I enter the living room to see Adam standing in the hall, head cocked, expression concerned as he takes my measure. “Is everything all right?”
“I got stuck in your lane.” I push the hood off my head. “I’m pretty much blocking it.”
“I don’t think we’re going to be taking the buggy out any time soon. We have a rear gate for the sleigh if we need to get out.”
“Datt, now we can put the harness on Jimmy and he can pull her out, like he did Mr. Besecker last winter.” Sammy looks up at me. “Wait till you see how strong he is, Katie. Jimmy may be old and fat and sometimes he’s lazy, but he’s the strongest horse in the world.”
A smile drifts across Adam’s expression, but he doesn’t let it reach his lips. He shifts his gaze to mine. “Samuel is right. Once this snow lets up, we can pull you out if you’d like.”
My gaze travels to the front window. The storm is so ferocious I can no longer see the tree off the porch. As chief of police in the midst of a blizzard, there are a dozen things I should be doing. This is the kind of weather that brings with it an onslaught of emergencies. Undoubtedly some of my officers won’t be able to make it in for their shift. But having just been outside and knowing conditions are only going to get worse, I accept the reality that I’m not going anywhere for the time being.
“I might just take you up on that,” I say. “How’s our patient?”
“Sleeping.” I see him looking at my coat, which is still encrusted with snow. “Would you like to dry your coat by the stove?”
“That’d be great,” I say, unzipping it, wiping my boots on the rug.
“Samuel, take Katie’s coat to the mudroom where the stove is, hang it on back of the chair to dry like we do.”
I work the coat from my shoulders and hand it to the boy. “Danki.”
Flashing a shy grin, the boy takes the coat and starts toward the kitchen.
I turn my attention to Adam. “I’m sorry to intrude on you and your family like this,” I tell him as I brush the remaining snow from my trousers. “I think we’re officially snowed in.”
He sends a pointed look to the window, where snow has piled up against the panes. “I’m glad we found your friend when we did.”
I know he means it and with all sincerity. Still, his willingness to help doesn’t alleviate my concern that I’ve asked too much of him. Or that I may have involved him and his family in something I shouldn’t have.
* * *
While Adam clangs dishes around in the kitchen, I call Tomasetti from my place on the sofa. “Were you able to find anything on Gina Colorosa?” I ask.
“I’m waiting for a couple of callbacks,” he tells me. “The most interesting thing I’ve discovered so far is that no one wants to talk about it.”
“What does that mean?”
“If I were to guess, I’d venture to say there may be some kind of ongoing investigation. She was on active duty, so I’d say it was likely a covert operation.”
“Any idea what she’s being investigated for?”
“From what I’ve been able to piece together, Colorosa is suspected of engaging in some kind of corrupt activity. I don’t know the details yet or who else is involved.”
“What about the warrant? Any idea what it was for?”
“All I know is that a judge signed off on it. Since she’s a police officer and was likely armed, the vice unit did a no-knock at three A.M. this morning. Investigators were looking for evidence showing any pattern of corrupt activity, money or property, any tampering with government records, witnesses, or obstructing official business.”
I close my eyes, try to digest the enormity of the information, weigh it against everything Gina has told me so far. “Did they find anything?”
“All I know is that they confiscated her laptop. Notebooks. Two handguns. A prepaid cell. And four thousand dollars in cash.”
A thread of disappointment goes through me. “Most people don’t have that kind of cash lying around.”
“It gets worse. Yesterday, a CI by the name of Eddie Cysco was gunned down,” he tells me, using the cop-speak term for ‘confidential informant.’ “The scene is still active and there’s not much information coming out. But I understand he’s got some connection to Colorosa.”
The name reverberates in my head. “Gina mentioned Cysco,” I tell him. “He was the CI the vice unit used to obtain a warrant for the no-knock in which Louis and Sandra Garner were killed.” I lay out the circumstances. “According to Gina, anyway.”
“I heard about that raid,” he tells me. “The department took some flak.”
“Timing of Cysco’s death is interesting,” I say. “Did they get the shooter?”
He sighs unhappily. “This isn’t official, but Colorosa is a person of interest. They’re doing ballistics testing now on the handgun confiscated at her home.”
For a moment I’m so dumbstruck I can’t speak. The urge to defend her rises in my chest, but I quickly bank it. The truth of the matter is I have my doubts about Gina. But murder? Is it possible she’s done something unthinkable? That she’s lying to me about all of it, and I’m harboring not only a dirty cop, but a cold-blooded killer?
“Tomasetti, I can’t believe she would do that,” I say quietly. “Unless it was self-defense.”
“If the lab matches her weapon to Cysco, it’s over for Colorosa.”
But my thoughts have already jumped to everything Gina told me. “If we are, indeed, dealing with corruption, someone could have planted the gun found at her house.”
“Combined with everything else, Cysco’s death is a damning scenario for her.”
We fall silent, our thoughts buzzing through the airwaves between us. “Which agencies are involved in the investigation?” I ask.
The ensuing silence hangs heavy.
“You can’t tell me,” I say.
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”
“Tomasetti, I thought you knew everything.”
The laugh that follows is short-lived. “Look, we both know that when a cop is under investigation for something as serious as this, multiple agencies will likely get involved and they’re going to do their damnedest to keep it under wraps.”
“BCI?” I ask.
“And/or the FBI.”
“That’s why no one wants to talk about it.”
“Franklin County is out of my region. I’ve had to call in some favors just to get what little I’ve told you.”
“So this could get … precarious. I mean, for you.”
“It already is.”
Silence hisses over the line and then he asks, “Kate, do you trust Colorosa?”
“I used to,” I tell him. “I trusted her with my life.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t think she shot that CI,” I whisper, hating the echo of uncertainty in my voice.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Adam Lengacher’s place.” I tell him about the Explorer getting stuck in the lane. “I can’t get out.”