A Dark Path #6
Hoping to positively ID him, I move closer, staying within the cover of the trees as best I can.
Two males come into view. One is standing next to the truck.
The other is about twenty feet away and wearing an Amish hat.
Judging by his posture, he’s elderly. Herman Petersheim, I think.
I can’t make out the other man’s face. He’s wearing a slicker similar to mine.
Baseball cap. Blue jeans. Something dark in his right hand. Pistol?
“Shit,” I mutter.
Never taking my eyes off the man in the slicker, I draw my .
38. I use my other hand to unclip my cell and call Tomasetti.
He picks up on the first ring. “I’m just off the road past the S curve,” I whisper.
“I’ve got eyes on the shooter. I think it’s O’Connor, but I can’t see his face. He’s armed with a handgun.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Visibility is shit. I don’t have eyes on the females.”
“What’s the situation?”
“He’s parked on the road, talking to Petersheim.” I wipe rain from my eyes. “They’re outside the pickup truck. Looks like they’re arguing.”
“I’m nearly—”
Another gunshot rings out. My heart slams against my ribs when I see Petersheim reel backward. “Shots fired!” I hiss.
“Shit.”
I hit End and step out of the brush. “Painters Mill Police Department!” I scream. “Tyler O’Connor! Drop your weapon!”
He spins to me. Shock on his face. Mouth open. His gun hand comes up. “Leave me alone!” he screams.
A thousand volts of adrenaline hit my muscles at once. I drop into a shooter’s stance. I’m aware of my finger inside the guard. My .38 level, center mass. My heart pounding out of control. In the periphery of my vision, I see the Amish man, who’s unhurt, raise his hands and back away.
“They turned her against me!” O’Connor cries.
“Put that gun down!” I shout.
The words are barely out when movement behind O’Connor draws my attention. Anxiety slams into me when I see the dress and kapp and realize it’s Christina Petersheim. Running toward him.
“Don’t hurt him!” she cries, arms outstretched.
“Get away from him!” I shout. “Shtobba! ” Stop!
The command comes too late. Face contorted, O’Connor lunges at her. Grasping her arm, he yanks her to him with so much force that she nearly loses her footing. My stomach drops when he puts the gun to the side of her head.
“I just want to talk to her!” he screams. “You’ve no right to interfere!”
“Tyler, please stop this!” the young woman cries.
“Drop the weapon!” I shout.
Teeth grinding, he jams the gun hard just in front of her ear with so much force that she cries out. “Back off!” he screams at me. “Leave us alone!”
Christina chokes out a sob, her eyes pleading. “Tyler, please don’t hurt anyone!”
“Shut your mouth!” he screams.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the headlights of an approaching vehicle. The hum of an engine bearing down fast. Tomasetti. But my brain is laser focused on O’Connor. The weapon. The young woman.…
“You don’t want to do this,” I tell O’Connor. “Put the gun down and we’ll talk. We’ll get this figured out.”
“Listen to her,” Christina whispers. “Please.”
The young man doesn’t move. His eyes are wild.
Nostrils flared. Legs braced. His left hand grips her biceps.
The right holds the semiauto against her temple.
A standoff with an innocent caught in the middle is every cop’s worst nightmare.
One wrong move and it becomes a lose-lose situation for everyone.
In that instant, time stops. Rain lashes me, but I barely notice. I hold my ground. The .38 leveled. My finger hovering over the trigger. I go with my gut. “If you love her, you’ll put that gun down,” I say. My voice is steady and calm, the opposite of the emotions banging around inside me.
“Shut up!” he snarls.
“Come on, Tyler.” Holding my left hand out as if to calm a wild animal, I start toward him. “Do the right thing and no one gets hurt. We’ll get this worked out. You and me. I’ll sit down and talk to you. I promise you’ll be treated fairly.”
I’m twenty feet away from them now. Vaguely, I’m aware of a vehicle rolling up behind me. The slam of the door as Tomasetti gets out. Herman Petersheim standing to my left. His expression a mosaic of fright. The battering wind and endless pound of rain all around.
Abruptly, I catch a glimpse of pale yellow to my right.
I glance over, see the dog streak past. Two strides.
Four. Just as I call out, the animal leaps.
A growl tears from his throat as his paws strike O’Connor square in the chest. The impact knocks the man off balance.
He reels backward. A gunshot rents the air.
His arms flail and he loses his grip on Christina.
O’Connor lands on his back. The weapon flies from his hand.
Christina rushes to her grandfather. The dog latches on to the fallen man’s pants leg and shakes violently.
I lunge toward O’Connor, kick the weapon out of reach. “Get on your belly!” I shout.
“Ow!” Writhing, O’Connor lashes out at the dog with his feet. “Get him off me!”
The animal yelps. My temper kicks. I reach for the dog, but he dances away, maintains his grip on the denim. “Face down,” I say to O’Connor. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
In the periphery of my vision, I see Tomasetti rushing toward us. Service weapon in hand. Eyes on me. “Do not move!” he shouts to O’Connor. “Face down! Spread-eagle!”
The young man flops onto his stomach.
I snag the dog by his scruff. The animal releases the man’s pants leg. As I pull him back, the Labrador looks up at me—and wags his tail.
Holstering his weapon, Tomasetti kneels next to O’Connor and tugs a zip tie from the pocket of his slicker. “Hands behind your back, brainiac.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything,” the younger man spits out.
“You had us fooled,” Tomasetti mutters. “Now put your hands behind your back or I’ll do it for you.”
Setting his forehead against the wet asphalt, O’Connor obeys.
Once the young man is cuffed, Tomasetti helps him to his feet, does a cursory pat-down, and leans him against the truck.
Tomasetti looks at me over his shoulder. “Everyone okay, Chief?”
I make eye contact with him. The tension leaches from his features as he takes my measure. I feel my own adrenaline begin to ebb. “We are now.”
Looking amused, he nods toward the dog. “Nice takedown.”
“By the book,” I say.
He studies the dog for a moment and his expression softens. “I didn’t realize your department had the budget for a canine unit.”
“He’s already earned his keep.”
“And a promotion.”
While Tomasetti places O’Connor in the backseat “cage” of the Tahoe, I cross to Petersheim and his granddaughter. “Is everyone okay?”
“Ja.” Expression fraught with emotion, the Amish man sets a shaking hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder. “Thanks to you, Chief Burkholder.”
“Mrs. Petersheim?” I ask.
Blinking rapidly, he looks down at Christina. “You were supposed to go to the farm.…”
“We started to but…” The young woman shakes her head. “I tried to make her go, but she wouldn’t leave you, Dawdi.”
“Well, for goodness’ sakes, don’t talk about me as if I can’t hear you. I’m right here.”
The three of us turn at the sound of the gruff female voice. A few yards down the road, a rotund elderly woman limps toward us. Her dress is muddy and soaked, her feet and legs covered with mud and bits of debris. I see blood on her knee that’s dripping down.
“Esther.” Looking overcome with emotion, Herman rushes to her, envelops her in an embrace, and presses his cheek to hers. “You never were much good at listening.”
“I reckon that worked out just fine this time,” she huffs.
Joining hands, the couple returns to where Christina and I are standing. The older woman leans close to her granddaughter and kisses the top of her head. “Evidently, I’m not the only one with a mind of my own.”
Chagrined, the younger woman looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t leave Dawdi with Tyler. I had to do something.”
“What happened?” I ask.
The Amish man turns his attention to me.
“We were on our way to Painters Mill, up on that hairpin curve at the top of the hill. That truck came out of nowhere,” he says.
“Sideswiped the buggy. Hit us hard. Caused the back end to swing around and go through that old guardrail. Lizzie, our buggy horse, might’ve been able to pull us out, but the rear wheels went over the edge.
The front wheels were hung up in all that mud. ”
“Poor Lizzie was scared out of her wits,” Christina adds. “But she put her heart into it, kept us from going over.”
“You were able to get everyone out before it fell?” I ask.
“No, ma’am.” Herman grimaces. “Esther and Christina were thrown from the buggy. Lucky for all of us, they landed on that jut of rock halfway down. Saved their lives.”
“God put that rock there for a reason, I think,” Esther says. “Padded backside didn’t hurt.”
Herman chuckles. “I was able to cut Lizzie free a second before the buggy went, and then I climbed down into the ravine to get the women.”
I nod. “How did the three of you get back up to the road?”
“Took the deer trail,” Herman tells me. “We followed it for a quarter mile or so and it brought us right back up to the road. We were on our way to the farm when O’Connor showed up a second time.”
I nod, glance toward Tomasetti to see that a Holmes County deputy has arrived on scene. The two men are standing between the cruiser and the Tahoe, talking.
“What happened with O’Connor?” I ask.
Herman grimaces. “That young man was out of his mind. Been drinking, you know. Kept asking for Christina.”
The young woman’s face screws up. “Grohs-mammi and I were hiding in the trees. I saw Tyler hit Dawdi. And then he pulled out that gun. I couldn’t bear it. So I ran to Tyler and I told him to stop.”
The young woman’s face is wet with a mix of tears and rain. She’s putting on a brave front, but through the streaks of mud and bits of debris, I can see she’s losing the battle with her emotions.
“That took a lot of guts,” I say.