I’m ten feet from the door, but I have a clear view of the pen below, where a dozen or so massive hogs mill about, sows and boars, and half-grown piglets. More of them have noticed our presence and lift their heads to look up at us.

“Mr. Kaufman, people know I’m here,” I tell him. “The police are on the way. You can’t possibly get away with this.”

He jabs the rifle at me. “Do it!”

His voice booms through the structure. Until this moment, I’d seen him as a frail, sickly old man confined to a wheelchair and in need of constant care by his long-suffering wife. All of it was a lie. The wheelchair. His failing health. All to protect him from what he’d done. To keep his secrets from coming to light. The thought sends a chill through me.

“Put down the rifle.” Hoping to buy some time, I raise both hands and sidle toward the door. “I’ll do whatever you say.” I look at Abigail, urging her with my eyes to obey him and get back to the house. She’s standing slightly behind Kaufman, so that the old man is between us, forming an irregular triangle of sorts. She stares back at me, her expression chillingly blank.

Kaufman tilts his head, looks at me the way a scientist might look at some small animal he’s about to slice open. His face is devoid of emotion. There’s no tension. No fear. Just the cold resolve of a man determined to save his daughter, his family, and his own neck. In that instant I realize I’m not going to be able to talk him down.

Keeping my hands at shoulder level, I sidestep closer to the door and try another tactic. “Abigail told me Leroy Nolt fell into the pen. I know it was an accident. I know she wasn’t there. I know you had no part in what happened. No one’s going to hold either of you responsible for something you didn’t do. If you put down that rifle, both of you can walk away from this.”

The Amish woman’s head jerks toward me. “They murdered him, Chief Burkholder. All of them. Jeramy. My brother. My father.”

I don’t look at her, keeping my eyes on Kaufman, waiting for an opportunity to pull my sidearm and stop the threat.

Kaufman shifts his gaze to his daughter. “Sei ruich.” Be quiet.

“The truth has been kept quiet long enough,” she tells him.

“Leroy Nolt was Mennisch.” Mennonite. He hisses the word, but his hatred echoes with crystal clarity.

“And you’re a maddah.” Murderer.

“I did it to keep you from burning in hell.”

“Leeyah.” Liar. “What about your bastard grandson?” she hisses. “How are you going to save Levi’s soul?”

Kaufman opens his mouth, his lips quivering. The rifle quivers in his hands. “Sei ruich!”