When the Bishop Needs an Alibi Read online

  “He doesn’t remember, not in a way he could articulate. It’s only that a part of his mind records it.”

  Katie Ann stood and joined her brother. “That’s the new officer in the corner. What’s his name?”

  “Lawson.” Emma snapped her fingers. “When he first walked in, Sophia jumped as though someone had pinched her. This shows her expression, which looks fearful to me.”

  “Or at least, as you said, worried,” Silas offered.

  “I think what Henry has drawn here is from the same day I joined him for dinner, but I can’t be sure. Notice he doesn’t draw himself.”

  “He doesn’t see himself. He draws what he sees.” Rachel leaned forward, warming to the subject. “Think of an Englisch camera. Henry’s eye, his mind, is like that.”

  “And his hand is like a printer.” Katie Ann grinned for a moment, and then she went back to studying the drawing.

  “I wonder how he chooses what he’s going to draw.” Clyde pushed his drawing aside and leaned forward to study Emma’s, though he was looking at it upside down.

  But it was Rachel who started asking questions—important questions that caused them all to think critically about the people in the drawing rather than just stare at them.

  “Why is this woman wearing earmuffs? It hasn’t been cold enough for that. And this person typing on their…what is that?”

  “A laptop,” Silas said. “You know, a portable computer.”

  “Who does that in public?”

  “Lots of people do. Maggie’s has free Wi-Fi.”

  “Free what?” Clyde gave his son a what-do-you-know-about-this look.

  Silas held up both of his hands, palms out. “I don’t have a phone or a computer. If I spent money on that, I’d have less to take Hannah out.”

  “I thought you were courting Sally.” Katie Ann nudged her brother’s shoulder. “You’re not cheating on her, are you?”

  “Nein. Sally dropped me. Said we weren’t compatible.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she’d rather step out with Nathan Kline.”

  Katie Ann scrunched up her face as though she’d taken a good bite from a lemon, but Emma appreciated that she didn’t answer him. She’d once told Emma she thought Nathan wanted a traditional Amish wife, that he spoke poorly of her working with Doc Berry. But she didn’t mention that now. Perhaps she’d learned if you can’t say something nice…

  Silas cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s one of the reasons the diner stays so busy. Lots of people stop in to do some work on their devices while they’re eating lunch.”

  Clyde harrumphed and Emma tsked at the same time. She immediately snapped her mouth shut. She was going to break that habit if she had to wire her jaws together.

  “All right, but look at this guy. It looks as though he’s asleep.” Rachel tapped the sheet. “No one goes to a diner to sleep.”

  “And this man is sort of watching Sophia, or at least he’s looking in that direction.” Emma sat back and crossed her arms. “Of course, Sophia was a pretty woman, and younger than most of the waitresses there.”

  “This person is in several of the drawings, wearing a national park uniform and has a large scuff across the right shoe.”

  “Can’t tell if it’s a woman or man.”

  “Yeah, the person is either bent down or turned the wrong way. We never have a good view.”

  “If Henry doesn’t see him—”

  “Or her.”

  “Then it’s not in the drawing.”

  “Let’s make a list.” Clyde stood and strode across the room to a kitchen drawer. He pulled out a pad of paper and pen, which he then dropped on the table. “We have four pictures of Sophia at the diner. Let’s list who’s in each picture and see if we have any repeats.”

  “But we don’t even know their names.”

  “That’s okay. Make up a name. Earmuff girl.”

  “Computer man.”

  “Sleeper guy.”

  Suddenly the weight pressing on Emma’s heart lightened. The task before them seemed something they could accomplish. While it was true that Henry was in jail, she couldn’t do anything about that. She’d have to trust that God had a plan and do the best she could from where she was. At the moment, that meant creating a list.

  And just maybe that list would point them to a killer.

  Thirty-Nine

  Henry’s hearing was held first thing Monday morning.

  Officer Anderson had ushered him over to the courthouse, along with another officer whose name he didn’t catch. They’d led him to a conference room where Kiana Sitton was waiting. Today she wore a tailored black suit, an ivory-colored blouse, and patent leather heels.

  “Aren’t things moving awfully fast?” he asked her.

  “They are.”

  “How did you become my lawyer? How did you even know I needed one?”

  Kiana waited until the officer closed the door, affording them some privacy. It went without saying that he would be waiting on the other side. Kiana scooted her chair closer and lowered her voice.

  “Roy Grayson sent me.”

  “Sheriff Grayson?”

  “The same.”

  “Because…”

  “Because I have some experience defending both Amish and Mennonite.” She went on to cite a few cases in other areas of Colorado. “And there’s another, more important reason. Grayson thinks you’re being railroaded, and he wanted someone to help you, to keep an eye on you.”

  “Where is he?”

  Kiana shook her head as if that didn’t matter, or maybe she couldn’t say. “He wanted me to pass on a message. He’ll be in touch as soon as he can.”

  “You certainly seem competent enough, and I thank you for your help. We haven’t talked about your fee—”

  “A conversation for another day. What matters today is that Special Agent in Charge Delaney is trying to push this case through on a fast track because his evidence is circumstantial at best.”

  “Why is he hurrying with it?” Henry honestly wanted to know. He’d puzzled over it before falling into a fitful slumber the night before. Something about this entire situation didn’t make sense to him. “What is his motivation?”

  Kiana studied him a moment and then sat down in the chair next to him, waiting until he’d met her gaze before she spoke. “My best guess is that he’s ambitious. He’s trying to move up the command chain, and a quick conviction will help him do that.”

  “But I’m innocent.”

  “Something we do not have to prove.”

  “He must prove my guilt.”

  “Exactly. The burden of proof is on the government, something you’re probably familiar with from the situation in Goshen.”

  Henry gave one brief, definitive nod. He wasn’t surprised that she knew about his past. She looked like the kind of person who would do her homework.

  “I’ve read the transcripts, Henry. Sheriff Grayson had a copy from when you were involved with the Monte Vista arsonist. He emailed copies to me before you were even arrested, which shows how worried he was. I’d like you to tell me what happened with Betsy Troyer. We have a few minutes before the hearing, and the more I know, the better I’m able to represent you.”

  Henry stared out the window for a moment, resisting the memories of those dark days. But if he trusted this woman, if she was going to help him, then he needed to tell her what he could. “It was nearly seventeen years ago. A young girl from our church district, Betsy Troyer, was killed. I was charged for that murder when I took a drawing to the police. They thought I had to be guilty to have been able to re-create such a thing and because of my knowledge of certain texts.”

  “I’ve read about your ability. Tell me why you were at her house to begin with.”

  “Her parents were worried about her behavior, and they asked me to stop by and speak with her. I took one of my church elders with me, as is proper. When we arrived at the house, she wouldn’t come downstairs, so we
went up to her room.”

  “And later, after she went missing, you drew the scene of her room.”

  “I did. I thought it might help.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I was arrested for her murder and held for trial.”

  “That must have been very hard for you.”

  “It was, though I’m sure those days were even harder for Betsy’s parents. Before the trial commenced, one of the investigators decided to take a closer look at what I had drawn. My vision—or whatever you want to call it—caught an image of a text that came in on Betsy’s phone while we were there. Her parents claimed she had no phone. It was later determined that they had thrown it into a pond when they found it.”

  “And they didn’t admit that when you were arrested?”

  “They didn’t think it was relevant.” Henry pulled in a deep breath. “They didn’t understand how it could lead to catching Betsy’s killer.”

  Kiana pulled out a sheet of paper. “According to the records from the trial, the cell service provider was able to provide transcripts of all her recent texts. One text was from a drifter Betsy had been seeing.”

  “The same text I had drawn.”

  “So you’re telling me your drawing is what caused the police to start looking for a phone, one her parents claimed didn’t exist.”

  “Ya. Eventually I was released, and the drifter, a man named Gene Wooten, was convicted of Betsy’s murder. He’s currently serving a life sentence.”

  “But you were held for more than three months because they wouldn’t listen.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. Gene Wooten nearly killed another girl in the meantime.” Henry wondered if he would be forced to once again serve time in an Englisch jail. “For a long time after that, I didn’t draw, didn’t use my gift or ability or whatever you call it. It’s something that can be misunderstood.”

  Kiana stuffed the papers back into her briefcase. “All right. Thank you for sharing that with me. I’ve petitioned the judge to not allow any reference to your situation in Goshen.”

  “Danki.”

  “Or the situation here where you were involved with the Monte Vista arsonist.”

  Henry studied a spot on the opposite wall. “Is it possible that either of those situations, that my involvement in them, might help my case? That it might show I was willing to assist the government?”

  “This isn’t a television show, Mr. Lapp.”

  When Henry looked at her quizzically, she added, “The police don’t seek or appreciate help from citizens other than what might be called in to their tip line. That’s a far different thing from your drawings, which Delaney would twist into something sinister and foreboding.”

  When she shook her head, small pearl earrings swayed back and forth. “I want you to follow my lead in there. Answer only questions directed to you by Judge Trentini, and keep your answers succinct.”

  He again nodded that he understood.

  “Do not be affected by anything Delaney says or does—or, for that matter, by anything anyone says or does in the courtroom.”

  “Who else would be there?”

  “I don’t guess you’ve seen today’s newspapers.”

  “No one brought me a paper in my cell, if that’s what you’re asking. At home, we rarely read them.”

  She pulled copies of USA Today, the New York Times, and the Washington Post from her leather bag. They all had pictures of him being ushered into the Monte Vista police vehicle.

  BISHOP CHARGED WITH MURDER

  A PLAIN AND SIMPLE DEATH

  MURDER IN THE SAN LUIS VALLEY

  “Over the last twenty years, people have become somewhat fascinated with our way of life. When someone who is Plain runs afoul of the law, it often makes the front page.”

  “And Delaney is going to take full advantage of the spotlight. He wants this one.” She paused a moment, maybe to be certain he understood the gravity of the situation. “Because this is a federal case, you won’t recognize most of the people in the room. This won’t be like the trial for the Monte Vista arsonist or the one for Betsy Troyer’s murder.”

  “How does it differ?”

  “Charges are brought by the U.S. attorney, so his representative will be here. Also Judge Trentini will preside.”

  “I’m not familiar with that name.”

  “He’s from the federal district court in Colorado Springs. Another indication that Delaney is trying to fast-track this. He must have called in some favors for the judge to show up less than twenty-four hours after your arrest.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “It’s my job to be worried, Henry. It’s your job to do what I say. I don’t need you flipping out when we’re in the courtroom.”

  “Flipping out?”

  “Becoming emotional or angry. Looking smug. Looking bored. Any of those things can sway a judge away from leniency.”

  “And that’s what we want?”

  “What we want is you out of jail. Then our real work will begin. We don’t have to prove your innocence, but at the same time we want to be untangling what’s happened and clearing your name.”

  Officer Anderson knocked on the door, entered, and escorted them into the courtroom. Henry was wearing the same clothes he’d arrived in. He supposed if the judge ruled he was to stay in jail, then he would be issued a jumpsuit.

  It was rare that Henry looked at a room or person or situation and had a desire to draw it. His gift didn’t work that way, but maybe he was becoming more aware of what he could do, of the ability God had blessed him with. When he stepped into the courtroom, he was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to find a pencil and paper and draw the scene before him.

  The courtroom was full. Several officers sat on the side of the room where Delaney had taken up camp. Henry assumed it was the prosecutor’s side. He also recognized a few of the people from the crime scene crew. At the back of the room were news reporters. The judge must have given them orders already, because no cameras were in evidence. However, they all had pads of paper in front of them and were scribbling madly, as if there was already something to report.

  But it was the left side of the room that twisted Henry’s heart. He hadn’t realized he had so many friends in Monte Vista. The life of an Amish bishop, especially a widowed one, was by definition somewhat solitary. Yes, he was a part of the entire community, but they weren’t his family, not in the physical sense of the word. Today he realized they were his family in the important sense of the word. As far as he could tell, every single person from his congregation was there. The rows were packed with Plain folk—young and old, male and female, and mixed among them were Englischers.

  People they had helped after a storm.

  People they purchased things from and sold things to.

  People who had embraced their presence in this small community.

  He had to search the crowd to find Emma, and he wasn’t a bit surprised to see the entire Fisher family had managed to take up the row directly behind where Anderson was leading them.

  Henry barely had time to process all of these things when the bailiff walked to the front of the room and said, “All rise. The Monte Vista court for the district of central southern Colorado is in session, Federal Judge Connor Trentini presiding.”

  Forty

  When Emma first entered the courtroom, she caught herself glancing around, looking to see if any of the individuals they had identified in Henry’s drawing were present. She spotted two right off, but then the room grew quite crowded, and it became difficult to see much of anything other than the press of people.

  When the side door opened and Henry walked in with someone she assumed to be his lawyer, Emma felt such a surge of affection and protectiveness for their bishop that she had to glance down at the floor. She closed her eyes, prayed for composure and a clear mind, and looked up in time to see Henry smile at her as he shuffled into the front row. Emma wanted to lean forward and speak to him, say a word of enco
uragement, and assure him everyone was praying.

  But then a man in uniform stepped forward and announced the judge, and everyone was standing, so they stood too, and then the judge was telling them to sit.

  Emma studied Judge Trentini as he spoke, giving directions to the reporters and visitors, to the prosecutor, and to Henry and his lawyer. She barely listened to what he was saying, thinking it didn’t pertain to her much, but she longed to know whether Henry’s future was in good hands. Who was this man? Was he a good judge or merely a man who had risen in the judicial system?

  She didn’t know if she could tell such things from looking at a person, but if she could, then Judge Trentini was measuring up just fine. He was older than she expected, with only little wisps of white hair. He wore large, owlish glasses, and his skin was weathered and dark. Though he was small in stature, it was plain that he stood for no foolishness in his court.

  “This will serve as both a pretrial hearing and an arraignment,” he explained, though Emma reckoned everyone but her community already understood this. “I have reviewed the arrest of Henry W. Lapp as well as the postarrest investigation report. The defendant will rise.”

  Henry stood, and Emma was relieved to see that his right arm was no longer shaking. In fact, he looked calm and serene. She wondered at that. He’d been frightened as a rabbit being chased by a coyote when he’d first come to her home with the drawings. Sometime in the last three days, between Friday morning and today, he’d found a peace that passed understanding. She was glad for that and said a quick prayer of thanksgiving.

  Standing beside him was his lawyer, who looked every bit up to the challenge of defending Henry. Emma had heard that the woman’s name was Kiana Sitton. She couldn’t imagine where Henry had found her or how he’d managed to procure her services so quickly.

  “Mr. Lapp, do you understand the crime you have been charged with?”

  “I do.”

  “And how do you plead to the charge of murder in the case of Mrs. Sophia Brooks, sir?”

  “Not guilty.”

  The judge blinked several times. He didn’t look surprised exactly, but more as if he was preparing himself for what lay ahead, gathering his thoughts and how he should voice them. Emma liked that. She liked that he was taking his time and actually looking at Henry. Finally the judge shuffled some papers and said, “You may take a seat.”