Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

and I haven’t done much to recognize it. I’m reminded of her interest in becoming a police officer and I realize should the budget ever materialize, I’ll consider her as a candidate.
    “Most of the callers didn’t leave contact info?” I ask.
    “They wanted to remain anonymous.”
    “Damn Amish,” I mutter.
    She snickers.
    “I’m surprised we didn’t get any alien calls.”
    “We did,” she tells me. “I didn’t put them on the list.”
    I flip the page and my eyes are drawn to the final call, which came in late yesterday. An Amish woman, who refused to give her name, claims one of her children saw Mattie Borntrager on the road in front of her farm late at night, arguing with an unknown male.
    “Do you have anything else on this anonymous Amish woman?” I ask.
    Mona shakes her head. “She wouldn’t leave her name.”
    “Huh.” But the simple fact that the caller saw or heard the argument is telling. If the incident took place late at night on the road in front of Mattie’s farm—a dead-end road no less—the caller would have had to be walking or driving by, or else she lives nearby. Considering the late-night hour, I’m betting on the latter.
    “This is good work, Mona. Thank you.”
    She beams. “You want me to follow up on any of these?”
    I don’t believe any of the other calls are viable, but I say, “Why don’t you give Mr. Oren a call and get an alibi?”
    “Sure.”
    “Then why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”
    She grins. “I’ll do it, Chief. Let me know if you need anything else.”
    I return her smile. “I’ll let you know when the number crunchers get the hell out of the way.”

 
    CHAPTER 19
    I’ve just pulled into the gravel lane of Mattie’s neighbors to speak with Martha Schlabach and, hopefully, get the details on the alleged argument between Mattie and an unidentified male, when my cell phone vibrates against my hip. I glance down, recognize the number as the Amish pay phone on the edge of town, and I pick up on the third ring.
    “Katie?”
    Something in my sister’s voice makes the muscles at the back of my neck go taut. “What is it?” I ask.
    “Two policemen just left,” she tells me. “They were asking all sorts of questions about Daniel Lapp.”
    My foot hits the brake even before I realize I’m going to stop. All the while my sister’s words echo in my ears.
    They were asking all sorts of questions about Daniel Lapp.
    “Which policemen?” I ask. “When?”
    “Twenty minutes ago. I hitched the buggy and drove right to the phone to call you. Katie, I told them what you told me to say, but I was nervous. I don’t think they believed me. They kept looking at me as if they thought I was lying.”
    You were, I think. “Which policemen were there? Did you get their names?”
    “The sheriff from Coshocton County. Redmon was his name, I think. There was a deputy, too. I don’t remember his name.”
    The information flies through my mind like shrapnel tearing through skin and muscle and bone. I force myself to calm down and think. “What did they say exactly?”
    “They asked me about that day. You know, the day … it happened. I told them I was in town. I didn’t actually see Daniel. But I thought I remembered my brother saying something about him coming over to help bale hay.”
    “Okay,” I tell her. “That’s good. What else?”
    “Katie, they asked about you. I didn’t know what to tell them. My words got all jumbled up. I told them you were in the house that day and the boys stayed in the field.”
    “Have they talked to Jacob?” I ask.
    “I don’t know. They didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want them to think I was concerned.”
    Or getting our stories straight … “It’s okay, Sarah. Don’t worry. You did good.”
    But none of this is good. It means the police have identified Daniel Lapp’s remains. It means they’ve questioned his brother, Benjamin, and they know Daniel was last seen at my parents’ farm. They know I was there the day he disappeared. Even more disturbing is the fact that Redmon questioned my sister without giving me a heads up. He’s not obligated, but it would have been a courtesy, since it involved a family member of a fellow law-enforcement official. The usual rationale for leaving a cop out of the loop is if said cop is suspected of wrongdoing.
    I tell myself that’s not the case in this instance. I’m being paranoid; there’s no way the police could know what