Trusting The Sheriff. Janice Kay Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ said grimly. “She came up from patrol not quite a year ago. Seemed to be catching on fine. Detective Walker said he was happy with the pairing. Still, I had a lot of faith in him, and she’s new. I think she’s corrupt, and murdered him when he found out she was involved in something bad.”

      “You’re thinking drugs?”

      “We both know that’s the likely answer. They were in the Prospect corridor, behind a bar where we’ve made more than a few arrests for drugs and prostitution. So far as I can determine, there was no reason they should have been there. I can’t find a connection between the bar or nearby businesses and any of the investigations they were conducting.”

      Caleb frowned. The neighborhood surrounding the intersection of Prospect and Independence ranked as one of the most dangerous areas in Kansas City.

      He asked questions; Donahue answered them with seeming frankness. No, he had no concrete evidence that Detective Baker had gone bad.

      “I’m going with my gut here,” he admitted.

      “What’s she say?”

      “She claims amnesia. Can’t remember a damn thing. I don’t buy it.”

      “I’ve seen people with post-traumatic amnesia,” Caleb said neutrally.

      “This is just too convenient for me.”

      Inclined to agree with that assessment, Caleb still reserved judgment. It happened, in particular after a head injury, which he understood the woman detective had suffered. He had no trouble understanding Mike Donahue’s frustration, though.

      He took his feet off the desk so that he could rock forward and reach for his coffee cup. After a swallow, he asked, “So what’s this favor?”

      “Baker left the hospital yesterday to stay with family to recuperate. Aunt and uncle have a farm in your county. Sam Kirk drove her up there. You remember him, don’t you?”

      “Mostly by reputation,” he said. The guy was a little older than Caleb, solid at his job so far as he knew.

      “It’s a strange setup, way I hear it. This family is Amish.”

      Stunned, he said, “What?”

      “You heard me. I don’t know how Baker is connected to these people. They don’t usually want anything to do with law enforcement, from what I understood.”

      “You understand right. For the most part, they’re law-abiding people. They keep to themselves and avoid mixing with government or police authority as much as possible. I’ve never heard of an Amishman—” and a woman was even more unlikely “—becoming a cop.” Caleb shook his head in bemusement. There had to be a story here.

      “Not sure she ever was Amish, just somehow related.” Donahue cleared his throat. “I’m hoping you’d be willing to stop by, express concern and sympathy. Be good if you could get to know her, sound her out.”

      “Earn her trust.”

      “You got it.”

      The role sounded distasteful to Caleb, but if this woman had really shot her partner in cold blood because she’d taken payoffs to protect drug traffickers, he had no sympathy for her. He couldn’t quite see her spilling to him, but people made mistakes. She might forget some detail of whatever story she’d given Donahue, tell Caleb something different. Anything was possible.

      “I’ll give it a shot,” he said, then winced at his choice of words. “Email me everything you’ve got on the incident. Name and address of this aunt and uncle, too.”

      His day stayed busy. It wasn’t until after dinner at home that he was able to open his laptop and read the police reports and autopsy report Donahue had sent, as promised. Crime scene photos were included. Caleb studied those carefully, but nothing jumped out at him.

      Then he saw where Abigail Baker had taken refuge.

      Caleb knew Eli and Nancy Kemp. They were good people, Eli a farmer who also worked in leather, making and repairing horse tack, essential to a people whose principal mode of transportation was horse and buggy. Frowning, Caleb tried to find an explanation of why this female cop would have been taken in by an Amishman who also happened to be a minister in his church district.

      Nothing.

      Abigail was a common name among the Amish, he reflected, but not as much these days among the Englisch, as the Amish labeled most Americans outside their faith.

      Caleb sat thinking for a minute. Then he went online again and searched for news coverage of the shooting.

      Nothing was materially different from what he’d seen covered on news channels at the time it happened, or what was contained in the information Donahue had sent him. There was a photo of the deceased, Detective Neal Walker. Good-looking fellow listed as thirty-five years old, newly married, a decorated cop.

      Could he have been involved with his female partner, then dumped her to maintain his marriage? Say she stewed for a while, then they had it out?

      It took him a little longer to find a decent picture of Detective Abigail Baker. Eventually, several popped up. The first was a posed image taken by a professional photographer, Baker dressed in her uniform, looking solemn. And, damn, she was a beautiful woman.

      No, he decided after a minute, not exactly that; pretty might be a better word, or cute. She had a heart-shaped face with a high, wide forehead, a dainty, straight nose and a pretty mouth. Her hair, swept into a sleek arrangement of some kind on the back of her head, was the color of corn silk. Her eyes were sky blue.

      Yeah, and he was descending to clichés to describe a lovely woman he didn’t want to believe could be accepting payoffs from drug traffickers or the like.

      He clicked on a couple of other photos, one taken at the scene of a four-car accident with fatalities, the other of her coming out of the courthouse after testifying in a trial. Both let him see that she had spectacular curves and was tall for a woman, likely five foot ten or so.

      Caleb realized he could easily picture her in Amish dress and prayer kapp. Eli Kemp was blond and blue-eyed, in fact. Abigail’s height would be unusual for an Amishwoman, however.

      He went back to the first picture that only displayed her from the shoulders up, mesmerized by eyes he found...haunting. Her lips were shaped into a pleasant smile, but her eyes said something else altogether. She looked sad.

      Caleb frowned at the photo for another minute and then closed his laptop. For Pete’s sake, he knew better than to read so much into appearances, especially when that person had been caught at a particular moment by a camera. She might have felt queasy, or been worrying about a bill she hadn’t paid...or a lover who’d dumped her.

      Lucky that maintaining his cop’s skepticism came naturally to him. Given his profession, it was a useful skill.

      * * *

      ABBY CLUTCHED THE handrail as she descended the stairs the following morning. She’d slept better than she had in the hospital, in part because of the blessed silence and the true darkness of countryside not brightened by electric lights, and with the moon at a quarter. The moment she’d sat up, dizziness had almost СКАЧАТЬ