Page 27 of Fallen

Next to him, Roland “Pickles” Shumaker nurses a to-go cup of coffee from LaDonna’s Diner. I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke and English Leather as I pass. He may be down to working just ten hours a week—which entails crosswalk duty at the elementary school—but his uniform is creased, his hair and goatee are colored a not-so-natural hue of brown, and his trademark Lucchese boots are polished to a mirror sheen. Pickles might be an old-timer, but I’ve seen his file—all sixty pages of it—and I know he earned every “above the call of duty” and “risked his own life” comment, and then some. He spent years working undercover narcotics and made one of the biggest busts in the history of Holmes County.

Chuck “Skid” Skidmore sits across from Pickles looking a little rough around the edges. He’s our resident jokester, and eschews early mornings, which is why he prefers second shift. I hired him shortly after becoming chief. He’d been terminated from the Ann Arbor PD for drinking on the job. But I liked him; I thought he deserved a second chance, so I hired him with the caveat that if I ever caught him drinking while on duty he would be out the door. He’s never let me, or himself, down.

T.J. Banks had always been the departmental rookie—until I promoted Mona. At twenty-eight years of age, he’s serious about his job, doesn’t mind working graveyard, and is the first to volunteer for overtime. Baby-faced and charming, he’s invariably in the process of landing a new girlfriend or breaking up with his current squeeze.

Mona sits next to T.J., looking at something he’s showing her on his cell, probably some cop story that includes a generous amount of embellishment. She’s not buying into it, but letting him have his moment. Good girl, I think, and I take my place at the half podium.

“As all of you know, thirty-year-old Rachael Schwartz was murdered in her room at the Willowdell Motel night before last. Our department is primary. BCI is assisting, as is the Holmes County Sheriff’s Office. The killer or killers have not yet been apprehended or identified. That means mandatory OT until we make an arrest.”

I glance down at my scrawled notes. “Doc Coblentz hasn’t officially ruled on cause or manner, but this is an obvious homicide. NOK have been notified,” I say, referring to “next of kin.” “I don’t have to tell any of you to not discuss this case with anyone. Refer any media inquiries to me.”

I pass the folder containing the crime scene photos, reports, notes, and every scrap of information I’ve amassed so far to Glock so he can take a look and pass it on.

“From all indications, the victim was beaten to death,” I tell him. “The murder weapon was not found. We’re not making that public. The coroner wouldn’t commit, but we’re likely talking about piece of pipe or club, or some other heavy, blunt object.”

I look at Skid. “I want you and T.J. to drive back out to the motel and continue our search for the murder weapon. Expand our original search area. We looked yesterday, but had to quit when it got dark. Check the ditches on either side of the road, woods, fields, walk it all the way to the highway. Check any dumpsters in the area. There’s a service station down the road. If they’ve got security cams, get me the video.”

Skid casts a half smile at T.J. “I guess we won’t have to go to the gym this week,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” I tell him, and turn my attention to Glock and Pickles. “I want you guys to reinterview everyone who was staying at or visiting the Willowdell Motel the twenty-four hours before and after the murder. There was one person who checked out before we arrived. Find them and talk to them.”

Nodding, Pickles hitches up his belt, his chest puffed out. “We’re on it.”

I glance at Mona. “I want you to look at Rachael Schwartz’s social media accounts. I skimmed some of them last night and she’s active and controversial. Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. See if she had any ongoing feuds or disagreements. Anything that catches your eye, let me know and we’ll follow up.”

She gives me a two-finger salute.

“Lois.” I look up at my dispatcher, who’s standing in the doorway, headset on, listening for incoming calls. “I want a hotline set up. Five-hundred-dollar reward for information. I emailed you a press-release draft. Give me a quick edit, if you would.” I smile. “And get it out to local media. Steve Ressler at The Advocate. Millersburg. Wooster. Radio station down in Dover.”

“Got it,” she says, scribbling.

I’m not sure where the reward money will come from. I’ll figure it out if and when I need it.

“Get with the technology people that handle Painters Mill’s website, too. Get the hotline number on it, front and center. Our social media accounts, too.”

“Yep.”

I look out at my team. “We’re already getting calls. Residents are anxious. Make yourselves visible around town when you can, do your best to reassure folks.”

“Tell Tom Skanks free apple fritters and coffee would go a long way to keep us first responders on our toes,” Skid mutters.

“Don’t forget that new place,” Glock adds.

“Mocha Joe’s,” T.J. tells them, referring to a nice little upscale coffeehouse in town.

I try not to smile, but I don’t quite manage. “I’ll see what I can do.”

My cell phone vibrates against my hip. I glance down to see HOLMES CNTY CORONER pop up on the display. I look out at my team. “My cell is on twenty-four seven,” I tell them. “Day and night. Let’s go to work.”

CHAPTER 13

Loretta Bontrager couldn’t remember the last time she was so excited. Seeing a new baby for the first time was a happy occasion. It was one of the joys of being Amish, especially for the women. She’d known Mary Sue Miller most of her life. They’d gone to school together, played hide-and-seek in Amos Yoder’s cornfield as kids, been baptized at about the same time, and were married within weeks of each other. This was Mary’s fourth child. Baby Perry had been born just a few days ago and Mary was finally rested up enough to share him with the community.

Children were a gift from God. Loretta couldn’t wait to cuddle him. What a joy it was to hold a new baby. Like her mamm always said: Children are the only treasure you can take to heaven.

Though Loretta was genuinely happy for her friend and anxious to meet the newest member of the family, the occasion was marred by the death of Rachael Schwartz. Loretta simply couldn’t stop thinking about her. She hadn’t been able to eat or sleep. She’d been living in a fog since it happened and that wasn’t the worst of it. At night, and despite her fervent prayers at bedtime, the nightmares came for her. Dark images that left her gasping and tearful, her heart filled with grief.

Loretta had been closer to Rachael than she was to her own sister. She’d broken the rules herself to stay in touch with Rachael after she’d left. Truth be told, Loretta had always worried about her. The way she lived her life. Her lack of faith. She knew things about Rachael. Things that scared her—even now. She’d prayed for her friend’s well-being. Her happiness. Most of all, she prayed for her soul.