Page 19 of A Gathering of Secrets

I hear the thump of footsteps, and then the door swings open. Chris Martino is forty years old and wearing faded blue jeans and a plaid shirt he didn’t bother buttoning. I try not to notice the smattering of silver hair on a fleshy white chest. He’s holding a beer in his right hand, his eyes skating over me and my uniform and then moving to Glock.

“I was wondering when you guys were going to show up,” he says.

I show him my badge. “Why is that?”

“When the shit hits the fan around here, who else you gonna hassle?”

“Mr. Martino, can we come in and talk to you for a second?”

He looks past me at Glock and frowns. “I reckon you ought to just stand right there and tell me what the hell this is all about.”

I give him the basics of the barn fire. “Daniel Gingerich was inside. He didn’t survive.”

“Whoa. Man.” He manages to look genuinely shocked. “I knew there was a fire. Saw all that smoke and the trucks. I didn’t know the kid got burned up in it. Damn.”

“I understand you had words with Daniel over some horse tack.”

He blinks at me. “Who told you that?”

I try a more direct approach. “Did you have an argument with Daniel Gingerich?”

“What are you insinuating exactly?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m simply asking you if you argued with Daniel Gingerich.”

“Well, if I know you cops, you’re going to try and blame that fire on me ’cause you don’t feel like looking for the real guy who done it. I didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

Glock sighs. “If you’d just answer the question, sir.”

His eyes flit to Glock and back to me. “Lookit, that kid might be Amish and all that, but he ain’t no fuckin’ angel. In fact, he’s a real asshole when he puts his mind to it.”

“How so?” I ask.

“Well, he marched over here one day a couple months ago and accused me of stealing a bunch of shit from his barn. Like I got a use for a buggy harness.”

“What happened?”

“I told him I got better things to do than steal crap outta his barn.”

“You were angry with him?”

“Yeah, I was pissed. He was being a pushy little shit. Let me tell you something, when someone gets pushy with me I push back.”

“How exactly did you push back?” I ask.

“I told him to hit the fuckin’ road. I ain’t going to let anyone accuse me of stealing. I don’t care if he’s Amish. That little snot-nosed shit accused me of taking it up to the auction in Millersburg and selling it.” He huffs. “Like I got the time to do crap like that.”

“Did you take the harness?” I ask.

He glares at me as if I’m being purposefully dense, which I am. In reality I’m listening to him, watching his body language, trying to get a feel for his personality, what makes him tick.

“What did I just tell you, lady?”

Glock cuts in. “That’s Chief, dude.”

Martino looks at him as if he’s spoken a language he doesn’t quite understand. “Well, I didn’t take a damn thing outta that barn. I done told you that twice now.”

“Did the argument get physical?” I ask.