Page 80 of A Gathering of Secrets

I press a kiss to the little boy’s cheek and set him in her arms. “Take care of yourself, little William.”

She lifts the child and, bending, places him in the car seat. I can tell by the way she buckles him in that she’s competent and experienced. I can tell by the way she looks at him that she cares. None of those things make me feel any better about leaving him.

William wakes up and begins to cry.

“It won’t be long now, sweetie,” she says cheerfully.

Straightening, she looks at me, tilts her head, and digs into her bag for a card. “If you want to check on him later, give me a call.”

“Thank you.” After taking the card, I watch her get into the car and drive away. For a moment, I feel … bereft.

“Chief Burkholder?”

I turn to see a man striding toward me. He’s about fifty years old with a receding hairline, wire-rimmed glasses, and the beginnings of a paunch. He’s wearing khakis, a wrinkled white shirt, and a nicely coordinated tie. He’s got cop written all over him.

“I’m Jim Hawkins with the investigations unit.” He sticks out his hand and we shake. “Hell of a thing for you to walk into.”

I nod. “What’s your take?”

“Got all the hallmarks of a murder-suicide. Looks like there was somewhat of a struggle. He got her on the bed, shot her in the back. He got into the bed beside her, put the muzzle in his mouth and pulled the trigger with that rifle. Jesus Christ, I’m glad he didn’t take that baby with him.”

“Any idea how long they’ve been dead?” I ask.

“Coroner thinks eight to twelve hours. He’ll be able to narrow it down once he gets the bodies to the morgue.” His eyes narrow on mine. “Wilmot is a hike from Painters Mill. You know these people?”

I shake my head. “I talked to them a couple of times.” I give him the condensed version of the Gingerich case.

“Heard about all that.” But his mind is already poking into all those dark corners where cops’ minds tend to go. “You think Mark Petersheim set that fire?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“If he did, it could be a precursor to all this.” He motions toward the house and shrugs. “If he thought he was going to jail for what he did to Gingerich, he might’ve decided to just call it a day.”

“Maybe.”

Another look, sharp and assessing. “In light of your ongoing case, we’ll take a real close look at this.”

“I appreciate it.” I hand him my card. “Let me know if I can help in any way.”

“Will do.”

* * *

It’s fully dark by the time I arrive home. I’m thinking about little William as I let myself in through the back door. I can still smell his baby-powder scent on my clothes. I set my laptop case on the floor inside the kitchen doorway. I find Tomasetti standing at the counter, eating ice cream from the carton.

“You are so busted,” I say as I cross to him.

He turns to me. “In that case I guess you’re probably going to need your cuffs.”

I pat the compartment on my belt and then go into his arms. “Sorry I’m late.”

I’d called him from Wilmot and told him about the Petersheims. I tried to get my cop face on during the drive back to Painters Mill. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that I didn’t quite succeed.

“You get that baby taken care of?” he asks.

“Handed him off to the social worker an hour ago.”

“Tough break for the kid.” He kisses the top of my head.