Murder in Plain Sight (8 page)

“Bishop Amos,” Trey murmured in her ear.

“Komm, komm.” The bishop waved them into the house as if he were the host. “We must talk. Molly has the rest of the young ones busy so they will not hear.”

Jessica had already glimpsed a small face peering at them from the barn behind the farmhouse, and another popped up from the vegetable garden momentarily and disappeared again. She had a feeling if she looked hard enough, she’d spot a few more, but already she and Trey were being ushered into the living room.

She took a quick glance around, hoping she didn’t appear too curious. It looked like any farmhouse living room, she supposed, with bright braided rugs on polished wood floors and a tall bookcase next to a couch. No television, though, and the only ornament on the walls was a large, framed family tree.

She took the chair Bishop Amos pulled out for her, and Trey sat down next to her. Trey looked solemn, which befitted the occasion, but relaxed and at ease.

No butterflies danced in his stomach, obviously. Now that she was here, how was she going to communicate with the family? The father sat like a statue, and both the females stared down at their hands, folded in their laps, their prayer caps like white birds on their heads.

“Now.” Bishop Amos settled himself in a high
backed rocking chair. “You must tell us how we can help you with Thomas’s defense.”

The father stirred slightly at that. “It is not fitting. Amish do not hire lawyers.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Bishop Amos beat her to it. “You did not hire the lawyer. The Morgan family did, and we should be thankful.”

“The Ordnung says…”

Bishop Amos leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The Ordnung is meant to show us how to live separate from the world. It is not meant to allow one of our young ones to go to jail for a wrong he didn’t do. When we are forced into the English courts, we must accept the help of those who understand.”

The weight and pace of the words, combined with the bishop’s grave stare, would have convinced her, had she been the target. Aaron stared back for a moment. Then he bowed his head in apparent agreement.

Her tension eased, but… “I appreciate your cooperation. When I met Ezra Burkhalter at the county jail, he led me to believe that my help wasn’t welcome.”

The lines in Bishop Amos’s face seemed to
deepen. “Amish are not all alike,” he said, in an echo of Trey’s words. “Brother Ezra and I do not agree on this matter.”

“And the rest of your congregation?”

“Each has his own opinion,” he said. “That is only right. I trust that Aaron and Molly will be guided by me in this trouble.”

She hoped so, but she didn’t miss the tightening of Aaron’s lips at the words.

The bishop looked at her as if to say that they were ready for her questions. She took a small notebook from her bag.

“Why don’t you start by telling me a little about Thomas? I’ve only seen him in the jail setting, and it would help to know how he is in his ordinary life.”

“He is a gut boy.” Aaron took control. “He works the farm with me. He is a gut worker.” He looked at Trey, as if for confirmation.

Trey nodded. “Yes, he’s certainly a hard worker. My mother thinks a lot of him.”

The mother glanced up, as if she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure she should. Jessica nodded at her encouragingly.

“Thomas likes to work for Geneva,” she said
softly. “She was always kind to him. Talked to him while they worked.”

He was a good boy. Everyone loved him. Except that the community, to say nothing of the D.A., was sure he’d committed an ugly crime.

“What about this…running around time that Trey told me about? Did Thomas give you any reason to worry about what he was doing?”

“No.” Aaron snapped off the word. “He did what young people always do, but soon he would settle down. He wouldn’t be gettin’ involved with an English girl. He knew better.”

The mother nodded. But the sister—there was a quick, unguarded flash in Elizabeth’s blue eyes. Then she lowered her face again, studying her hands, clasped on her apron.

“Elizabeth, do you know anything about who Thomas ran around with?”

Before the girl could answer, Aaron answered for her. “Elizabeth knows nothing.”

“I know which Amish young people Thomas ran around with. I have made a list for you.” The bishop took a piece of yellow lined paper from his pocket and passed it to Trey. “Trey can take you to see them. I will tell them to talk with you.”

Trey nodded, scanning the list. “Do you know
where they’re likely to be getting together? They might speak more freely if their parents aren’t around.” He pocketed the list instead of handing it to her.

She suppressed a flare of irritation. “That’s probably true.”

“Ja, I suppose it is.” Bishop Amos’s voice was heavy with regret for that fact. “They will be at Miller’s barn on Friday night.”

“Fine. We’ll be there,” Trey said, not bothering to consult her.

He was right. That just annoyed her even more. “Do any of you know what time Thomas left here on Saturday night? Or where he intended to go?”

“He went after the milking and the evening chores were done.” Aaron looked surprised that she needed to ask such a thing. “He said he was meeting Jacob Stoltzfus and some other boys.”

“What time would it be when the evening chores were finished?” she asked, trying for patience.

“I did not pay heed to the clock,” Aaron said.

“About eight, it was.” Elizabeth murmured the words and then lapsed into silence again.

Elizabeth, Jessica thought, might know more than she was saying about her brother’s activities.
The problem would be getting her away from her parents in order to hear it.

“And you don’t know anything else about where he went?”

Aaron’s face tightened still more, if that were possible. “In the morning, we saw that he had not come home. It was not a church Sunday, so we thought he stayed over at a friend’s house.”

He couldn’t have called, of course.

“We knew nothing until the police came.” Thomas’s mother finally spoke, and when she raised her face, Jessica saw the anguish hidden behind the stoic facade. “When will my boy come home? Can’t you tell them that they are wrong about him?”

She’d thought she was hardened to the inevitable conviction of families that their child could not be guilty, but Molly’s pain sliced into her.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” she said gently. She leaned forward to touch the woman’s hand. “I will do the best I can for him.” For a moment they were eye-to-eye, hands clasped, differences in age and culture and education falling away to leave only the caring of two women.

Realizing the others were watching, Jessica
straightened. “Is there anything that you’d like to ask me?”

The Esch family didn’t speak, but the bishop nodded. Jessica turned her attention to him.

“I have heard talk of a plea bargain,” he said.

“What is that?” Aaron asked, his tone sharp.

“A plea bargain is an offer from the district attorney to settle the case without a jury trial.” Jessica couldn’t help noticing that Trey had tensed. He’d be in favor of that, of course. Anything that would get the case, and his mother’s involvement in it, out of the public eye. “The D.A. could offer a deal to Thomas, saying he’d reduce the charge if Thomas pled guilty.”

“Thomas should do that,” Aaron said immediately.

She studied his face, wishing she could read behind the stoic expression to the person. “Do you believe he killed Cherry Wilson?”

“No.” The single negative was oddly convincing.

“Then why would you want him to confess?” She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. She didn’t understand these people, and they didn’t understand the law. That didn’t make for a good mix.

“He has brought shame to the community. If he went with that woman…” Aaron stopped. “He must confess that.”

“To the church, ja,” the bishop said. “That is not what concerns the law.”

Aaron looked unconvinced.

“First off, the D.A. hasn’t offered a deal, and I don’t think he’s going to.” Why should he? He had a great case and an election coming up. “And even if he did make an offer, Thomas would have to say he killed Cherry Wilson. The best Thomas could hope for would probably be eight to twelve years in a state prison.”

Molly seemed to choke on a sob, and Elizabeth’s face was as white as the cap that covered her hair.

“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Jessica softened her tone. “But you have to understand how serious this is.”

Bishop Amos nodded gravely. “Denke. It is best to understand.” He touched Aaron’s shoulder lightly. “We must deal with the law first, with God’s help and Jessica’s. Once Thomas has been cleared of his terrible charge, he will make things right with the church, ain’t so?”

Aaron nodded.

Jessica felt herself relax, just a little. At least they seemed ready to go along with her recommendations. Or, more likely, their bishop’s.

“You’ll want to know what happens next,” she said. “There will be at least one pretrial conference, at which the judge will meet with me and the district attorney. That’s to decide some legal questions of procedure, and Thomas doesn’t have to be there. I’ll be working on building a case for Thomas, so I’ll see him often. And you can go to the jail to see him, if you want, during visitor’s hours. Or if there’s anything you want me to take him, I’ll be glad to do that.”

“Would you? I could make some snickerdoodles. They are his favorite cookies.” The mother looked relieved at having something concrete to do.

“I’m sure he’ll like that. You can let me know…” She stopped, remembering they didn’t have a telephone.

“I’ll come by tomorrow and pick them up,” Trey said quickly.

She’d have to be satisfied for the moment, but Jessica couldn’t dismiss the feeling that Elizabeth, at least, knew more than she’d said. She glanced at the girl, who had her arm around her mother’s waist and was talking to her softly.

Not now. But at some point, she’d have to find out what Elizabeth knew. She suspected it couldn’t be anything good.

T
HE URGE TO LEAVE WAS
so strong that it nearly overcame Trey. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what caused the feeling.

Their grief. Their gratitude to him for what they imagined was his help. All it did was make him feel guilty, because he’d been thinking of nothing but protecting his mother.

What about the other people who needed protection? People like the Esch family?

He followed Jessica to the door. He’d like to blame her for getting him into this situation, but it wasn’t her fault. He couldn’t—

He stepped onto the porch and stopped dead. The lane behind his car was blocked by a television van and a couple of other cars. Two of the Esch children were surrounded by people, and the woman who was rapidly becoming his least favorite television reporter had stuck a microphone in their
faces. He didn’t stop to think—he just bolted off the porch and raced toward them.

Shoving his way into the knot of bodies, he grabbed the kids. Their two small faces flooded with relief at the sight of him.

“Come on.” He turned to find that Jessica was right behind him. “Take them inside,” he muttered. Aaron and Molly were coming toward them, holding up their hands to shield their faces from the cameras that were swung their way. “And tell Aaron and Molly to stay in, too.”

Not waiting to see if she did what he said, he swung back to the reporters, glaring at a photographer who looked as if he might take a step toward the house. The man stopped in his tracks.

“Mrs. Esch, is your son guilty?” The television reporter shouted the question, and it seemed to ring in his ears.

“Mrs. Esch doesn’t have anything to say to you,” he said firmly, glaring at the woman.

Unconcerned, she shoved the microphone in his face. “This is the second time we’ve run into you while covering this case, Mr. Morgan. Care to tell us what your interest is?”

He’d asked for it, jumping to the rescue that way, but he couldn’t possibly have done anything else.

“The Esch family are neighbors of ours. Naturally I want to help out in a time of trouble.”

“So you’re trying to get Thomas Esch off?”

“I’m trying to be a good neighbor.”

“Does your mother agree—”

“All of you are trespassing.” Jessica’s voice sliced through the woman’s question. He turned to see that she had a cell phone in her hand. “Trey, I’m not sure of jurisdiction here. Should I call the state police or the township police?”

“I’ll do it,” he said, giving her a grateful smile as he reached for the phone. “I’m sure the township police chief would be happy to cite a few people for trespass.”

Several of the reporters started to back away, but the television reporter was made of sterner stuff. “You can’t do that. The public has a right to know.”

“Not when you’re on private property,” Jessica said. “Let me give you a little free legal advice. Leave now, or face misdemeanor trespass charges.”

“Trust me, you’re not getting near the house,” Trey added. “I doubt your producer really wants the bad publicity involved in bailing you out of jail.”

It hung in the balance for a moment. Then,
muttering and discontented, the reporters straggled toward the road. He kept his eyes on them until the last vehicle disappeared.

Then he let out a breath of relief and grinned at Jessica. “Not bad, Counselor. You vanquished them.”

She grinned back, eyes sparkling. “Not bad, yourself. You did as much as I did.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, sensing the awareness that tingled between them. They’d no doubt be arguing again soon, but at the moment they were a team.

J
ESSICA SLID OFF
the motel room bed, stretching her back, which had acquired a few more aches in the past hour. Working at a laptop while reclining on that bed was an exercise in torture. Leo Frost had been kind enough to offer her a desk in his office for the duration of her stay. Tomorrow she’d take him up on that. As he’d said, her superiors didn’t need to know a thing about it.

The day had gone downhill after the triumph of routing the reporters at the Esch farm. The D.A.’s office had stonewalled her on the subject of discovery, saying the documents weren’t ready yet. If that happened again in the morning, she’d have to
go to the judge. Thomas’s defense was entitled to see every piece of evidence the prosecution had.

And then there had been a call from the senior partner’s assistant, wanting to know why she hadn’t wrapped up a plea bargain yet. She’d danced around that, not wanting to get into a long-distance argument.

Frowning, she rubbed the back of her neck. Given the delicate situation she was in with the office, it seemed unlikely she’d get much help there. Sara had been interested in this case—she’d probably be willing to put in a few unofficial hours of research time to help her roommate.

She glanced at her watch. Sara ought to be back at the apartment by now. She picked up her cell phone.

“Hi, Jess.” Sara was the only person in her life who called her that, ignoring Jessica’s protests or saying that it was better than calling her Jessie. “How are things in the wilds of the country?”

“Moving slowly. I might almost think the D.A.’s office was being deliberately obstructionist.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Amusement filled Sara’s voice. “You should know. You used to be one.”

“Only a lowly A.D.A.,” Jessica reminded her.
“We were too unimportant to worry about politics. It seems the D.A. is running for reelection in the fall.”

“And he wants to make some political hay on this case.” Sara completed the thought for her. “Sounds as if you could use a little clout of your own. Maybe a call from the head honcho at Henderson, Dawes and Henderson would shake up the D.A.”

“I don’t think Dwight Henderson would extend himself for me right now. He just expects a quick plea bargain and an expression of gratitude from the Morgan family, but those two things aren’t going to go together anytime soon.”

“So the Morgans still think the boy is innocent?”

“Geneva does.” She found she was thinking about Trey’s face when he’d confronted the reporters. “It’s possible that Trey—Blake Morgan—is coming around, too.”

“Trey, hmm.” Sara’s grin seemed to come through the telephone. “So tell me, this Trey. Is he married? Engaged? Otherwise involved?”

“I don’t…how would I know that?”

“Girlfriend, you can’t fool me. You’re interested, aren’t you?”

“No. Well, maybe, but I’m certainly not going
to pursue the man. Way too complicated. Besides, I get the feeling he’s the kind to get serious over a relationship.”

“Jess, there’s nothing wrong with getting serious when it comes to the right guy.” Sara’s tone softened. “You ought to relax a little. If something’s going to develop, let it.”

“I can’t.” For a very long list of reasons. “Listen, let’s forget about my love life, or lack of one, for the moment. I called to ask a favor.”

“Sure thing. What?”

“I need someone to do a little research for me. Given the situation in the office, I don’t think I can count on them.”

She heard the sound of papers shuffling and pictured Sara searching for her pen, which was probably behind her ear. “Okay, shoot.”

“I need any information you can find about previous cases involving the prosecution of an Amish person for a crime. Also anything else relating to a case like this one, where someone who lives in a sheltered religious community has been tried.”

“You’ve got it. Anything else?”

“That’s all I can think of at the moment. Listen, thanks so much. I know you’re busy—”

“This is ten times more interesting than anything I’m working on now,” Sara said. “You’re trying a murder case involving an Amishman, while I’m still pursuing absentee landlords. I’m living vicariously through you.”

That made Jessica laugh, which was as good a reason as any to call Sara. She said good-night, still smiling.

The motel room was too quiet once she’d hung up. It was too late to do anything else, and too early to go to bed. She stood, stretched and bent over to get the kinks out. If she didn’t get some exercise soon, she’d stagnate. Maybe she could fit in a run tomorrow.

She started toward the television remote then stopped, listening. Footsteps, pacing quietly along the walk in front of the motel units. She took a quick look to be sure there weren’t any gaps in the drapes. She’d never have taken a first-floor room if there’d been any option.

No gaps. No one could possibly see in, and she’d double-bolted the door when she’d come back after supper. She was perfectly safe. It was just another guest, heading for his or her room.

The footsteps stopped. On the other side of the window. It could be perfectly innocent. Someone
looking for a room number, or stopping to admire the sky, or looking at his watch, or lighting a cigarette. All perfectly innocent reasons for someone to be standing on the other side of that window, inches away from her.

She could pull back the drape. Her hand reached for it and stopped before she touched the fabric. She couldn’t. And anyway, she shouldn’t. Common sense dictated that she do nothing to stir up unwanted attention.

She realized she was holding her breath. Waiting. Was he holding his breath, too? Looking at the window? Anyone could have found out where she was staying, and the thought of that knife in her tires sent a chill down her spine.

Call the desk clerk. That was the sensible thing to do, regardless of whether he thought she sounded like an idiot. She took a step toward the phone. The person outside moved, too, walking quickly away.

Receiver in her hand, she moved back toward the window. If she parted the drapes just an inch, she might be able to see whoever it was. Her fingers closed on the fabric, and she leaned close.

The fixture was on outside her door, casting a semicircle of sickly light on the walk. Her eyes,
accustomed to the lamps she’d turned on inside, couldn’t make out much in the parking lot.

She leaned closer, forehead touching the cool glass, and tried to look down the row of units. Nothing.

A movement from the parking lot caught her eye, but it was nothing more than a flicker of shadow against shadow. Suddenly something black hurtled toward her. She stumbled back, heart racing, as it thudded against the glass.

Silence. Nothing moved out there. Fingers shaking, she punched the button for the front desk.

“This is Ms. Langdon in Room 112.” Amazing that her voice sounded so calm when she was trembling inside. “Someone just threw something against my window.”

“Threw something?” He sounded about sixteen and unprepared to deal with anything other than a request for ice. “What…what do you want me to do, ma’am?”

“I want you to come over here and see what’s going on.” Call the police? She hesitated.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll…I’ll be right there.” He didn’t sound particularly willing.

She waited, cell phone in hand, ready to dial 911 if anything else happened. But nothing did, except a tentative knock on the door.

“Ma’am? It’s Benny, the night manager. The thing that hit your window…it’s okay. Just a bird flying into it, that’s all.”

She opened the door cautiously. The kid looked sixteen, too. He held a flashlight, which he shone down on the object on the ground in front of the window.

A bird…black, large. It lay spread out on the sidewalk, wings limp, head twisted.

“A raven, I think it is.” He knelt, poking at it. “Dead. Must have broken its neck when it hit the window. Birds do that, sometimes, y’know.”

“Yes, I know.” She probably looked ridiculous to him. Still, after hearing someone standing out here, seeing movement in the parking lot, no one could blame her for overreacting, could they?

“I’ll get something to clean it up.” He went quickly back toward the office.

She stood for a moment, looking down at the bird. Then, unwillingly, she bent, touching it. The raven, if that’s what it was, was dead. It was also cold and stiff.

She took a quick step away from it, grabbing the door. That bird hadn’t flown into her window. Not unless it could fly when it was already dead.

J
ESSICA PUSHED OPEN THE
door to Leo’s office with the cardboard box she was carrying. At his questioning look, she put it down on the desk he’d insisted she use while she was in town.

“The box of discovery from the D.A.’s office. They finally came through with it, but there’s not much, in comparison to some cases I’ve worked.”

That was unfortunate. While it could be difficult to sort through tons of material, at least that gave the opportunity to pick holes in the prosecution’s case. Clearly the D.A. thought he had a slam dunk in this one with the evidence he had.

Leo came to peer curiously into the box. Then he took a step back, as if recalling that it was Jessica’s case, not his. “Sorry. I just can’t help being interested.”

“Please, go ahead and look. You’re assisting with the case, even if you don’t want to formalize the arrangement.” Jessica slipped off her suit jacket. She’d begun to feel that her clothes were a bit too formal for this setting, but she was stuck with what Henderson, Dawes and Henderson thought
appropriate for an associate. “Given all the local antagonism, I can understand why you feel that way.”

“If that bothered me, I wouldn’t be insisting that you work here.” He lifted the lid on the box while she hung her jacket from the old-fashioned coat tree in the corner.

“Well, no, I don’t see you being worried about a little bad press,” she said. Leo, like Geneva, would do what he thought was right, no matter what the cost. It was a refreshing attitude. Sara would like these people.

Thinking of Sara reminded her of what had happened after their conversation the night before. Once again, after a little consideration, she hadn’t called the police, for two very good reasons. One, they wouldn’t have been able to do anything with the only evidence, a dead bird. And two, if the press got hold of it, she’d undoubtedly be letting herself in for worse, as more people got the great idea of driving Thomas’s defender away.

“I’ve lived long enough to know that even the worst things fade eventually,” Leo was saying. “And since I’m retiring, no one can hurt my business.”