“What the hell happened to Louis and Sandra Garner?” Gina’s voice. Angry. Distraught.
“You pull a gun on a cop, you get shot.” Male voice. Familiar. “That’s the way it works.”
“I heard that’s not how it went down.”
“No one gives a damn what you heard. Those fuckers were armed. We confiscated four ounces of heroin. It was a good bust. We did what we had to do.”
“People are asking questions about that warrant.”
“It’ll die down.”
Something unintelligible and then, “People are asking questions about you, too, Gina.”
“You mean Bertrand?”
“I mean everyone. They’re saying you can’t be trusted. Is that true? Do I need to be worried about you?”
The sound of her laugh has an unpleasant edge. “Maybe I ought to be worried about you.”
Rustling in the background sounds and then, “Keep it up and you’ll go the way of the Garners. You got that?”
The clip ends abruptly. I play it again, turn up the volume, run it a third time, trying to make out the garbled words, but no luck.
“That could be interpreted a number of ways,” I say.
“Bullshit,” she hisses. “I mentioned Bertrand and he responded. You recognize the voice?”
I nod. “Nick Galloway.”
“In case you’re not reading between the lines, he threatened me.”
Tomasetti pulls out his cell. “I’m sending you my number. See if you can forward that recording to me,” he says.
“What about my guarantee?”
“There isn’t one.” He clocks her with a hostile look. “Send it. Now.”
“I’m not going to let you railroad me.” Tossing him a drop-dead glower, she taps the screen with her index finger. “I want immunity and I want it in writ—”
She cuts the word short when we hear the back door slam. The kitchen window shudders with the change in pressure. Boots sound on the floor. The rustle of coats being hung. The chatter of children speaking in Deitsch. Adam Lengacher appears in the doorway, takes in the sight of us sitting at the table, the lingering tension in the air. Not for the first time, I feel as if we’re intruding, as if we’ve brought something profane into his home, a toxin his family shouldn’t be exposed to.
I introduce the two men and they shake hands.
“You’re a police?” Adam asks.
“With the State of Ohio,” Tomasetti tells him.
Adam’s eyes flick to Gina, the sling strapped over her shoulder. “You’re feeling better?”
She nods. “I’ll be sure to thank Joe next time I see him.”
“Suzy had her baby calf!” Sammy interjects. The boy’s cheeks are blushed with pink. He’s got bits of hay in his hair, more stuck on a face that’s wet with melting snow.
“He’s cold, but he’s going to be okay,” Lizzie tells us.
“We put them in the warmest stall and put down extra straw.” This from Annie.
“Datt said we might have to bring him in the house,” Sammy adds.
“What about the misht?” Annie asks, using the Deitsch word for manure.
Grinning, Sammy pokes her shoulder. “You have to pick it up.”
“No!” the girl squeals, but she’s on to his prank.
The sight of the children’s banter warms me, reminds me of an era of my own life when things were simpler and a lot more innocent.
“I’m glad mama cow and her kalb are okay,” I tell them.
“He’s black with one white ear and one black one,” Lizzie tells me.
“We’re going to name him Lucy,” the youngest girl puts in.
Sammy snickers. “But he’s a boy!”
Lizzie puts her hand on her little sister’s shoulder. “We’re going to call him Leroy, not Lucy.”
Adam brings his hands together. “Sammy, I think there might be some snow on the front porch that needs shoveling.”
The boy grins, suddenly shy, and he slinks past us into the living room.
“Lizzie and Annie, this is a good day to beat rugs. Upstairs and down. Go on now. Hang them just outside the door. Use that old broom.”
Joining hands, the two girls leave the kitchen.
An awkward silence ensues when the children are gone. The sense that we’ve overstayed our welcome sits like a brick in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like that this man and his family have been dragged into the situation with Gina. But I don’t know how to remedy it. Other than loading Gina onto the snowmobile and transporting her to the farm where Tomasetti and I live in Wooster—or the police station in Painters Mill—there is no viable solution. At least not until the storm abates.
Gina breaks the silence. “Adam, I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done. You saved my life. You opened your home to me.”
“You were lost and cold and hurt,” he tells her.
“The circumstances were questionable,” she admits, “and yet you stepped in anyway. Thank you.”
“The only time to look down on your neighbor is when you’re bending over to help them.” His gaze moves to the sling. “Joe is a good doctor, no?”
“Best animal doctor I’ve ever been to.” She grins and, in that instant, looks like the woman I knew all those years ago. The one who was anxious to make her mark. The young police officer who would never compromise her ethics. Once again, I’m reminded of the seriousness of the charges against her and the possibility that I’m too personally involved to see the situation clearly.
“Where’s your vehicle?” Tomasetti asks her.
“I’m not sure. It was dark and snowing like crazy. I had no idea where I was.” Gina looks at Adam and raises her brows.
The Amish man nods. “A couple of miles north on Township Road 36. It’s in the ditch. Twenty feet off the road.”
“Sheriff’s department finds an abandoned vehicle and they’ll call in the plate.” Tomasetti slants a look at Gina. “What’s the plate going to tell them?”
“That it belongs to a man by the name of Phillip Rifkin from Westerville.”
Tomasetti sighs. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“Everything except this storm,” she returns evenly.
“There’s not much traffic out that way,” I point out. “Sheriff’s department is likely operating on a skeleton crew due to the storm. That’s not to mention the roads are impassable. I don’t think anyone is going to be patrolling the secondary roads until the storm lets up.”
Gina startles when the wind rattles the kitchen window. She recovers quickly, sends me a tense look. “I know this is a bad situation.” Her eyes move from me to Tomasetti. “All I ask is that you look into the things I’ve told you. When the time comes, I’ll do everything in my power to back it up.”
She turns her attention to Adam. “I know my presence has disrupted your home. I know the circumstances must be confusing and upsetting for your children, and I’m sorry for that.”
“The Amish do not turn away anyone in need. You are welcome to say until the storm passes. Both of you.” He says the words with earnestness, but when he looks at me, I see hesitation, and I know the part of him that is bound by Amish norms is at war with the part of him that is a father.