Page 61 of Fallen

CHAPTER 26

Outrage boils in my gut by the time Loretta finishes her story. I tamp it down, grapple for distance. I don’t trust my voice, so I say nothing. The only sound comes from the buzz of the overhead lights, the beelike hum of my computer.

Tears stream down Loretta’s cheeks. She doesn’t acknowledge them. Her gaze fastens to the surface of my desk, and the silence that follows is excruciating.

“Rachael told you that?” I ask.

She nods. “A couple weeks after it happened. She didn’t know what to do. I think she needed someone to talk to.”

Next to her, Ben sets his elbows on his knees and looks down at the floor.

“She named Dane Fletcher?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I think about that a moment. “Did she tell her parents?”

“I don’t think she told anyone. I mean, she was Amish. And she was out doing things she shouldn’t have been doing. How could she tell anyone?”

I don’t respond. Maybe because I don’t want to contemplate my answer. Would Rachael’s family have supported her? Would they have believed her? Or blamed her? Would her parents have gone to the police? Or would they sweep the whole, ugly incident under the rug in the hope it would go away?

“Did she seek medical help?” I ask. “Go to the doctor?”

“No.” The Amish woman tightens her mouth. “She was never the same after that.”

I look at her. “How so?”

“Rachael was always bold, you know.” A sad smile pulls at her mouth. “The stories her mamm told about her when she was a little one.” She turns thoughtful. “In the weeks and months after that happened to her, Rachael became even bolder. Worse, she became unkind.”

I think about Dane Fletcher. The unexplained deposits into Rachael’s bank account. In my mind’s eye, I see the CCTV video from the gas station next to the bar in Wooster, and I realize the silhouette of the man who met with Rachael that day could very well be Fletcher’s. A theory begins to take shape.

Tears shimmer in Loretta’s eyes when she raises her gaze to mine. “Chief Burkholder, Rachael was barely seventeen years old. Little more than a child. Going on twenty-five, you know? She thought she could handle what happened to her. But it changed her. Changed her view of the world and not in a good way.”

“Why did Fletcher show up at your place last night?” I ask.

“He knew Rachael and I grew up together. That we were friends. He must have known she told me what he did to her that night because he told me to keep my mouth shut.” Her face screws up, but she fends off tears. “He threatened my family.”

Ben raises his head. I catch a glimpse of anger in his eyes before he can tuck it away, out of sight. “In light of … what happened to Rachael,” he says, “we thought you should know.”

Loretta’s eyes widen on mine. She blinks. And I realize she’s arrived at the same conclusion as me. That Dane Fletcher and Rachael Schwartz met at the Willowdell Motel and something unspeakable ensued.

“Mein Gott.” Choking out a sound of dismay, she lowers her face into her hands.

In the backwaters of my mind, I see Rachael lying on the floor in that motel room. Her broken body and destroyed face. A beautiful young woman with her entire life ahead. A woman who was difficult and flawed and didn’t always conduct herself in a way becoming to her Amish roots. But she damn well didn’t deserve what happened to her.

“Do you think that policeman did this terrible thing?”

The question comes from Ben. He sits stiffly next to his wife, his expression a mosaic of horror and disbelief and a possibility he can’t accept.

I don’t answer. I can’t for too many reasons to say, let alone the fact that a law enforcement officer has suddenly become my number-one suspect.

I divide my attention between the couple. “Do you know if Rachael has been in touch with Dane Fletcher?” I ask. “By phone or text? Do you know if they’ve met at any time over the years?”

They exchange a look and then Loretta shakes her head. “I’ve not heard of such a thing, Chief Burkholder. If they did, Rachael never mentioned it.”

CHAPTER 27

I was eighteen years old the last time I saw Rachael Schwartz. The Fall Harvest Festival was a huge flea-market-type event for which the Amish traveled miles to set up booths or wagons, and sell their wares, everything from produce to livestock, from baked goods to quilts. For me, it was a day away from the farm and chores, a time to see my friends, and, of course, sample all that delicious Amish food. Every September, my datt loaded our old hay wagon and dragged me and my siblings, Jacob and Sarah, to the festival, where we spent the day selling pumpkins of every shape and size.