Page 52 of The Burning

Chambers all but rolls his eyes.

“Kate’s a good chief and one of the best investigators I know,” Rasmussen maintains. “I trust her. And we need her.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence, Mike, but any decision about my continuing to work on this case falls to Mayor Brock.” I get to my feet, drill Chambers with a glare. “In the interim, I think all of us would be better served if we concentrated on the case.”

Temper flashes in the agent’s eyes.

Before he can respond, I reach for the intercom box in the center of the table. “Lois?”

“Yeah, Chief?”

“Can you send Mr. Bogart back here to the war room?”

“You got it.”

Chambers sits up straighter. “What are you doing?”

“I’d like to hear from the witness,” I say, and then turn my attention to Sheriff Rasmussen. “Since Agent Chambers is under the impression that I’m too personally involved, would you like to do the honors?”

He nods. “Sure.”

Chambers mutters something beneath his breath.

Not quite comfortable with having relegated myself to a backseat position, I pull out my notebook.

A knock sounds and the door swings open. Jim Bogart stands at the threshold looking a lot less cocky than he had out in the reception area. He’s fifty-two years old, with a salt-and-pepper goatee and the burly build of a man who’s spent most of his life doing physical labor.

“Hi, Jim.” Rasmussen motions him into the chair nearest the door. “Come on in. We appreciate your coming forward today.”

Bogart eyes me warily as he slides into the chair. I stare back at him, keeping my expression as neutral as I can manage.

“I understand you have some information for us about the Milan Swanz case,” the sheriff begins. “Can you tell us what you witnessed between Jacob Burkholder and Milan Swanz?”

The man scoots closer to the table. “Well, Swanz was putting up a cross fence near where my property borders Jacob Burkholder’s place. My barn is close to where Swanz was working that day. I was on the second level, cleaning out my feed room. I heard an argument so I went to the window.” Looking pleased with himself, he sets his gaze on me and pauses with drama. “Sure enough, Burkholder was out there arguing with Swanz.”

“What day was that?” the sheriff asks.

“Five days ago,” he says. “About two in the afternoon.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I missed some of it. By the time I got to the window, Burkholder was all over Swanz, yelling at him. I think he said something about the bishop.” He shakes his head. “Let me tell you something, Burkholder was pissed. I swear I never seen an Amish guy so mad. I’ve lived in Holmes County my whole life and never heard any of them so much as raise their voice. I thought these two were going to come to blows.”

“Did it get physical?” Rasmussen asks.

“Didn’t see it if they did.”

“Anybody get threatened?” Chambers asks.

“Not that I could hear,” Bogart replies.

“Was anyone else present?” This from the sheriff.

“Just them two. And me.”

Dread hovers over me as I write all of it down.

“How long did the argument last?” Rasmussen asks.