“No one has to find out about Lapp,” I say.

He gives a harsh laugh. “Who else knows?”

“My brother, Jacob. My sister, Sarah.”

“What if they decide to talk?”

“They’re Amish. They won’t.”

“Who sent the note to the bishop?”

“My sister.” My laugh is dry. “She thought I should share that with my counterparts.”

“How are you going to explain it?”

“An obvious hoax.”

He picks up his glass and downs the drink. I do the same, and we set our glasses down simultaneously. He gives me a grim, unhappy look. “I don’t know you very well, but I think you’re a good cop. I think you care. That alone makes you a better cop than me. But you know as well as I do secrets have a way of getting exposed.”

“Kind of like old bones.” I stare hard at him. “Unless you bury them really deep.”

“If I found out, someone else can.”

“I don’t want my family brought into this. I don’t want the Amish community to pay for something I did.”

“Look, Kate, you’ve got a few things going for you on this. There were extenuating circumstances. There’s the self-defense angle. Your age at the time of the shooting.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding. I want to know if he’s going to turn me in, but I’m afraid to ask. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I hold them at bay. The last thing I want to do is break down in front of the man who’s probably going to destroy my life.

“I have to go.” His chair scrapes across the floor as he rises. “Try to get some sleep.”

He leaves the kitchen. A little voice inside my head screams for me to go after him, plead with him to keep his mouth shut, at least until this case is solved. But I can’t make myself move. The slamming of the door is like a death knell in my ears. As I reach for the bottle, I know there’s not a damn thing I can do but wait for the hammer to fall.

CHAPTER 27

I arrive at the police station a few minutes before seven. Mona sits at the switchboard, her feet on the desk, eating an apple and reading her usual fare.

“Hey, Chief.” Her feet hit the floor. Her eyes widen slightly when she looks at me. “Tough night?”

I didn’t sleep much after Tomasetti left, and I wonder if I look as wrung out as I feel. “Nothing a cup of whatever you’re brewing won’t cure.”

“It’s cinnamon hazelnut.” She passes messages to me. “Doc Coblentz probably won’t get to the autopsy until midmorning.”

The news suits me just fine. Now that I know for a fact Daniel Lapp isn’t the killer, I plan to spend the morning working the relocation angle.

“Weatherman says we got more snow coming,” she says.

“He’s been saying that for a week.”