Kate Burkholder: Her Last Breath Part 31

I don't know who called Tomasetti, but he's waiting for me when I walk out of the sheriff's office. My stride falters when I spot him, leaning against the Tahoe, his cell phone against his ear. He watches me approach, mutters something into the phone, and hangs up, all the while his eyes never leaving me.

I greet him with, "Who are you talking to at two o'clock in the morning?"

"My mom."

The sound that escapes me sounds nothing like the laugh I intended. His mother pa.s.sed away some ten years ago. I suspect he was getting a quick update from Rasmussen.

He rounds the front of the SUV and opens the pa.s.senger door for me. "Everything go okay in there?"

"I'm probably off the case." I slide onto the seat and fasten my belt.

"You're too close to it. Might be a good thing."

"I wanted to finish this."

"Imagine that." His voice is teasing, but a thread of gravity comes through. "Just so you know, Kate, I'm not going to let you go home and lay into that bottle of vodka."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

He gives me a knowing look before slamming the door.

We don't speak on the drive to my house. He doesn't bother parking in the alley this time, but I don't remind him about small towns and gossip. The truth of the matter is, I don't care. I'm like a zombie as he guides me to the front door and takes my key to open it.

It's strange, but my own house feels alien to me. After the last hours, it seems too normal and homey, as if I don't belong in such a place after everything that transpired tonight. Tomasetti takes me to the bathroom off the hall, shoves open the shower curtain, and turns on the water.

"I'll get you some clothes and a plastic bag for that hand," he tells me.

My uniform smells of lake water and sweat. When I look down at the front of my shirt and slacks, I'm shocked by the sight of blood. I don't know if it's mine or Armitage's. Tomasetti returns with a plastic bag, which he places around my bandaged hand and secures with a rubber band at my wrist. Then he's gone and I'm alone again. I try to avoid the mirror as I undress, but it's a small room and I catch a glimpse of myself as I peel off my shirt. I see a pale, bruised face and haunted eyes and all I can think is that I don't know this woman. She can't be me because she looks like a victim and that's the one thing I swore I'd never be again.

Turning away, I drop my clothes on the floor and step into the shower. I turn the water on as hot as I can stand and spend ten minutes scrubbing my skin pink. I don't let myself think as I go through the motions. My mind flatlines. When I'm finished, I emerge to find sweatpants, underwear, and a tee-shirt on the counter.

I find Tomasetti sitting at the kitchen table, texting. He looks up when I enter and puts away his cell. He's got a good poker face, but I don't miss the quick flash of concern at the sight of me-or the wariness that follows.

"Texting your mom?" I ask.

He withholds a smile. "How's the hand?"

"Hurts."

"Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. "Any word on David Borntrager?"

"I talked to Glock while you were in the shower. David's fine. He's going to spend the night with a foster family. It's still early in the game, but the social worker thought they'd eventually place him with his grandparents."

"He's only eight years old. In the last week, he's lost his entire family. His datt. His siblings." I can't bring myself to say Mattie's name. "Have they taken Armitage's statement?"

"He's asking for his attorney."

"We've got him dead to rights."

"I think you're right."

"Did they find the pin?" I ask. "The piece I found?"

"Rasmussen didn't say."

"They're still processing the scene?"

"Probably going to be there all night."

"What about the quarry?"

"Highway patrol and a couple of your guys are out there now. First light, they'll send in a couple of divers, get a wrecker out there to pull out your Explorer."

For an instant I'm back in the vehicle. Black water closing over my face. Like ice against my skin. The stink of mud in my nostrils. The need for a breath an agony in my chest ...

The sound of my name snaps me back. I think about the Explorer sitting at the bottom of the quarry, and I choke out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical. "The town council is going to have to buy me a new vehicle."

Tomasetti smiles, but it's a polite gesture. He's worried about me and trying to get a handle on my frame of mind. Good luck with that.

We fall silent again. To my right, the faucet drips into the sink. The vent at the bottom of the refrigerator rattles when the motor kicks on. "Did Rasmussen find the truck parked in the barn behind the clinic?"

Tomasetti nods. "It's already been towed to impound for processing."

"It's the vehicle Armitage used to killed Paul Borntrager and his two children. Tomasetti, there was a snow blade attached..." I lose my breath and can't finish the sentence.

"I know," he says gently.

"That son of a b.i.t.c.h murdered those two sweet children," I tell him. "How could someone do that? How could Mattie allow it?"

He stares at me. "I don't know."

For the span of several minutes neither of us speaks. We contemplate each other. I can only imagine how I must look to him. Emotionally shaky. Too involved. Slightly off. I feel like gla.s.s that's been blown too thin and will shatter at the slightest touch.

"She almost killed me." I try to swallow, but I don't have enough moisture in my mouth. "I loved her like my own sister. What in the name of G.o.d happened to her?" It hurts to say the words, and for the first time tears threaten.

Tomasetti looks away, sighs. "I don't know, Kate."

"Have her parents been told?"

"I don't know." He glances at his watch. "Probably by now."

"I should have done it. I should have been the one to tell them."

"You're the last person who should be talking to them about their daughter. You're exactly where you need to be." He walks to the refrigerator, pulls two bottles of Killian's Irish Red from the shelf, turns back to me, and holds them up. "In lieu of the Absolut." He sets the bottle on the table and pulls out my chair. "Sit down."

I lower myself into the chair and pick up the beer, but I don't drink. "Mattie and Armitage ... I think they were having an affair."

"That makes sense."

"The night there was an intruder at her farm. It was Armitage." I think about that a moment, feeling foolish and inept. "He couldn't stay away from her. He didn't know I was watching the place. It was Mattie who broke the gla.s.s. To cover for him. I was too blind to see any of it." I look up from the tabletop and meet his gaze. "He killed Paul and the children so he could have her for himself." I take a drink of the beer, but I don't taste it. "I think she knew. About all of it."

"The truth will come out."

"Tomasetti, I knew her. Inside and out. Her thoughts. Her dreams. Her heart. I can't believe I didn't see something. I should have-"

"Some people lie to their last breath."

"She was my best friend."

"I'm your best friend."

The words, the kindness, and the truth behind them triggers something inside me, like the shattering of gla.s.s. Setting down the beer, I lower my face into my hands and begin to cry.

It took me two days to catch the cat. It's not that he doesn't like me. He does. But he's feral. Like me, he's been kicked around a little and sometimes it shows, usually to his own detriment. He doesn't easily trust. Sometimes he scratches the people who care for him most. I finally nab him using his favorite food. He's not a happy camper when I put him in the carrier.

"It's for your own good," I tell him as I lug the carrier to my rental car and place it on the pa.s.senger seat.

He responds by hissing at me.

Ten minutes later, I take the Toyota Corolla down the lane of Mattie's parents' farm. I pa.s.s by an old barn with a fresh coat of white paint, and then the lane curls right, taking me toward the house.

It's been seventeen years since I've been here, but so little has changed I feel as if I'm fifteen years old again as the house looms into view. The kitchen window where Mattie and I used to wash dishes while we whispered about boys still looks out over a cornfield that never seems to produce enough corn. The big maple tree still stands sentinel outside the window that had once been Mattie's bedroom. The same tree she climbed down the night we went to see the midnight screening of Basic Instinct. Even the clothesline post still leans slightly toward the barn. I wonder how a place can remain the same for so many years when the rest of the world barrels on with such astounding speed.

It's been two days since my ordeal at the clinic with Mattie and Michael Armitage. I've been put on administrative leave, though I've been told I'll be back on the job by tomorrow afternoon. I haven't slept since that night. Strangely, I'm not tired. I haven't been able to eat, but I'm not hungry. I'm hurting, but it's a silent pain because, after that first morning with Tomasetti, I haven't been able to cry.

Being here today is one of the most difficult things I've ever done in my life. Tomasetti tried to talk me out of it. It's not the first time I didn't heed his good advice. Avoiding Mattie's parents made me feel like a coward. I'm a lot of things-and not all of those things are good. But I'm not a coward.

Ten yards away, the door to the milk barn stands open, so I pick up the cat carrier and the brown paper bag that contains his kibble and head that way. I hear the generator that powers the milk machine rumbling from inside the small building next to the barn. I find Andy Erb in the aisle, sanitizing the udders of the cows he's just brought in from the field. The rest of the cattle are in stanchions and David is pouring feed into the long feeder.

Man and boy look up from their work when I approach. "Guder mariya," I say.

Andy Erb stiffens. His expression doesn't change as he straightens and looks at me. He reaches for his grandson, but young David is already running toward me, grinning. "We're getting ready to milk the cows. Do you wanna watch? I know how to do it."

I muss his hair, amazed at how resilient he is. That life goes on for him, even without his mother, father, and siblings. "It looks like fun, sweetheart, but I can't stay."

He's already eyeing the pet carrier. "What's inside the little box?" he asks.

Andy approaches us, sets his hand on the boy's shoulder, and eases him away from me. When the Amish man's eyes meet mine, I feel an instant of guilt. I spent half of my life wondering if he'd abused his daughter, never doubting Mattie's insinuation that he had. I'd hated him; I'd hated his wife for looking the other way. If Mattie had asked for my help, I would have done anything to protect her from them. Now, as an adult-and a police officer-I'm relieved she hadn't, because we would have destroyed this man's life and torn his family apart in the process.

Andy's eyes flick to the house, telling me Mattie's mother, Lizzie, is inside and I'm not to go there. "She doesn't want to see you."

"Mr. Erb..." I say his name, but all the words I so diligently rehea.r.s.ed on the way over tangle in my throat. Instead, I shove the cat carrier at him. "I brought this," I blurt. "For David."

"What is it? I want to see!" The boy disentangles himself from his grandfather's hands and bends to peer inside. "Grossdaddi! Sis kot! An orange one! Can I keep him?"

To the cat's credit, he doesn't hiss.

Erb stares at the cat as if he's never seen one before. After a moment, he pulls a white kerchief from the pocket of his trousers and wipes his eyes. "Is he a good mouser?" he asks.

"He's the laziest cat I've ever owned," I tell him. "He's got an unpleasant personality. A mean streak, actually. He hisses. A lot. Sometimes he scratches. But he's never bitten me. I suspect he never forgave me for having him neutered."

The Amish man nods. "He sounds like a good cat."

David lets out a squeal. "What's his name?"

"I've been calling him Custer, but you can rename him if you like."

"Hi there, Custer. Wei bischt du heit?" David peers into the carrier. "You have a nice pink nose."

I kneel next to the boy. Setting both hands on his shoulders, I turn him to face me. "You promise to take good care of him? Make sure he has plenty of food and water at all times, right? Make sure he has shade in the summer and a warm place to curl up in winter?"

"Ja! We're going to be best friends. I won't be lonely anymore."

I offer him the carrier, trying not to look at the cat. I'm not attached to him. Sure, he's gotten me through some tough times; I'll miss him. But I work too many hours to be a good owner to him. Besides, David needs him more than I do.

"Offer him some milk, David," Mr. Erb says.

"Okay, Grossdaddi." The boy looks into the carrier and eyes the cat. "You're going to like the milk here, Custer."

He starts to walk away, but I stop him with, "Hey."

He grins at me and I bend to give him a quick, awkward hug. "Take care, sweetie."

"I will." But his attention is on the cat. "Come on, Custer."

We watch him walk away. The silence that follows is thoughtful and somehow rings with a sense of finality. After a moment, Erb looks through the open door at the field beyond and sighs with the weariness of a beaten man. "We knew something was wrong with her."

He says the words without looking at me, uncomfortably, and the pain I see on his face profound, as if he, as a parent, somehow failed.

I let the silence ride until he meets my gaze. "I didn't," I tell him. "I loved her. I spent a lot of time with her. And I didn't know."

The sound of a door slamming draws our attention. I turn to see Mattie's mother coming down the steps of the back porch of the house, wiping her hands on a dish towel, looking our way.

Mr. Erb motions for me to leave. "Die zeit fer is nau." Time to go now.

I want to embrace him, but I'm not sure it will be welcomed, so I don't. Instead, I turn away and leave the barn. As I'm walking toward the Toyota, I glance over at Mattie's mother. She's standing at the foot of the steps, clutching the towel, her eyes on me, crying.

The sight of her crushes something inside me. I fight tears as I get into the car and I drive away without looking back.

CHAPTER 26.