Sworn to Silence kb-1

by Linda Castillo

  The news puts a chink in my hope for a quick exoneration for Jonas. I hang John’s coat in the closet. “Have they typed it?”

  “The blood is O negative. Hershberger is A positive,” he says. “Brenda Johnston was O negative. DNA will tell us if it’s hers.”

  “When do you expect results?”

  “Five days. Seven max.”

  None of this is good news for Jonas. I’m keenly aware of John behind me as I walk toward the kitchen. Flipping on the light, I go to the stove, fill the teakettle with water and set it on the flame. “You think he did it?” I ask.

  “If the blood is from one of the vics, it’s a slam dunk.”

  I turn to Tomasetti. “I’ve known Jonas since we were kids. He’s not a violent man.”

  “People change, Kate.”

  “Have you interviewed him?”

  John nods.

  “What do you think?”

  He makes the hand sign for crazy. “I think he’s a fuckin’ loon.”

  “Emotional problems don’t make him a killer.”

  “Doesn’t vindicate him, either.”

  “What about an alibi?”

  “He rarely leaves the farm.”

  “Tell me about the evidence.”

  “In addition to the blood evidence, a BCI tech found a shoe believed to have belonged to one of the victims. A bloody length of baling wire. A knife that fits the specs of the murder weapon.”

  The news shocks me. “Don’t you think that’s just a little too neat? Think about it. He hasn’t left a single clue behind and all of a sudden he leaves all this stuff at his own property?”

  “Kate.” Surprise ripples through me when he wraps his fingers around my upper arms. “Stop. It’s over. We got him.”

  I meet his gaze. “Jonas didn’t do it.”

  “Because he’s Amish?”

  “For God’s sake, John, he doesn’t drive. He couldn’t have been driving that snowmobile.”

  “Or so he says.”

  “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Profiling isn’t an exact science.”

  I sigh, wishing I could be satisfied the way everyone else seems to be. “Did you run the modified MO criteria through VICAP?”

  He groans in exasperation. “Anyone ever tell you you have a hard time letting go?”

  “I want to look at the reports.”

  “Look, I told the analyst not to bother, since we made an arrest.”

  “John, please.”

  He sighs. “You’re wasting your time, but I’ll call her back and ask her to e-mail them to you.”

  “Thank you.” Raising up on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek.

  “They want me back in Columbus, Kate. I came to say good-bye.”

  This shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. “When are you leaving?”

  “I’m packed. I was going to take off tonight.”

  In the last couple of days John has become an unlikely ally. He’s been a source of support and information. I realize he’s been a friend, too. “I’m glad you came by,” I say.

  One side of his mouth hikes into a half-smile. “You just wanted to pump me for information about the case.”

  “That, too.” I like his sense of humor. I wonder what it would be like to have him in my life. “I was just getting used to having you around.”

  “Most people just want to get rid of me.”

  I laugh outright, but I’m suddenly uncomfortable. I’m not very good at farewells. I can’t meet his gaze. I start to turn away, but he reaches out and stops me.

  “We left something unfinished earlier,” he says.

  “You mean the kiss?”

  “For starters.”

  He leans into me until his body is flush against mine. My heart pounds like a metronome run amok. For the first time in days, thoughts of the case leave my head, and my entire focus shifts to John. Lowering his head, he brushes his mouth against mine. His breath smells of peppermint. The kiss is gentle, but not tentative. Pulling away, he slides his hands to my face. “I’ve been wondering what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.”

  “I probably would have chickened out.”

  “Or I would have said something inappropriate and pissed you off.”

  “Maybe we’re just a little out of practice.”

  “You think maybe we could stumble through the basics?”

  “If we put our minds to it and stay focused we could give it a shot. See what happens.”

  We grin stupidly at each other. I don’t want this moment to be awkward, but it is. I realize neither of us are good at this kind of intimacy.

  “You want a drink?” he asks.

  “Will it help with the butterflies?”

  “Helps with all sorts of things.” Stepping back, he goes to the cupboard above the refrigerator and pulls out the bottle of vodka. I turn off the stove, gather glasses and set them on the counter.

  Scratching at the window draws my attention and I see the orange tabby, his face covered with a frosting of snow.

  “Cold night for that little guy.” John crosses to the door and opens it. The cat darts inside, hisses at John, then disappears into the living room.

  “He’s warming up to you,” I say.

  “I’ve got that stray cat thing going.” He pours into our glasses and raises his to mine. “Here’s to the end of a long and difficult case.”

  I clink my glass to his, and try not to wonder if the case is really over. We knock back our drinks without breaking eye contact. I know what’s going to happen next. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about acting on the reckless impulses running hot in my blood.

  He takes my glass and sets in on the counter. The next thing I know I’m being swept into his arms. “What are you doing?”

  “I was thinking about trying to get you into bed.”

  “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  He kisses me, but this time it’s not tentative. It’s the kiss of a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. “So are you okay with this?” he whispers.

  He’s asking about the rape, I realize. “At one point in my life, I would have run away from this moment and never looked back. Or maybe I would have sabotaged whatever relationship we’d begun.”

  “I thought I had the market cornered on the relationship-busting thing,” he says.

  “You don’t.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “Probably.”

  He looks at me with those dark, intense eyes. “No pretenses, Kate. It’s just us. You and me.”

  “And our baggage.”

  Laughing outright, he carries me down the hall and starts into the first bedroom.

  “Wrong room,” I say.

  “Sorry.” He backs into the hall and carries me into my bedroom.

  He puts me down next to the bed. His eyes go to the old kerosene lamp on my night table. “Does that thing work?”

  “It belonged to my mamm.” One of the few things I have of hers. “Matches are in the night table.”

  “Don’t go anywhere.” He softens the words with a smile.

  My nerves are snapping now. I watch as he removes the globe from the lamp. A match flares, then flickering light fills the room. He crosses to me, sets his hands on my shoulders and gazes into my eyes. “It’s been a long time for me.” He glances away, then back. “Not since Nancy.”

  “Two years is a long time to be alone.”

  “Plenty of demons to keep me company.”

  I think about everything I’ve read or heard about him, and I wonder if the stories are true. If he went rogue after his wife and kids were murdered. I wonder if he would tell me the truth if I asked. I wonder if I really want to know.

  He slides his hands to the hem of my sweatshirt. I lift my arms and he pulls it over my head. His gaze flicks to my bra, skims down my belly, lower. He runs his hands through my hair, mussing it. Hi
s fingers linger on either side of my face, then he snags the straps of my bra with his thumbs and tugs them over my shoulders.

  Cool air washes over my breasts, and I shiver. I’m keenly aware of his hands going to the fly of my jeans. His fingers tremble as he unfastens the button, then tugs down the zipper. Self-consciousness creeps over me. Needing something to do with my hands, I reach for the buttons of his shirt. But my fingers are shaking and I fumble them.

  John takes my hands in his and kisses my knuckles. “How is it that you can chase a madman into the woods in the dead of night and not even break a sweat, but when it comes to this, you’re shaking so hard you can’t even manage the buttons on my shirt?”

  “I think if push came to shove, I could probably kick your ass, Tomasetti.”

  He grins. “I think you probably could, too.”

  I try to smile, end up flushing hotly. “I’m not very good at this.”

  “Yes you are.” He touches his mouth to my forehead. “Don’t be nervous. It’s only me.”

  He unbuttons his shirt and it opens to a solid chest covered with a thatch of dark hair. He’s muscular, but not buff. Thin, but it’s a long-distance-runner kind of thin. My thoughts evaporate when he tugs my jeans down my hips. I step out of them, then watch as he kicks his own slacks aside.

  His touch is electric, positive and negative charges skittering over every nerve ending in my body. Slowly, he backs me to the bed, pushes me back and comes down on top of me. Arousal comes in a flash flood. It courses through me with every hammer strike beat of my heart. I arch, wanting him, wanting this moment, wanting too much.

  As John eases his body into mine, I feel as if we’re the center of the universe and a kind God has blessed two imperfect people with a perfect moment.

  CHAPTER 30

  John lay on the bed and listened to the wind drive snow against the windows. Next to him, Kate slept with the quiet motionlessness of an exhausted child. This wasn’t the right time for him to be thinking about Nancy, but he was. For a long time after her murder, he’d been able to feel her. Not a physical presence, but more of an imprint on his psyche. At some point in the last months, he’d lost that. He could no longer conjure her face or the scent of her perfume. She’d become a memory.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. For two years, living had been about grief and misery and rage. It had been about wallowing and self-loathing. It had been about punishment. And then it had been about revenge. He’d stopped caring. About his job. His friends and relationships. He stopped caring about himself. Then along came this last-chance case, and Kate with her troubled eyes and pretty smile and secrets nearly as dark as his own. Somehow, he’d been thrust back into the land of the living. Not an easy transition for a man teetering on the brink of self-destruction. He still had a long road ahead, but this was a start.

  He should have known there would be guilt. There always was. Because he was alive and Nancy and the girls were dead. Because life went on without them. Because he’d moved on. Sleeping with Kate would bring complications, too. He was in no frame of mind to be taking on a relationship with a woman. He wasn’t very good at making people happy. Eventually, expectations would come into play. He knew they were expectations he couldn’t or wouldn’t meet.

  Sliding from the bed, he stepped into his jeans and left the bedroom. He grabbed his coat and keys, then headed for the Tahoe. He didn’t know why he was running away. Maybe because being close to someone took a hell of a lot more guts than being alone.

  Around him the night was so quiet he could hear the patter of falling snow. He hadn’t smoked in almost six months, but at this moment he needed a cigarette with the intensity of an addict looking for a fix. Opening the passenger door, he plucked a pack of Marlboros from the glove compartment and lit up. He’d just taken that first heady puff when the front door squeaked open.

  “You going to smoke that all by yourself?”

  He turned to see Kate standing on the porch in a fuzzy robe and wool-lined mocks. She shouldn’t have looked sexy with her hair mussed and her body lost in the robe, but she did.

  “I didn’t want to smell up the house,” he said.

  “I could crack a window.”

  She did and they sat at the kitchen table and passed the cigarette back and forth until it was gone.

  “I feel like I’ve corrupted you,” John said.

  “I hate to ruin whatever image you’ve drawn of me in your head, but that wasn’t my first smoke.”

  He studied her, liking the way her hair fell into her eyes, and the way she swept it back with her hand. At that moment, he figured he liked just about everything about her. “So who did corrupt you?”

  She grinned. “I have this friend by the name of Gina Colorosa. We went through the academy together.”

  “Ah, those wild academy days.” Suddenly, he wanted to know everything about her. “How did Gina manage to corrupt a nice Amish girl?”

  “If I tell you everything, you’ll have to arrest me.”

  “I like Gina already.”

  As if remembering, she smiled, then sobered. “I didn’t fit in here, especially after the bishop put me under the bann.” She shrugged. “I was young enough to convince myself it didn’t matter. I was angry and defiant. I saved enough money for a bus ride and moved to Columbus when I turned eighteen.”

  “That had to have been a tough transition.”

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Talk about a fish out of water. All I had to my name was two hundred dollars. I wore the dresses my mother made. I cut the hem, but . . .” She shook her head. “You can imagine. Anyway, I was broke. No job. No place to live. Didn’t know a soul. I was basically living on the street when I met Gina.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “It wasn’t love at first sight.” Her eyes flicked down, then went back to his. “It was cold. I needed a place to sleep. She didn’t lock her car.”

  “You slept in her car?”

  “She got in to go to work the next morning and there I was.” Her lips curved into a wry smile. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

  “So did she call the cops, or what?”

  “Threatened to. But I must have looked pretty harmless because she took me into her apartment. Fed me. The next thing I know, I have a place to live.” Another smile, amused this time. “Gina did all the bad things I’d been warned about. Smoking. Drinking. Cussing. She seemed very worldly to me. I don’t know how or why, but we hit it off.”

  “How did you get into law enforcement?”

  “Gina was a dispatcher with the Columbus PD. I finally landed a job waiting tables at a pancake house. At night, she’d come home and tell me about her day. I thought she had the most exciting job in the world. I wanted a job like hers. So I went back to school, earned my GED. A month later, she got me a job as a dispatcher at a substation near downtown. That fall, we enrolled in a criminal justice program at the community college. A year later, we were in the academy.”

  He stared at her, realizing he was getting caught up in this. Getting caught up in her. Not a good frame of mind for a man who would be leaving in a few hours.

  “What about you, Tomasetti?”

  “I came out of the womb corrupted.”

  Laughing, she reached for the pack of cigarettes. John wasn’t sure why it pleased him when she lit up. Maybe because it made her more human, a little less perfect and a tad closer to his own tarnished soul.

  “So what did you do before you were a cop?” she asked.

  “I was always a cop.” He rolled his shoulders to ease some of the tension creeping up the back of his neck. “I think this is where you’re supposed to ask me about what happened in Cleveland.”

  “I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would.”

  She didn’t look away. That impressed him. Probably more than he would ever be able to tell her. “How much do you know?” he asked.

  “The media version. I know they usually don’t get it right.�
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  “It’s an ugly story, Kate.”

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  For the first time in his life, he did. Kate had given him something he hadn’t had for a long time: hope. Made him realize he might not need the alcohol and pills to get through the day. The time had come to lance the boil, let the demons out, start the healing process. “Do you know who Con Vespian is?”

  “Every cop in the state knows about Vespian. Cleveland’s version of John Gotti.”

  “With a little Charles Manson mixed in.”

  “Narcotics. Prostitution. Gambling.”

  “He had his fingers in a lot of pies, but he dealt mostly in heroin. Big time stuff, including murder when it was convenient. Worse when he wanted to make a point. Vespian and I go way back to when I was a street cop. I busted him twice. He got off both times. Every narc in the city had a hard-on for him. But he was one lucky son of a bitch. Dangerous, too, because he was half fucking crazy.”

  “Bad combination.”

  “He got off on beating the system. I wanted to be the one to bring him down. Somewhere along the line, it got personal.”

  Her expression sobered, and John could tell she knew the story was about to take a dark twist. “My partner was an old-timer by the name of Vic Niswander. Great guy. Good cop. Funny as hell in a politically incorrect way. Just became a grandpa. Four months away from retirement. We used to kid around about it, but he wanted to get Vespian before he left.”

  Remembering, John smiled. But as his mind took him through the nightmare that followed, the smile made him feel as if he’d just bitten into a rotten piece of meat. “Vic and I had a snitch inside Vespian’s operation. I don’t remember where we found this guy. Just some dipshit junkie by the name of Manny Newkirk. Couldn’t think his way out of a bag. He’d spill his guts for twenty bucks. One night I set up a routine meeting with him, but I got sidelined. Kid stuff—frickin’ basketball or something—and I couldn’t make it. Niswander went in my place.” He blew out a breath to ease the pressure in his chest. “Someone ambushed them. Sons of bitches doused both of them with gasoline and burned them alive.”

  John didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. Not with those ugly images running through his mind. “Everyone knew Vespian was responsible, but we couldn’t prove it.”