Breaking Silence by Linda Castillo Read Free Book Online Page A

pocket and hand him my card. “Let me know if you have any problems.”
    Back in the Explorer, I put the vehicle in gear and head down the long gravel lane. Glock breaks the silence with the same question that’s echoing inside my head. “You think there’s going to be a custody issue?”
    “I don’t think the Amish will fight him. Not legally anyway. They’re not big on the whole litigation thing. But that’s not to say there won’t be problems. People do crazy things when it comes to protecting their kids.”
    Glock nods, and I know he’s thinking about his own child, a little boy not yet a year old. “Maybe Solomon had a will. Maybe he specified provisions for the kids.”
    “Most Amish don’t use a legal will and testament. Everything’s almost always passed down to the children. Property goes to the eldest male child.”
    “Simpler that way, I guess,” he says.
    “No one ever expects to die young.”
    We’re two blocks from the police station when my cell phone erupts. I’m surprised to see Doc Coblentz’s name appear on the display.
    “Hey Doc,” I say, giving him only half of my attention.
    “I was about to begin the autopsy on Solly Slabaugh when I found an irregularity I think you’ll want to see.”
    “What kind of irregularity?”
    “During my preliminary examination, I found evidence of blunt-force trauma to his head.”
    The words yank my full attention to the call. A small part of my brain hopes I misunderstood. “ What? ”
    “Solly Slabaugh sustained a substantial blow to the head before his death.”
    For a moment, I’m speechless. Then my brain kicks back into gear. “Is it possible it happened in the fall? The sides of that pit are concrete.”
    “Judging from the location of the laceration, I don’t believe that’s the case.”
    Shock is like a battering ram against my brain. A hundred questions fly and scatter inside my head as the repercussions start to sink in. “Are you saying this wasn’t an accident?”
    “I won’t know the cause or manner of death until I complete the autopsy, so I don’t want to jump to conclusions at this juncture. But this is very suspicious, Kate. I thought you might want to see for yourself.”
    A glance at the clock on the dash tells me it’s already past noon. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    My mind is still reeling when I clip my cell phone to my belt.
    “That didn’t sound good,” Glock comments.
    I relay to him my conversation with the coroner.
    He looks as shocked as I feel. “Shit.”
    “Are you up to a trip to the morgue?”
    He grimaces. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
    *   *   *
    With a population of about 5,500, Painters Mill is too small to have its own morgue per se. As Mayor Auggie Brock is so fond of saying in town council meetings, “We don’t have enough dead people.” Up until three years ago, autopsies were farmed out to either Lucas or Stark counties. Now, however, when there’s an unattended death or suspected foul play, Holmes and Coshocton counties have the option of utilizing the morgue facilities at Pomerene Hospital in Millersburg, which now receives funding from both counties.
    It takes Glock and me ten minutes to make the drive from Painters Mill to Millersburg. The earlier snow has turned to a cold, driving rain. Fog hovers like smoke in the low-lying fields, creeks, and wooded areas. With the temperature hovering at just above the freezing mark, I suspect driving conditions will deteriorate rapidly once the sun goes down.
    Pomerene Hospital is a fifty-five-bed facility located on the north side of town. I park illegally outside the Emergency Services portico. Neither Glock nor I have an umbrella, so we flip up the hoods of our coats and make a run for the double glass doors. Once inside, we pass by the information booth, where a young African-American man in Scooby-Doo scrubs waves us through. I’m still shaking rain from my coat when we step into the elevator that will take us