Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

leather crop.”
    The thought of those kids being disciplined with a switch disturbs me deeply. I want to think Mattie is a gentle soul and would never discipline her children in such a harsh manner. But I know that’s my own bias talking. Even if she didn’t partake in the spanking herself, she looked the other way while her husband did.
    “Doc, are you saying she was abused?”
    He sighs. “Look, Kate, I know some parents paddle their kids. I know it’s an accepted practice in many homes—and many Amish homes. I was spanked as a child and, admittedly, I occasionally spanked my own boys when I thought they needed it. This is different because the vigorous use of a switch is not an acceptable form of discipline for any kid, much less a child with special needs.”
    I tell him about my conversation with Dr. Armitage at the Hope Clinic. “The surviving child, David, told the doctor his father had spanked him for stealing a pie and eating it.”
    “So we have a pattern.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Even though Paul Borntrager—the likely perpetrator of the discipline—is deceased, I’m bound to notify Children Services. As you know, that will prompt an investigation. A social worker will likely perform an in-home evaluation.”
    “As much as I don’t like the idea of putting David through any more emotional trauma, I think that’s our best route. Our only choice at this point.”
    “Now that I know about Armitage’s findings, I’ll direct Children Services to the clinic as well. They’ll want to talk to him, of course. They’ll want to know if he has documentation. Some physicians maintain photo or video records.”
    “You know they’re going to remove David from the home, don’t you?”
    “Temporarily, I’m sure.”
    I fall silent, trying to get my head around all of this and how it will affect the case. How it will affect David. And Mattie.
    “Kate.” Doc Coblentz says my name gently, as if he already knows the direction of my thoughts. “I know you were close to this family. I just want to say this is not an indictment against the mother. If she’s innocent in all of this, and by all indications she is, Children Services will conduct a psychological evaluation and see to it that she gets some parenting classes or counseling. It’s a win for her and the boy.”
    I sigh, unhappily. “I’ll make the call to Children Services,” I tell him. “Tonight.”
    “I know it’s not an easy thing, but it’s the right thing to do. The only way either of us will have any peace of mind.”
    When I end the call, I’m still ruminating the “peace of mind” comment.
    *   *   *
    Ten minutes later, I’m back in the Explorer, heading toward the station. Doc Coblentz’s words dog me, running through my head like a ticker tape repeating the same bad news over and over again.… the vigorous use of a switch is not an acceptable form of discipline for any kid, much less a child with special needs …
    I never would have thought of Paul or Mattie as abusive parents. The notion is a weight on my chest I can’t dislodge. I rap my hand against the steering wheel. “Damn you, Mattie. How could you do that to those kids?” I mutter.
    I wish I hadn’t pissed off Tomasetti earlier. I’d like to run this by him, get his take on it. I’m thinking about biting the bullet and making the call when I pass by the Hope Clinic. A light in the front window snags my attention, telling me Armitage is still there, working late. I make a quick turn into the lot. There’s no vehicle in front, so I drive slowly to the rear of the building. Sure enough, there’s a silver Lexus parked at the side. I resolve to talk to the doctor first and then make the call to Children Services.
    I park head-in against a row of scraggly bushes, walk around to the front of the building, and take the steps to the porch. I knock. Moths and other insects circle the light as I wait. After a moment, I try the door. Surprise ripples through me when the knob turns. Pushing open the door, I step inside. The place is so quiet I can hear the bugs striking the window.
    “Hello?” I call out. “Dr. Armitage? It’s Kate Burkholder.”
    I walk past the reception desk, peer over the counter. The phones are quiet, the desktop tidy. I go to the door that leads to the rear and push it open. Three of the four exam room doors are closed. The fourth, Armitage’s office, stands open, the light from his banker’s lamp bleeding into the hall. I