to Henry.
“Why do I need to do that?”
Grayson didn’t answer. Instead, Officer Ricky Moore stepped in front of Henry and helped him out of the jacket. Next they placed a thin cord over his head, tucked it beneath his shirt, and taped the microphone dangling from it to the front of his chest.
Henry thought of David, going out to battle the Philistine. What was it the Old Testament writer had penned? The LORD who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will rescue me from the hand of this Philistine.
Henry didn’t realize he’d quoted the Scripture aloud until Grayson said, “No lions or bears here. Only a criminal, and we know how to catch those.”
“Could you hold out your arms for me?” Officer Moore asked.
As Henry did so, they placed a thick, black vest over his shirt, tightened the Velcro straps, and then helped him back into his jacket. How did Englischers wear such things? It must have weighed ten pounds.
At the same time, they had been putting a microphone and black vest with the word KEVLAR across the front on Emma. Another woman officer said, “Sorry, ma’am. All we could find was this sweater.”
It was hardly cool enough for a sweater, but before Emma could argue, they had put the sweater over the Kevlar vest and buttoned it up.
She glanced at Henry, sweat bead
ing across her forehead.
“Tell me what we’re doing here, Grayson.”
“They’re bulletproof vests, just in case. We have men stationed throughout the arena, but you’re going to have to follow his instructions exactly, or he might take off before we have a chance to capture him. I don’t think he’ll have time to get a shot off, but we know he has a rifle with a long-range scope. No doubt it’s what he used to kill Jeremiah. We also know he won’t hesitate to shoot, so it’s best if you’re prepared. Now, the ear microphones will help us to communicate. You’ll be able to hear us, and more importantly, we’ll be able to hear you, as well as anything the killer says.”
Emma jumped when someone pressed a device into her ear.
Henry glanced her way, jerking his head away from the man who was attempting to do the same for him.
“The money bag is a good idea. It’ll look like you’re carrying the full ten grand.”
Henry had the sense that everything was spiraling out of control. Emma looked about to let out a holler if she didn’t get out of the sweater. It was a warm August afternoon. The killer would either think she was daft, or he’d know they were up to something. Amish men—especially Amish bishops—often wore jackets even in the summer, but women in a sweater? It looked odd.
“Walk to the other side of the room and be sure you can hear us.” Officer Moore was now fiddling with a radio.
Henry did as he asked, but his mind wasn’t on what the officers were saying. He was remembering the seventeenth chapter of the first book of Samuel. He’d preached on it many times, on the sufficiency of God. He closed his eyes and imagined his hand drawing the words, the very scene from the Scripture.
Then Saul dressed David in his own tunic. He put a coat of armor on him and a bronze helmet on his head. David fastened on his sword over the tunic and tried walking around, because he was not used to them.
“We need you to pay attention, Henry.” Grayson cocked his head to the side. “Can you hear Officer Moore?”
I cannot go in these because I am not used to them.
Emma met Henry’s gaze and shook her head once, just a tiny shake, one that was almost more of a tick than a conscious movement. No doubt she was barely aware that she’d done it, but that tiny gesture was enough for Henry. He pulled the plug from his ear and deposited it in Officer Moore’s hand.
Who the Bishop Knows Page 27