Jesse met Adalyn Landt outside the Middlebury police building. He had no problem recognizing her. She was exactly as Tate had described—an older woman, dressed conservatively.
Today she was in light-gray slacks, a starched white shirt, and a dark-gray jacket. She had a more medium build than most Englisch women he’d seen . . . not fat, but not rail thin. She looked as if she enjoyed a decent meal. Her hair was gray, not dyed as many women had, and pulled back in a practical bun. He was sure he had the right woman when he saw the dark-gray leather case she was carrying—as Amber had described, it boasted a V overlaid on top of an L, the Louis Vuitton emblem. He wondered what something like that cost. More than a rig for his work horses, that was for sure.
“I’m Jesse Miller, Andrew’s bruder.”
She had led him to a bench outside the station, and he’d shown her the journal and explained where he’d found it and what some of the contents were.
Adalyn didn’t even hesitate. She stood and said, “Let’s go.”
“Inside?”
“Yes. That’s where your brother is—”
“I know he’s inside.”
“And his initial hearing is at ten so we shouldn’t waste any time.”
“What about the journal?”
“I’ll take care of it. Wait for me in one of those chairs.”
So he’d sat in the waiting room, wondering what this Englisch woman would do and whether it would help Andrew’s case.
Thirty minutes later the officer at the front desk, an older man with a name tag that read “Walter Hopkins,” offered to take him back to the visiting room. He hadn’t been there the day before. He had thin, white hair and bright-blue eyes. He reminded Jesse of some of the older men in their community, except for the uniform he wore.
Walter tapped on the door once, then opened it for Jesse. Adalyn was already sitting at the table with what looked like copies of the journal pages in front of her. Andrew was ushered in before Jesse could sit.
The room had seemed small before. With the three of them, it was crowded. Adalyn introduced herself to Andrew, explaining that she’d helped the Amish involved in the Shipshewana murder cases. She also assured him he was in good hands.
Andrew looked rested and not at all worried.
Adalyn didn’t waste any time. “Want to tell me about this notebook? We surrendered the original because it’s evidence, and we don’t want to anger the judge by withholding evidence. Plus, I won’t do anything that’s illegal, even if I think it would help with your case.”
“Glad you found it, Jesse. I didn’t have time to fetch it before the funeral, before they came after me, and anyway . . . I didn’t want to lose my notes.”
“Notes?” Jesse’s voice rose in surprise.
“Ya.”
“Is that what you call them—because we could barely read it.”
“The important thing is what’s in it and why you wrote it.” Adalyn pushed the copied sheets to the middle of the table.
“We haven’t talked about your fees.” Andrew crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I want to make sure I can afford you.”
“My time is donated in cases like these, unless the employer you mentioned when you contacted me decides to pay, and then I bill at $125 per hour.”
“They’ll pay.”
“Who is your employer?” Jesse reached out and touched the copies. “We couldn’t make any sense of this. What is it? And why did you hide it?”
Andrew studied the clock on the wall and then leaned back against the metal chair. “I hid it because I didn’t want to lose it. I have a story to write when this is over, and I’m going to need those notes.”
“A story?”
“Ya. I’m a reporter and they pay me to write.” He named the newspaper he worked for. Jesse had heard of it, even seen it at the newsstands in town and at the local library.
“Since when?”
“A few months after I moved north, I started there. Small things at first. Back when you came to see me in Chicago, I was working for the Chicago Tribune on a piece about Amish in the city. My editor liked it, and I’ve been doing feature pieces since.”
“Is that why you were back in Indiana, here in town?” Adalyn had pulled a pad of yellow paper out of her leather bag and was taking notes with what looked to be a very expensive fountain pen. No wonder she charged so much. Jesse wondered about that, but then he remembered her saying that she would waive her fees if Andrew couldn’t pay. Why would she do that?
“Yes, that’s why I came home.” Now Andrew crossed his arms, his eyes darting left and then right.
“What story were you working on?”
“Can anyone hear us?”
“No.” Adalyn tapped her pen against her pad, then pointed to a tiny box mounted in the corner of the room. “They can and will watch everything you do via that camera. They also keep video recordings, but they’re not allowed to listen in and tape any audio.”
Andrew shifted in his chair.
“I understand you’re uncomfortable with the cameras.” When Andrew looked surprised, Adalyn added, “I’ve lived here in northern Indiana most of my life, and I’m well acquainted with your beliefs. I assume that’s why you called me.”
“Ya. It is.”
“Try to forget the camera and tell me what story you were working on.”
When he still didn’t reply, she added, “In a little over an hour, the police are going to tell the judge that you were seen entering the Pumpkinvine Trail not far from where Owen Esch was murdered. You were carrying a large pack that might have contained a compound bow, and such a bow was later found at your home. Based on the proximity of the shooter, the police are going to lay forth that Owen knew his killer, and of course they have plenty of witnesses who say you two did know each other. Furthermore, you turned down a ride from an Amish person named Nathan.”
Andrew gave a quick nod.
“That was fairly near the place of the murder—certainly within walking distance. The police will say you turned down the ride because you had a plan—what the court system calls intent to murder.”
Sweat trickled down the back of Jesse’s neck.
He was glad Adalyn was on their side. This woman didn’t fool around.
“At this very moment they are dissecting every hour of your time in Chicago and everywhere else you’ve been in the last few months—interviewing people you lived with, people you knew, and showing them Owen’s photo. Yes, they took a photo of him, a crime-scene photo. If you ever had an argument with this boy, they’ll know it within a few days. They won’t stop hunting until they find the evidence and motive they need to convict. It’s what they do. It’s their job.”
Andrew flicked his gaze to Jesse. “I told you she was good.” Then he cleared his throat and turned his attention to Adalyn. “Ya. Owen and I did argue, but it was in South Bend, not Chicago. As far as I know, Owen didn’t come up to the big city.”
“Was he working with you on this story?”
“Ya. Ya, he was.”
“And what was the story?”
“We were supposed to find a way into the ISG.”
“Indiana Survivalist Group.”
Andrew sat forward, clasping his hands together on the tabletop. “My editor wanted a story on survivalists in the Indiana area. But he wanted it from the inside. Also, he’d read an article somewhere, comparing the survivalist lifestyle to the Amish. He wanted me to find a way into the group. He especially wanted me to see if any Amish folks were members. I was told to bring back hard facts about what type of men and what type of families these people were.”
“How did Owen fit in?”
“I had traveled down to South Bend. I wanted to move into the area slowly so as not to spook anyone. I met up with Owen at a Mennonite church service . . . ya, we still go to church even when we’re on our rumspringas, or like me, when we’ve moved away and are living a life outside the Amish community. Church is still important, or at least Owen and I thought so.”
“So you met up with Owen by accident.”
“Didn’t even know he was in town. The bishop of the church can confirm that.” Andrew gave her the bishop’s name, and Adalyn added it to the notes she was taking.
“Go on.”
“Owen needed work. I had a little money and offered to loan him some. Then I told him that if he’d help me out, I’d give him part of my payment for the piece. That’s when we argued. He wanted to storm in and earn the money fast. I told him newspaper writing didn’t work like that, at least not when it was about Amish communities. Slower is better.”
“Newspaper reporters don’t make that much. It wouldn’t have been enough to share.”
“Usually that’s true. But I was on assignment. At this point I’d already turned in several good pieces . . . I’d been to Chicago, Michigan, and Madisonville.”
“Why?”
“I was studying the Amish communities I visited. Different things.”
“You spied on people?” It was the first thing Jesse had said in several minutes. He’d sat there listening to the questions and answers as if he were viewing a volleyball game. Except this was his brother’s future, not a game.
“Nein. I didn’t spy. I gave an accurate portrayal in the media, which the Englisch could use. They need to know that it’s not like the reality television shows or sensational books that are so popular. And I always changed people’s names and locations. I respected their privacy.”
Jesse tried to act as if this weren’t a surprise, as if his brother were revealing what they’d always expected, but in truth he was stunned. This wasn’t the happy-go-lucky brother he’d known all his life. This was a man with a passion and a determination to see things through. He’d misjudged Andrew, and he regretted that. He sincerely hoped he’d have the opportunity to tell him as much.
Adalyn quickly checked her watch and made a tell-me-more gesture with her left hand as she wrote with her right.
“Owen agreed to come here to Middlebury first and try to attend a meeting of the local ISG, maybe even join up. I continued to do research from South Bend. He called me the night before he was killed and said he was in.”
“That’s it? That’s all he said? Because the police have a record of a phone call to a cell phone number they say was leased to you. The call lasted for seven minutes.”
“There was something else he wanted to tell me. Something he was pretty naerfich about. But his sister walked into the barn, and he had to hang up before he could say more.”
“No hint at all?”
“He managed four words—Amish man and South Bend. I had no idea what he was talking about.”
Adalyn clicked her pen twice. “So what happened the morning you arrived in town?”
“I’d caught a ride, hitchhiked. I don’t know the name of the driver. It was an old Ford truck—black color. The guy let me off outside of town, and I walked the rest of the way. I was supposed to meet Owen on the trail that morning, which is why I turned down Nathan’s offer of a ride. Talking to him slowed me down a few minutes too. By the time I reached the spot on the trail where we were supposed to meet, the area was swarming with police. I melted into the crowd that was growing, then I hiked back to town and called my editor. After that I walked on to my parents’.”
Adalyn sat back and studied him. Finally she picked up the copied pages of the notebook. “And these are your notes for your assignment?”
“Ya.”
“What is your boss’s name at the paper?”
He told her.
“If you’ve written for them before, the police should already have found that.”
“Nein. I wrote under my initials. A. M. Miller—Andrew Mark.”
Jesse had a question.
“Is that who you met with the night you snuck out? Was it your editor?”
“Yes. He told me to keep a low profile. He said we could get the story and the killer. He said if I knew anything about Owen’s death I would need to tell the police, but I didn’t. I still don’t.”
“And the men you were talking to at the viewing?”
“They were some of the elders from our community. Apparently they thought I knew something about what had happened, which I didn’t. I suppose they were trying to take care of things without involving the police more than they already were. They thought since Owen and I returned to Middlebury within a few months of each other, there was a connection.”
“All right.” Adalyn stood and stuffed her pad back into the leather bag. “This doesn’t clear you, but it puts you a long way toward reasonable doubt. Maybe the judge will grant bail, and we’ll go from there.”
They were all standing, and Adalyn had knocked on the door to attract the attention of the officer when Jesse thought of the one question Andrew hadn’t answered.
“Why was Roland Shaw’s name in your notes?”
Andrew smiled, the old, confident, young-boy smile. “My editor had a tip that he was here, looking into survivalist groups and trying to find reasons to break them up if possible. He gave me specific instructions to stay clear of him, and up until Owen was murdered, I did that pretty well.”
Jesse had never believed his brother was capable of killing someone, but as they walked out of the interview room, he realized that a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was one thing to believe in someone because he was kin, to trust him on faith. It was another thing entirely to be given a glimpse into his secret life. Although he was stunned by all Andrew had revealed, he was also hopeful the information Adalyn had written down would be enough to grant Andrew’s freedom.
Which still left the question, if Andrew didn’t kill Owen, then who did?