Page 65 of A Gathering of Secrets

I don’t stop until I reach the door; then I turn to him, fix him with a hard look.

“I should have stepped in that night. That I didn’t … it kept me up nights. Still does.” He blinks, looks down at the floor, then back at me. “If I could, I swear to God I’d make it right. I mean that.”

“We don’t get do-overs, Milo.” Turning away, I slide open the door, and leave him standing in the aisle.

CHAPTER 15

My exchange with Milo Hershberger weighs on me the rest of the evening. Daniel Gingerich was a sexual predator and there’s no doubt in my mind that someone killed him for it. I’m no proponent of street justice, especially the kind that entails murder. But I understand it. I’ve felt the dark pull of hatred. Fallen into the bottomless pit of shame. The questions foremost in my mind now are how many women did he rape and who knew about it?

It’s after nine P.M. I’m in my office, the paperwork and photographs and various reports from the case spread out on my desk in front of me. I’ve been at it too long and the words have become a blur. Time to go home, Kate.

My cell phone chirps. Expecting Tomasetti, curbing a quick rise of guilt for still being here when I should have left hours ago, I check the display. My pulse jumps when DEPT OF COMM pops up in the window. I snatch up the phone.

“Hi Kate, it’s Bob Schoening. I hope I’m not calling too late. I figured you’d want to hear this as soon as possible.”

“You have my undivided attention.”

“A couple of things. First of all, the latent recovered from the key at the Gingerich fire? We ran it through AFIS and struck out.”

“So they’re not in the system.”

“Correct. I also wanted to let you know that key you found at the home of Christopher Martino is, indeed, a match to the lock we recovered at the Gingerich fire.”

I sit up straighter. “Were the mason jars the same as the jars found at the Gingerich place?”

“No way to tell. The only thing I can tell you is that they’re made by the same manufacturer.”

“Did you pick up any latents?”

“We got a single decent print off one of the mason jars. As with the key, we submitted to BCI via LiveScan and they’re running it through AFIS now.”

“Twenty-four hours?”

“Give or take.”

I think about the key. “What about the key found at the Gingerich scene? The one with the print. Was it an original key? Or a duplicate?”

“The key recovered at the fire scene showed slight signs of wear. More than likely it’s one of the original keys that came with the dead bolt Gideon Gingerich purchased at the Ace Hardware store in Millersburg a few months ago. The key found in Martino’s shed was made by a different manufacturer and showed no discernible sign of wear, which means it’s a duplicate.”

I pause, my mind churning through the implications. “Did Gideon Gingerich or anyone else in the family make a copy of the key?”

“He claims he did not.”

“Is there any way I can get my hands on the duplicate key?”

“The lab guys have gone over it with a fine-tooth comb.” He pauses. “You going to try and figure out where it was made and who made it?”

“You never know when you might get lucky.” It’ll take some time, and it’s a long shot, but even with my limited manpower, I ought to be able to cover most of Holmes County.

“I’ll have it couriered over to you first thing in the morning,” he says. “One more thing of interest with regard to the keys. The dead bolt that Gingerich purchased came with two original keys, and so far no one has been able to locate the second one. Gideon Gingerich says he always left both keys on the hook in the barn.”

“Tied together with a string,” I say, recalling my conversation with him. “Lost in the fire maybe?”

“It’s possible we missed it, but not likely. We took a metal detector to the place and my guys are thorough.”

“Will you be taking another look?”

“I can send a technician out there tomorrow for another go-round.” He doesn’t sound optimistic about getting results. “Soon as I get all this written up, I’ll put it in the report and send it your way.”