Breaking Silence kb-3

by Linda Castillo

  Ike crosses to Tomasetti and looks down at the Border collie. “She likes it when you scratch her like this.”

  I laugh outright when he does a spider thing with his little-boy fingers and the dog groans and growls and begins to wriggle. “See? Ain’t she funny?”

  “Can I help you?”

  I look up to see Adam Slabaugh coming down the sidewalk, shrugging into an insulated jacket. He looks even thinner than the last time I saw him. But his blue eyes are alive this morning, and I know that despite the grief of losing his brothers, sister-in-law, and nephew, the three surviving children have filled him with optimism and hope.

  Giving Daisy a final pat, Tomasetti straightens and crosses to Slabaugh, and the two men shake. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  Slabaugh sighs. “I wish it could have happened another way.”

  “I understand,” Tomasetti responds.

  I join the men and motion toward the two boys, who are a few yards away, playing with the dogs. “How are they?”

  Adam grimaces. “Surprisingly good, considering. I didn’t know what to tell them about Mose, so they don’t know yet. They cried themselves to sleep last night, especially little Ike. I walked into their room at bedtime and they both said prayers for their parents. It breaks my heart.”

  The picture he paints is incredibly sad, and for a too long moment, I can’t speak because I’m afraid I’m going to cry. Kids need their parents, especially when they’re young. I want to tell him that, but I don’t trust my voice not to betray me.

  “I know it’s a cliché,” Tomasetti tells him, “but kids really are amazingly resilient.”

  “They’re lucky to have you,” I say. And then I ask the question that’s been tearing me up inside. “How’s Salome?”

  He offers a grim look. “She hasn’t stopped crying. Barely speaks to me. Stays in her room. Last night, she woke up screaming.” He shrugs, looking lost. “I didn’t know what to do, so I just hugged her.”

  “She’ll probably need some counseling,” Tomasetti offers.

  I nod in agreement. “I can call you with some names and numbers,” I add.

  “I sure would appreciate that.” Slabaugh looks relieved. “She worked herself up so bad, she threw up.”

  That makes me think of her pregnancy, and I wonder if he knows. I wonder how she’ll manage at such a young age without a woman in her life. “Do you know she’s going to have a baby?” I ask.

  “She told me.” He shakes his head, looks down at the ground. “I don’t understand, but I’ll support her.” His gaze meets mine. “This is all so new to me. I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

  Silence falls over us, and Tomasetti gets us back on track. “We’re here to get final statements.”

  “You need to speak with the children?” Slabaugh grimaces. “I really hate to put them through anything more.”

  “I’ll do my best not to upset them,” Tomasetti assures him.

  Slabaugh glances at me, and I know he’s wondering why I’m here. “I’m on administrative leave,” I explain. “I just wanted to see the kids. See how they’re doing.”

  Nodding, Slabaugh motions toward the house. “Well, we may as well get this over with. I’ll make coffee. I think Salome’s in her room. Ike and Samuel—” He looks over where the two boys were a moment ago, cups his hands around his mouth, and calls out their names. “It’s like trying to keep up with a tornado.” But he smiles. “They’re probably in the barn. Go on to the house while I fetch them.”

  He starts toward the barn; on impulse, I stop him. “I’ll get them,” I say. “You two go ahead and get started.”

  He nods. Tomasetti gives me a knowing look, then the two men start toward the house. I stand there on the sidewalk and watch them disappear inside. I’m not sure why I’m delaying my meeting with Salome. I want to see her. But I don’t know how she will react. I’m afraid she’ll blame me for Mose’s death.

  Knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it, I head for the barn. Around me, a light rain has begun to fall. A flock of crows caws from the plowed field to my left. Beyond, cattle are bawling. Inside the barn, one of the dogs is barking.

  The sliding door stands open a foot or so. I walk in and pause. The interior is dim; little light comes in through the dirty windows. The smell of hay and damp earth mingles with the odor of motor oil and rubber from the tractor that sits to my right. I’m about to call out to the boys, when I hear them whispering. Smiling, I start toward the wood steps that will take me to the loft. Something in their voices stops me. I stand there, listening to them over the rain pinging against the tin roof. Inexplicably, the hairs at my nape stand on end.

  I’m too far away to make out individual words, but close enough to discern that Ike is crying and that there’s fear in Samuel’s voice.

  Moving to the foot of the loft stairs, I look up and listen. I hear more whispering. I’m about to start climbing, when I realize the boys aren’t in the loft, but hiding in the niche beneath the steps. They’ve built a fort out of hay. The opening is about a foot square and covered by a burlap bag. Rounding the steps, I pause outside the opening and squat. I’m about to shove the burlap bag aside and peek in, when I hear words that freeze my blood.

  “She’ll put you back in the poop pit!”

  “I don’t care. I’m gonna tell Uncle Adam.” The fear in Ike’s voice drives a stake right through my heart. He’s crying openly, his voice trembling with each word. “I’m scared.”

  “You can’t tell,” Samuel hisses. “You heard what she said. No one will believe us.”

  “But I’m scared, Sammy!”

  “If we tell, they’ll send us to the jail for bad Englischer kids. They hate Amish kids. They take away your clothes and make you run around naked. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” Ike sobs, sounding miserable and hopeless. “I want Mamm! Why did Mamm have to die? Why can’t she be here? I want her back.”

  “Shhh. Quiet. You’re acting like a big baby.”

  “Salome is bad, Sammy.”

  “She is not!”

  “I saw her steal Datt’s money outta the jar.”

  “Did not, you big liar.”

  “She said if I told, she’d cut my head off while I was asleep.” Ike cries so hard, he begins choking and coughing.

  “Come on, Ikey.” Samuel’s voice softens. “Salome ain’t all bad. She promised to take care of us and let us do whatever we want.”

  “She promised to come back for us after throwing us in all that poop, but she didn’t! It’s her fault we had to go to the hospital!”

  “She said Mose wouldn’t let her come.”

  “She blames everything on Mose! She’s mean! I hate her!”

  “Stop crying, you big fat baby. We got to go inside.”

  “I ain’t going! I don’t ever want to see her again.” Another round of sobs. “I want Mamm!”

  I don’t hear the rest of the tirade. My mind is still trying to absorb the words I heard earlier. She promised to come back for us after throwing us in all that poop, but she didn’t!

  The words pummel my brain, but I resist their meaning. All I can think is that the boys are mistaken. They’re grieving and confused, and their imaginations have gotten the better of them. Squatting outside the small fort, I’m vaguely aware of my heart knocking against my ribs, my breaths coming short and fast. Disbelief is a vortex inside my head. More than anything, I want to believe I’ve misinterpreted what I just overheard. Surely there’s a logical explanation. All I have to do is call them out here and ask them to explain.

  But deep inside, I know I didn’t misunderstand. Those two boys just revealed that it was Salome who pushed them into the manure pit, not Mose. The truth of that is almost too much to bear. Grief slashes at me, a clawed animal trapped inside me and trying tear its way out. The pain is so tremendous that I press a hand to my abdomen, grab hold of a beam with the other.

  “God,”
I whisper. “God.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I push myself to my feet. I take several deep breaths, stifle the emotions rampaging through me. “Ike? Samuel? It’s Kate. Can you come out here, please?”

  The burlap is yanked aside and Samuel’s pale face appears. The look he gives me makes me feel like I’m the Grim Reaper and his time has come. Fear and guilt swim in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am?” he squeaks.

  “You’re not in any trouble, honey,” I say. “Just come out here. Tell Ike to come, too. Okay?”

  “’Kay,” he says, and ducks back inside.

  Rubbing my hand over my face, I walk around to the steps and collapse onto the lowest one. With numb hands, I unclip my phone from my belt and hit the speed dial for Tomasetti. “John,” I whisper.

  “What’s wrong?” he says without preamble.

  “Come out to the barn.” He knows something’s happened; he hears it in my voice. “Leave Salome and Adam inside.”

  I hear rustling on the other end, and I know he’s coming, no questions asked. Relief sweeps through me. “I’m on my way.”

  Closing my phone, I clip it back onto my belt and lower my face into my hands. I feel sick inside. Sick for these children who’ve already been through so much. But I also feel guilty because I did nothing to protect them. How could I have been so remiss?

  Ike and Samuel sidle up to me. I raise my head and look at them through my fingers. “Hey,” I say.

  Ike is still crying. His cheeks are red, and I can see clean stripes where his tears made a path through the dirt. Samuel looks guilty and scared, like maybe he’s on the verge of tears, too. They know I overheard them.

  “Are you mad at us?” Samuel asks.

  “Of course not,” I tell him. “I could never be mad at you guys.”

  The reassurance doesn’t seem to help. Ike cries harder, his little chest heaving as he sucks in great gulps of air. Samuel’s lower lip trembles. They stare at me as if I’m going to do them physical harm.

  “Why are you guys so upset?” I begin.

  Ike is too overcome with crying to answer. Samuel looks down at his Walmart sneakers, and I see a single tear fall to the dirt floor.

  “We just miss our mamm and datt,” Samuel says bravely.

  “I think it’s more than that,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “Isn’t it?”

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” Samuel proclaims.

  “We didn’t,” Ike chimes in. “Please don’t send us to the jail for bad kids. We didn’t do anything!”

  “No one’s sending you anywhere,” I say, trying to calm them. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong. But I heard what you guys were talking about.”

  For an instant, I think Samuel is going to throw up. Ike looks like he’s going to run back to the hay fort and hide. But neither boy moves a muscle, two little soldiers standing tall, waiting for the firing squad to cut them down.

  “We didn’t say nothing.” Samuel tries to lie, but his trembling voice reveals his ineptness. “We were just playacting. Making up stories.”

  I reach out and run the backs of my knuckles over his soft cheek. “Honey, I’m not mad. Okay? And you’re not in any trouble. But you need to tell me what happened. I’m the chief of police, so you can tell me the truth. I’ll protect you and keep you safe.”

  “You’ll send us to jail for bad kids!” Ike blurts. “Salome said so!”

  Samuel elbows his brother hard enough to make him grunt.

  Realizing what he said, Ike slaps his hand over his mouth, stares at me over the tops of his fingers.

  I divide my attention between both boys. “Listen to me. You’re not going to jail. And you’re not in any trouble. Do you understand?”

  Tomasetti appears at the barn door. I glance over, watch his expression as he takes in the scene and walks over to us. “Hi, boys,” he says. “Everything okay?”

  The kids look at the ground and mutter a greeting.

  I scoot over and Tomasetti sits on the step next to me. “Where’s Salome?” I ask.

  “Inside with Adam.”

  I nod toward the boys. “Samuel and Ike have some things to tell us,” I say.

  Tomasetti sets his elbows on his knees and folds his hands. “All right.”

  I turn my attention to Samuel, holding my breath because I’m afraid the boys will clam up now that Tomasetti is here. Or maybe they’ll deny what I heard so clearly just minutes before. I turn my attention to Ike. “Tell Agent Tomasetti who put you and your brother in the pit.”

  “Mose did it,” Samuel says quickly.

  I turn my attention to the younger boy. “Ike, who put you in the pit?”

  The little boy begins to cry. “Mose.”

  Reminding myself of the horror and trauma these two boys have been subjected to, I rein in my impatience. “That’s not what I heard you say a moment ago.”

  Neither boy can meet my gaze. They’re not very good at lying, and I’m certain Tomasetti sees that as clearly as I do. Up until now, no one had even considered the possibility they had been threatened—or worse.

  “Ike?” I press. “Who put you into the manure pit?”

  “No one.” But he looks at his older brother. I see an apology in his eyes, and I know he’s going to come clean.

  “Someone put you there,” I say. “You didn’t get down there by yourself.”

  After a moment, Ike wipes his nose on his coat sleeve. “She told us not to tell,” he says between sniffles.

  “Ikey!” Samuel hisses.

  I ignore the older boy. I sense Tomasetti’s attention zeroing in on Ike. “Who told you not to tell?” I ask.

  He hesitates for so long, I think he’s not going to answer. I’m in the process of formulating my next question when he whispers, “Salome.”

  A profound silence sweeps over us. Abruptly, I’m aware of the high-pitched hiss of drizzle falling on the tin roof, the two dogs snuffling over by the water trough, the cows in the rear part of the barn.

  “Salome pushed you in the pit?” Tomasetti asks.

  Ike gives a giant nod. “Don’t tell! She made us promise not to tell. She’ll be really mad.”

  Next to him, Samuel screws up his face and begins to cry. “Now we’re going to go to the jail for bad kids!” he cries. “They do stuff to Amish kids!” He looks at his younger brother. “You ruined everything!”

  “No one’s going to jail,” Tomasetti says.

  I’m not so sure. Someone’s going to go to jail. But it won’t be these two little boys.

  CHAPTER 20

  I’ve never been good at sitting on the sidelines. That’s especially true when it comes to my job. This morning, the fact that I’ve been effectively locked out of the investigation is excruciating. Two hours have passed since Tomasetti, Ike, Samuel, and I sat in the barn and the boys shocked us with the revelation that Salome was complicit in the attempt on their lives.

  I’m still reeling inside. Hurting, if I want to be honest. But most of all, I’m angry. Angry because I was lied to and manipulated by someone I trusted, someone I cared about. But I’m angriest with myself. Because I allowed this to happen on my watch. Because I so willingly believed the lies I was spoon-fed. I stood by while two little boys were brutalized by their older siblings. Worse, I felt sympathy for their would-be murderer.

  I’m at the police station, feeling out of place because I’m not in uniform, pacing the hall outside the interview room, pissed because the goddamn door is closed. Tomasetti, Adam Slabaugh, Sheriff Rasmussen, and a young attorney who doesn’t look old enough to have graduated from law school are inside, questioning Salome. The need to know what’s happening is like a bamboo sliver being slowly wedged beneath my fingernail.

  I’ve just reached the end of the hall, and I’m staring, unseeing, into the reception area when the door clicks open. I spin and see Rasmussen emerge, looking like he’s just been roused from a nap. His hair is mussed, as if he’s been running his fingers through it. “I figured you’d have a path wor
n in that floor by now,” he says.

  Trying to turn down my intensity, I cross to him. “No budget for new flooring.”

  He’s looking at me a little too closely, the way people do when they know something isn’t quite right about you. “How are you holding up?”

  I’m so focused on learning the outcome of the interview with Salome, it takes me a moment to realize he’s asking about the shooting. “I’m fine.” I say the words with a little too much attitude. But no cop is going to admit she’s spent the last twenty-four hours bouncing off the walls. That would be the ultimate bad form after a shooting. You can drink and you can fight, but you can’t admit it’s messing with your head.

  “Good to hear.”

  I don’t waste any time getting to the point. “What did Salome have to say?”

  “Jesus, Kate. That kid’s been through hell, that’s for sure.”

  That isn’t what I expected to hear. “Did she incriminate herself?”

  “Every time she started to talk, that fuckin’ attorney shut her down.” He sighs tiredly, gives me a grim look. “She claims her dad was molesting her. Going into her bedroom at night and raping her since she was twelve. She confided in Mose about it. She thinks Mose confronted their father and they might have gotten into an argument the morning Slabaugh ended up in that pit.”

  “That doesn’t explain why her brothers told Tomasetti and me that she’s the one who pushed them into the pit. It doesn’t explain how the uncle got into the pit. Or why she started having sex with Mose.”

  He looks at me as if I should have a little more compassion for a girl who’s been through so much, and I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “She says she doesn’t know how any of them got in the pit. She hinted around that maybe the uncle went in to rescue Solly and that Mose couldn’t get him out. That’s how it usually happens. One person goes in, the would-be rescuers succumb to the lack of oxygen and follow suit. An unconscious man would be very difficult for a seventeen-year-old boy to extract from that pit.” He shrugs. “If Mose had gone in after them, he probably would have ended up dead, too.”

  “Do you believe that?”