Page 93 of The Burning

“Hofer claims he was home that night.” I shrug. “Alone. But his physical description and the dress I observed fits the bill in a general way.”

“Any connection to Swanz?” T.J. asks.

“I’m still looking.” I pause. “Interestingly, the two strangers who allegedly showed up at Bertha Swanz’s place the night she was assaulted may have been wearing similar clothing to the man at McNarie’s bar.”

“One of them may have been the same dude?” Glock asks.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I thought it was worth noting.”

Pickles slants a look at Chambers and Rasmussen. “Until now, we didn’t know most of this.”

Chambers tosses Tomasetti a this-is-bullshit look, but Tomasetti hands it right back to him.

Having had enough, Chambers clears his throat. “Chief Burkholder, with all due respect, ma’am, I’m sure you’re aware that we’ve developed an updated persons-of-interest list. We’re in the process of interviewing them now. In fact, we were on our way to interview Troyer when we got the call that you were here, holding this so-called meeting.”

I give him my attention. “You didn’t know about Hofer.”

“Evidently, we would have after speaking with Troyer instead of wasting our time here, listening to you.”

“Neither Freda nor the bishop will speak openly to you,” I point out.

“That remains to be seen,” he says.

“For the record,” Tomasetti says, “Chief Burkholder makes a valid point. She has a good relationship with the Amish. They trust her. And they respect her.”

“Duly noted.” Chambers mutters the words beneath his breath, then looks around, a king being forced to reprimand an unruly court. “With all due respect to everyone in this room, it has been established that Chief Burkholder’s personal ties to this case—as now made clear by the unfortunate incident involving her brother and minor nephew—have rendered her too personally involved to remain lead in this investigation.”

He looks at me. “At this point, I think it would be prudent for you to recuse yourself from the case.”

I’ve never clashed with another law enforcement officer or agency over jurisdiction. It’s counterproductive and bad form. My department works closely with the sheriff’s department; sometimes our responsibilities overlap. Most often, I’m the first to ask for assistance and I appreciate any manpower I can get. While Chambers’s argument is sound, it is not the be-all and end-all of the investigation. If I’m going to maintain the respect of my team, I can’t let it stand.

I point at him, relieved that my finger is steady. “This is my briefing. I have some additional information I’d like to share. Sit down and be quiet.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Auggie’s mouth open and hang, but I don’t look at him. Rasmussen squirms in his chair as if his breakfast doesn’t agree with him. Tomasetti meets my gaze and I’m bolstered by the approval I see in his eyes.

Chambers has the audacity to look amused and raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, the floor is yours.”

Shaking inside, I look down at my notes. “I don’t have to point out that burning a man at the stake is an extremely unusual method of murder. It’s risky and messy with a lot of variables that could backfire and get the killer caught. Yet this individual was willing to take the risk. I believe that is key. I believe this murder was somehow symbolic. And I believe once we understand the why, we’ll be in a better position to find the who.”

This is my entry into uncharted territory. I’m keenly aware that this is exactly the kind of situation that could go south and make me look like a fool. The theory I’m about to put forth stretches believability—mine included—and not everyone sitting in this room supports my even being on the case.

“During my interview with Freda Troyer,” I begin, “I learned of an obscure group that was a small part of Anabaptist history. In a nutshell, during the Reformation, a sect of Anabaptists known as the Schwertlers came to be. As most of you know, one of the hallmarks of the Amish, and the vast majority of all Anabaptists, is the tenet of pacifism. The Schwertler Anabaptists differ in that they were—and I quote—‘of the sword.’”

“Are you saying this group condoned violence?” Mona asks.

The room falls so quiet I can hear the switchboard chiming and Margaret speaking to a caller from the reception area. Even Chambers is watching, his eyes sharp with interest. I look down at my notes, take a moment to organize my thoughts.

“The Schwertler Anabaptists believed the government was a Godly institution and felt that government had a responsibility to defend helpless Christians. That included taking up arms.”

Sheriff Rasmussen speaks up for the first time and asks the obvious question. “What’s the connection between the murder of Milan Swanz and this mysterious group?”

“I’m not certain there is a connection. What I do know is that both Freda Troyer and Isaiah Hofer mentioned the Schwertler Anabaptists when I spoke with them about the Swanz case.”

“In what context?” Rasmussen asks.

“This group is folklore mostly. But in the course of my search for parallels, I learned one of the early leaders of the Anabaptist movement was burned at the stake. I learned that this group not only condones but engages in violence. I think it’s worth taking a look at.”

“Kate, with all due respect,” says Rasmussen, “seems like a precarious link.”