Kate Burkholder: Her Last Breath Part 26

He glances at his creation and I see a quick flash of pride in his eyes. "It's a custom order for one of Mrs. Steinkruger's customers."

"Are you Wayne Kuhns?" I ask.

"Yes." His eyes sweep to Glock and back to me. "What's this about?"

I show him my badge and identify myself, then we shake hands. Glock hangs back, un.o.btrusive, but I know he's watching the other man closely.

"I'm working on the Borntrager case," I tell him. "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to ask you some questions."

He physically recoils when I mention the Borntragers, and I know instantly that while Wayne Kuhns is either a wannabe adulterer or a stalker, he's not proud of it, and he's not very good at hiding his emotions.

"Did you know Paul?" I ask.

He nods. "I met him several times. At worship. The horse auction. Helped him a few times at the farm."

"What about Mattie?"

He looks down at the floor. I give him a moment, but he doesn't answer. I'm aware of Glock moving around, looking at the workbench, peering into the trash container.

"Mr. Kuhns?" I say.

"I know Mattie."

"How do you know her?"

No reply. I don't know if he doesn't want to answer or if he's so upset he can't.

"How do you know Mattie, Mr. Kuhns?"

"I haven't seen her for a long time."

"How long?"

"Six months or so."

"What was the nature of your relationship?"

His gaze flicks toward the door and I wonder if his wife is inside. I wonder if she knows he'd recently had his sights set on another woman. His silence is telling.

"I know you approached her about a relationship," I tell him.

He winces as if I slashed him with a blade. "I wasn't ... I mean I didn't ... we didn't..." He lets the words trail as if he's not sure how to finish the sentence. "I figured that's why you're here." He doesn't meet my gaze.

"Were you stalking her?"

"Is that what she told you?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would just answer the question."

"No. I would never do such a thing."

I glance over at Glock to see him shake his head. "Do you own a vehicle, Mr. Kuhns?"

"I don't drive. I have no use for a vehicle. If I need to travel, I hire the Mennonite down the street."

"Where were you three nights ago?"

His eyes widen as if he's suddenly realized why we're here. "I was here. Working."

"Can anyone substantiate that?"

"My wife."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

I stare hard at him. "Tell me about your relationship with Mattie."

"That is in the past, Chief Burkholder. I do not wish to speak of it."

"Mr. Kuhns, this is a police investigation. You don't have a choice."

A flash of anger crosses his features. "Who are you to ask me such a thing?" he snaps. "Who are you to judge me?"

He's referring to my being ex-Amish, but I let the condemnation behind his words roll off me. "I'm the chief of police, and I'm conducting a murder investigation." I step toward him, put my finger in his face. "If I were you, I'd answer the question. If you don't, I'll get a warrant and we'll finish this at the police station. Do you understand?"

His face goes crimson. Sweat beads on his forehead and upper lip. I can't tell if it's temper or humiliation, but if a man can look like a volcano about to blow, Wayne Kuhns is Mount Pinatubo. "She and I..." he stammers. "We were ... friends."

"Did you have a s.e.xual relationship with her?"

A flush of embarra.s.sment deepens his color. His eyes skate away from mine. "No."

"Did you want a s.e.xual relationship with her?"

He looks everywhere except at me.

"Shall I interpret that as a yes?" I ask.

"I did nothing wrong."

"Who broke it off?"

"She did." He sighs. "What happened ... is in the past. I've prayed for forgiveness and made peace with the Lord. And myself."

"Were you angry when she told you she wanted to be left alone?"

His eyes narrow and I know he's trying to figure out just what she told me, how much I know. "No."

"Were you angry when she threatened to tell your wife you were bothering her?"

Another, deeper flush. "I didn't get angry. I respected her wishes."

"Did Paul know?"

"I don't know."

"Did you ever have words with him?"

"Never."

"Does your wife know?"

"No." He fastens his gaze on the floor at his feet and shakes his head. "I'd like to keep it that way."

"Does anyone else know about it?"

"No."

I take him through some of the same questions I asked Mattie earlier to see if their answers correspond. He replies mechanically, without looking at me. Hating me, I think. Hating the questions and realizing the consequences of his actions are going to adversely affect his life.

"Is your wife inside, Mr. Kuhns? I need to speak with her."

"No."

"No, she's not inside? Or no, you don't want me to speak with her?"

Splotches appear on the skin at his collar and climb up his throat like a rash. He blots sweat from his forehead, looks from me to Glock and back to me. "She knows nothing of this."

"Mr. Kuhns, I'm not trying to make this difficult or uncomfortable for you," I tell him. "But this is a homicide investigation and I need to speak with your wife."

He makes no move to accommodate my request. "You do not have my permission to speak with her."

Behind me, I hear Glock laugh.

"I don't need your permission," I tell him.

"She is with child," he hisses.

"If I were you, I'd start figuring out how to fill her in because she's obviously going to have some questions for you when we're finished." I look at Glock. "Let's go." I make eye contact with Kuhns and motion toward the door.

"You are going to burn in h.e.l.l, Kate Burkholder."

"I have a feeling I won't be alone," I mutter and start toward the door.

The interior of the house smells of candle wax and sweet rosemary from a meal that had been cooked earlier in the evening. Kuhns takes Glock and me through the dimly lit mud room and into a kitchen filled with the bright light of an overhead gas-powered fixture.

"Wayne?" A lilting female voice calls out from somewhere in the house. "I just swept the floor so you'd better brush off all that sawdust-" A young Amish woman wearing a gray dress with an ap.r.o.n appears in the doorway. Her words trail when she spots Glock and me. "Oh. h.e.l.lo."

"Mrs. Kuhns?" I say.

"Yes?" She sends a questioning look to her husband. "What's going on?"

"I'm Chief Burkholder and I'm looking into the deaths of Paul Borntrager and his children. I'm sorry to bother you this evening, but I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I don't see how I can help you." Looking baffled, she enters the kitchen, and for the first time I notice her bulging midsection and I realize she's nearly to term. "We barely know the Borntragers."

Paul rounds the table, pulls out a chair, and slumps into it, saying nothing. I offer my hand to the Amish woman and we shake.

"I'm Hannah," she tells me, her gaze flicking to Glock. "Would you like coffee? I think I've got lemonade, too."

"No thank you, ma'am," I say. "Just a few questions and then we'll leave you to the rest of your evening."

She nods, her expression turning grim. "I couldn't believe it when I heard about Paul and the children. It's one of the saddest things I've ever heard. I took a pie over to Mattie yesterday. Poor thing is all broken up."

"How well do you know the Borntragers?" I begin.

"Just to say h.e.l.lo, really." Her eyes narrow and I know she's still wondering why we're here. Why we're asking questions about a family she had little or no contact with. "I spoke to Mattie briefly a couple of weeks ago at worship. I ran into her at the grocery store last month."

"Would you mind telling me where you were three nights ago?"

"What?" She casts a did-you-hear-that look at her husband. "I was here. Why are you-"

"Alone?"

"I was with Wayne." Her brows knit. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Both of you were here? All night?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Kuhns, did you ever have any kind of disagreement or dispute with Mattie or Paul?"

"Of course not. I told you. I barely knew them. How can you have a dispute with someone you don't even know?"

"What about your husband? Did he ever have any kind of argument or disagreement with them?"

"No." She looks from me to her husband, as if she's the only one in the room who didn't get the punch line of some joke. "What's going on here?"

"These questions are just routine. We're exploring all sources of information. Thank you for your time," I tell her. "We'll see ourselves out." Glock and I start toward the front door. I feel her eyes on my back as we traverse the living area.

"You think he's going to come clean?" Glock asks when we're outside.

"I don't think he has a choice."