“It’s unusual for someone to become Amish.”
Brian didn’t answer that because it didn’t seem to be a question. He was sitting in an “interview room,” though it was as stark as a cell. The only furniture consisted of a scarred metal table and two chairs—one on each side. On the table was a single manila file Bynum hadn’t yet opened. A long window dominated the west wall of the room. He couldn’t see through the glass, but no doubt anyone in the next room could see in.
No one offered coffee.
He was feeling less and less like a guest and more like a suspect, which he supposed was what Bynum wanted. Levi was waiting in the front office.
Brian sat stiffly and stared silently at the officer.
“I’ve worked here twenty years, and I can’t remember a single time someone from our side has joined the Amish. It just isn’t done.”
Bynum again allowed the silence to drag out, as if he expected Brian to fill the void with an explanation. Brian was tempted to do just that. He’d always had a natural desire to please other people, and that desire had become stronger since he’d converted to the Amish faith, but he knew answering unasked questions wouldn’t help him in this instance.
“Maybe your conversion has something to do with the trouble in California.”
Brian should have guessed they had already run a background check on him, but still he flinched.
“Want to tell me about that?”
“Want to tell me how it’s related to this case?”
“Well, that’s a good question.” Bynum leaned back in his chair, his right hand still resting on top of the folder. “You were with a girl before who ended up permanently crippled, and it looks to me like you got away with it.”
Still, there was no question, so Brian clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to defend himself.
“Maybe you thought you could get away with it again. Hurting a girl, that is.”
“I didn’t get away with it!” His anger ignited, and Brian couldn’t hold the words inside in any longer. He couldn’t sit there and simply endure Bynum’s smug expression.
“There was a trial?”
“Yes.”
“But you weren’t found guilty.”
“I was not.”
“I find that strange because you were driving the vehicle that caused the accident. Officers estimated your speed in excess of ninety miles per hour.”
Brian attempted to swallow past the dryness in his throat. “There was a settlement before the case was handed over to the jury.”
“So you bought off the complainant.”
“I was a professor at a university. I didn’t make enough money to buy off anyone.”
“You were driving a Jaguar. How much does something like that cost? Fifty, sixty thousand?”
“So how did you afford it?” Bynum leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, as if he were genuinely interested in Brian’s financial past.
“It was a gift from my parents.”
“Ahh. So your parents are rich.”
Brian shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Rich enough to pay for a negotiated settlement. Sweet.”
Closing his eyes, Brian tried to remember the things he’d learned since joining the Amish—calmness, peace, measured and deliberate responses, trust in God’s will. Honesty.
“A civil trial was brought by Bridgette’s parents.”
“No criminal investigation?”
“Look, Officer Bynum. No drugs or alcohol were involved. Reckless speed? Yes. Fortunately, no one else was hurt, my insurance covered all of the claims, and the district attorney didn’t feel there was enough evidence to pursue a criminal trial.”
“Or maybe your parents made a nice donation to someone’s campaign fund—say a judge with enough influence to pressure a DA into dropping a case. I’ve seen it happen before, though not here. Not in a place as small as Cody’s Creek.”
“I couldn’t say. My parents compensated Bridgette—quite handsomely.” He held up a hand to stop Bynum. “Which doesn’t erase what happened, but all of her medical bills were taken care of, in addition to expected lost wages.”
“Everyone wins.”
“No. Everyone didn’t win. No one won. Would a jury have given her more than we did? I doubt it, so it was a good settlement for Bridgette, who didn’t want a trial to begin with.” Memories of the last time he’d seen her nagged the corner of his consciousness, but he pushed them away.
“Did I feel good about that? I did not. Did I want to go to prison for a stupid mistake on a California highway? I did not, though…” He hesitated and pushed on. “Though if I’d been the man I am now, I probably would have chosen prison. It would have been the more honest thing to do.”
Bynum cocked his head, as if he were considering Brian’s words. Then he stood and said, “Let me get us some coffee.”
Though Brian knew it wasn’t mere politeness, he was grateful for the break.
The good sheriff would return, and when he did he would finally open the folder and move on with his questions—the real questions, the ones concerning Stella.