Material Witness (5 page)

Deborah didn’t know how to answer that question, didn’t know where to begin. Before she could think of what to say though, another car pulled up on the street — a car teenage boys refer to as a hot rod. Yellow with a black stripe over the hood, it blocked in several other vehicles, and Deborah could just make out Shane Black sitting behind the wheel.

She’d heard Callie’s questions, but she had no answers for her. She also heard Callie’s sharp intake of breath at the sound of Shane’s car, and she had no answer for that either. Something had been going on between those two for some time. Something neither one was willing to admit.

Thoughts of home flitted through her mind, but Deborah pushed them away. She realized Martha would need to catch a ride to their farm with her
aenti
who had a booth tonight in the downtown area. She couldn’t possibly leave Callie and Melinda until they were cleared to go home as well. And Callie might need a place to sleep for the evening if she didn’t want to remain here.

Though Deborah had risen early to prepare for what was supposed to be one of the biggest festivals of the year, the day had taken an unexpected turn. With a sinking feeling, Deborah realized her own bed was a place she wouldn’t see for many hours.

S
HANE FORCED HIMSELF
to remain in his car and survey the scene. It wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to push through the growing crowd until he reached Callie’s side, and then pull her into his arms and assure himself she wasn’t hurt.

But plainly she was not hurt.

He could see that from where he sat. Plus dispatch had reported one deceased and that would be the lady facedown in the parking lot with her arms splayed out to her sides. The woman appeared to be Amish, but Shane knew from his years as a county detective that clothing didn’t prove a thing.

Floodlights had already been set up by the crime-tech team. They revealed large muddy footsteps tracking away from the body and down the sidewalk to the south. Apparently this wasn’t the work of a professional. Either that or this guy wanted to be followed. By the size of those footprints, Shane concluded the perp was a he. But, given it was an old lady who had been attacked and Shane didn’t see her handbag lying around, he would have bet his 1971 Buick GSX the perp was a he without even examining the footprints.

And Shane didn’t anticipate parting with his classic Buick.

Possibly this hadn’t been a crime. Shane pulled his Chicago
Cubs ball cap down farther on his head and considered the possibility.

Could be that someone found her dead and ran, but that was unlikely. Most folks in this town stuck around, called for help, and answered the officers’ questions. Even the Amish — who didn’t care to have their pictures snapped by a reporter from the
Gazette
— would answer questions. They might not answer with the detail Shane wanted, but still, they wouldn’t have left a body there for someone else to stumble over.

No. If the person who had been on the scene first had run, he was hiding something.

Shane surveyed the rest of the area surrounding the shop. These few minutes in his car would be the only quiet he’d have in the next twenty-four hours, and sometimes — for him — first impressions formed the cornerstone of the investigation.

Deborah stood beside Callie and the dog. He wished Callie Harper would allow him to get as close to her as she let the Labrador. The thought rudely intruded into his analysis of the scene, and Shane pushed it away as the beginnings of a headache drummed at his temples.

Andrew Gavin and Stan Taylor stood near the front of the shop, shooing witnesses back inside. It was doubtful anyone in the shop would have seen much of anything useful given the angle of the windows, which fronted out to the street — to the west. The placement of the body was to the south. Anyone inside the shop likely wouldn’t have noticed a thing unless they were hanging out the door, but he’d pursue any possible lead. Cases had turned on less.

He returned his attention to Callie and Deborah and noticed they were staring north — almost as if they wanted to move that direction but weren’t sure if Gavin and Taylor would allow it.

He followed their gaze and spotted what they were looking at, or rather whom — Melinda Byer and her two sons, Matthew
and Aaron. All three huddled on a bench, though of course Aaron was in his wheelchair beside it. Matthew stared at his shoes, misery etched on his young face. Melinda kept one hand firmly on Aaron’s chair, the other on Matthew, like she needed to protect the two boys. She looked worried. Matthew looked guilty.

But Aaron — Aaron looked completely lost. His face was devoid of color and his eyes continually darted from the officers to the body at the far end of the lot. He chewed on the thumbnail of his left hand and his right knee jiggled nervously on the footrest of the wheelchair.

Aaron was the person Shane needed to talk to.

Aaron was his witness.

First things first though.

He slammed the Buick’s door loudly enough to draw some attention.

“Keep McCallister away from the deceased,” he growled, walking over for a quick assessment of the body. He hoped he never became accustomed to seeing the violence one person could do to another. This one seemed pretty senseless. Closer inspection seemed to confirm she was in fact a little, old Amish woman, struck down on a cool September night.

“I have feelings, Black. When have I ever compromised one of your crime scenes?” Trent stuck his hand out and Shane shook it.

Hard as it was to admit such a thing, Shane liked the editor of the
Gazette
. Normally he stayed clear of the press, but Trent was different. He’d kept the girls safe on more than one occasion, though he’d managed to pull a few good headlines out of it in the process.

“There’s always a first time,” Shane mumbled. “How do you manage to beat me to every crime scene?”

“Maybe because I live in Shipshe.”

“Yeah. Your lack of travel time is giving you a leg up.”

Trent nodded toward the corpse. “Seems lately, we’re having more than our fair share of murders.”

“We don’t know it’s a murder,” Shane muttered, though Trent had no doubt reached the same conclusion he had. “If it is, I wouldn’t call three cases in fifteen months a crime wave.”

He scowled as Trent began scribbling in his book. As far as quotes went though, that was a relatively harmless one. He started to walk away, then turned around and pointed a finger at Trent.

“No pictures of the deceased.”

“No identifying pictures. I know the rules.”

“Be sure you follow them.” Shane turned and approached a crime-scene tech.

“Cause of death?”

“Good evening to you too, Shane.” Leroy Jackson’s white teeth practically glowed when he smiled — his dark-skinned face melting into the night. Short, thin, and balding, he was the best crime tech Shane had ever known — and he’d known more than a few.

“Suppose it could be worse. Could have several senior citizens falling out of the bushes.”

“Wouldn’t say she fell, given the angle of her body.” Leroy was taking measurements and writing them down in his book. Most techs used recorders now, but Leroy used a book, like the old-timers. Shane had asked him why once, and Leroy admitted knowing a guy who had a recorder break on him. The killer had gone free because forensics couldn’t stand up to the defense during the trial.

“So she was pushed?”

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. It’s more like she jumped or something jolted her.”

“Taser?”

“That’s what I was thinking, but there are no obvious signs
of it — would have to be one of the newer, wireless models. An autopsy should be able to tell us.”

Shane stared down at the scene, sighed, and ran his hand over the back of his neck. Like he’d figured … it was going to be a long night. “Send pics of those shoeprints to my email along with anything else you find.”

“You got it.”

Shane finally strode to Callie.

When she turned her face up toward his, it was all he could do not to reach forward and wipe the fear off her face, smooth the worry lines away, kiss her as softly as he had outside the Lapps’ barn back in Goshen. Had that been last winter? He’d been trying to take their relationship to the next level for months, but she’d been avoiding his calls. To be honest, they didn’t have a relationship — you couldn’t call meeting over criminal investigations dates.

So Shane didn’t kiss her or touch her face. He settled for catching her hand in his.

“You okay?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that.” She stared at the ground as she spoke. “At least I think that’s what Deborah asked me.”

“Is that a yes or no?” He ran his thumb up and down the inside of her palm.

When she still didn’t glance up, Deborah answered for her. “She’s better than she was five minutes ago. At least she’s standing now.”

“True?” Shane asked.

“True.” Callie’s voice was soft, with a slight tremor.

“Did you find the body?”

“Yes.” She glanced at him then, her brown eyes brimming with tears, but she blinked them back. She looked away, staring out at the crowd gathering across the street.

He put his hand under her chin, waited until her dark eyes met his. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch him.”

“Him?”

“Not likely that a woman would bump off an old lady in public. Women tend to be sneakier — use poison or the dinnerware. Plus there’s the size of the shoeprints tracking away from the body. You’d have to be talking about a warrior woman, someone from the Amazon, and she would be fairly easy to spot. My bet is our perp’s a male.”

“So you do think it was murder? Not an … an accident?” Callie’s eyes filled with a wild terror he’d seen before, seen too often in victims of crime, and it tore at his heart to see it in her.

She’d been through a lot since coming to Shipshe, and she’d always been strong. His mind flashed back to the first time he’d arrested her, and he nearly smiled. Callie Harper was one tough woman. She had experience around dead bodies. But he’d never seen her quite so rattled before.

Why the meltdown now?

Why was this murder affecting her so deeply?

“I suppose she could have picked your parking lot to have a heart attack, but other evidence —” He stopped himself, knowing he shouldn’t share the details with her and Deborah. They weren’t on the police department staff and weren’t part of the team, even if they did find a way of showing up during every murder investigation. “My guess is foul play. We’ll know in the next few hours. And if it is murder, I’m betting the perp was a he —”

“He’s still out there, Shane. Whoever did this.” Callie started to say more, then pressed her fingers to her lips.

Shane glanced at Aaron, and then back at her, wondering where he should start.

“Go to Aaron,” she whispered. “I think he might have seen what happened. I just heard … I just heard Max barking as I was coming back from an errand.” She held up a bag from the General Store. “I started running as soon as I heard him barking. I knew something was wrong.”

“So you came from …”

“The south.” Callie turned and pointed. “I’d been to purchase register tape. Max was with Aaron. When I heard him barking, I ran and I … I didn’t see her at first … then Aaron waved me back, and that’s when I noticed her.”

“Exactly as she is now?”

“Yes. I checked for a pulse, but there was none. Mrs. Knepp was already dead.”

Deborah sighed. “I wonder if her daughter has heard.”

“You’re sure the deceased is Mrs. Knepp?” Shane asked, as every muscle in his back grew more rigid.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“How do you know her?” Shane frowned, pulled down his ball cap. He didn’t like that Callie knew the deceased. Didn’t like that her involvement in the murder was already growing more complicated.

“She’s the owner of Quilts and Needles,” Callie explained. “It’s the other quilt shop in town.” She stopped, gazed around as if the killer might jump out of the bushes. “Max and Aaron were already here when it happened — I guess. That must be why Max was b-b-barking.”

The final words were hard to make out, her teeth were chattering so badly.

“Deborah, take her over to the ambulance.”

“I’m f-f-fine.”

“You’re in shock, Callie.” The words came out sharper than he intended. He pulled in a deep breath and forced his aggravation down. It wasn’t her fault it happened here. And it wasn’t her fault she knew the victim. “Go with Deborah and let the paramedics check you over.”

When she continued to shake her head, the last of Shane’s patience snapped. “Go now or I’ll carry you there myself.”

Callie’s eyes flashed with a small spark of the anger he was
used to, and the worry gnawing at the base of his neck backed off a tad.

“She can walk,” Deborah murmured.

Callie tried to yank her hand out of his grasp, but he pulled her back to him. “They’ll give you a blanket and some water. Sit down in their rig for a few minutes and let your adrenaline return to normal. I’ll check on Aaron.”

Shane had been trying to get close to Callie Harper since the morning they’d spent at the top of Timothy Lapp’s silo — the morning he’d been terrified a nineteen-year-old boy would pull a trigger and end her life. He’d been patient because he cared for her and he didn’t believe in rushing things, but seeing her standing there beneath the streetlights with another dead body only a hundred feet away, he couldn’t help himself.

Before he could question whether it was the right thing to do, he turned her face toward his and kissed her softly on the lips. Then, without another word, he walked away.

As Aaron watched the entire scene unfold, his emotions hopped all over the place, like the grease that popped in the iron pan when his
mamm
fried chicken. Right now what he was feeling most was surprise, but sometimes fear crept in, and then suddenly he’d find himself curious about what was happening. Grease popping in the pan — that’s what he was.

This was nothing like that Western movie starring John Wayne.

In
The Cowboys
, John Wayne was okay, even after the cattle rustlers showed up and shot him in the back. He hadn’t looked okay to Aaron — not with blood coming out of his elbow and his shoulder and his stomach. Aaron had been upset the first time he’d watched the movie, and it had taken all of his concentration not to cry when the boys and Mr. Nightlinger had buried John
Wayne on the hillside. Then Justin had shown him how they could hit the replay button and see that the old cowboy was fine. The movie would start over and things on the screen were like before. The killing in John Wayne movies was all pretend.