Chapter 42
As Conor followed Jojo’s directions from Jessica Blackburn’s house to the Mattingly Funeral Home where her husband had been laid out, he considered how much he had, indeed, needed Jojo’s help in this case.
He’d expected she’d provide insight into the enigmatic Amish.
After all, she did speak the language. But Jojo had contributed way more than that.
Bottom line: she was a good cop, smart, tenacious and perceptive.
She saw things he missed, made connections he didn’t.
Marking Ethan Cole off the suspect list had been deflating.
They’d both considered him the most likely fish, if they could just reel him in.
The loss would have been a real setback if it weren’t for Jojo, who had looked under a rock he didn’t see and found something there that was breathing new life into the investigation.
Was that why somebody was trying to kill Jojo?
Was there somebody out there who understood that his odds of getting away with murder would go way up with Jojo off the case?
Apparently, there was and it was a safe bet that whoever it was wouldn’t stop until he finished the job.
Jojo was a threat to him and he’d keep trying until he eliminated the threat.
One other thing was becoming equally clear to Conor.
He didn’t like it, but he needed to own it.
He was much more concerned about the threat to Jojo’s life than she was.
Because she was as tough as nails. And because he was …
yeah, was what? Was more invested in her safety than he ought to be.
Not one officer’s concern about the wellbeing of a fellow officer.
More than that. It had become … personal, and that was the kind of thing you needed to run away from like your hair was on fire.
“I talked to Will this morning and he said what we expected him to say about the piece of Mylar stapled to those trees,” he said.
“That it’s untraceable.”
He nodded. “Could have come off any roll of Mylar anywhere. He did say, though, that the jury was still out on a DNA sample.”
Jojo shook her head. “They won’t be able to find anything—the sample is too small.”
“Which brings us back to the original question, which is?—”
“Which is, who wants me dead and why?” She looked at him, her gaze straightforward and clear-eyed.
“I keep going over and over my memories of that night. Trying to think what I might have heard or seen that someone knows I did. And they fear I will latch onto that bit of information and come looking for them.” They arrived at the funeral home and Jojo started to get out of the car, but Conor reached over and put his hand on her arm.
“Have you thought about … do you think maybe it’d be a good idea for you to back away from this case?”
“Not a chance,” she said, and glared at him. “A, nobody’s going to run me off, and B, I made a promise.” She cocked her head to the side. “Unless you’re planning on kicking me off the case. Because if you are, you need to know that I won’t stop investigating, I won’t?—”
“You’re on the case. I need your help.” What he didn’t say was that he’d rather she stayed where he could keep an eye on her than go poking around on her own.
He tried to steer the conversation in another direction because these waters had suddenly become infested with sharks. “So you get to keep the team jersey.”
“How about the magic decoder ring?”
“It’ll just tell you to buy more Ovaltine.”
They went inside the funeral home and the manager told them they could find Ruth Ann Yoder cleaning up the break room.
When they opened the door they found her up to her elbows in soapy water, washing a pile of coffee cups, saucers and silverware from the most recent visitation.
Conor’s eye went to the dishwasher in the corner that the Amish woman was not using.
“Yo, Ruth,” Jojo said, “you got a minute?”
Ruth turned around and looked at her quizzically. “Well, sure, what can I do for you, Joanna? And for you, officer …?”
“State Police Lieutenant Conor McCaffrey, ma’am.”
“I have a question and maybe the answer is that I took it all wrong,” Jojo began.
“Took what all wrong?”
“On Sunday at the funeral when we were standing together outside, you said something to me about the crowd who had come here to the viewing of David Blackburn.”
“Oh, I remember that.” She coughed out a laugh. “I think I said there were so many people, it looked like they must be going out one door, changing clothes and coming back in the other. I was just joking.”
Jojo chuckled. “Oh, I know you were just joking, but you said something else as well.”
Ruth’s brow crinkled. “I don’t remember … what else did I say?”
“You said that there was even a mourner out in the parking lot, someone sitting in their car sobbing.”
Recognition and understanding dawned on Ruth Ann Yoder’s face. “Oh, that.” Conor could tell she was suddenly uncomfortable, but she continued. “Well, I didn’t mean to be telling tales out of school. I’m sorry. Gossiping is a sin, and I never should have?—”
“You’re not gossiping,” Jojo said. “We’re investigating the murder of seven people, and we need to know anything you saw.”
Ruth nodded, still uncomfortable but compliant. “I don’t know how this could possibly be …” She took a breath. “I went out the back door to put the trash by the dumpster, and sitting out behind the building in a car was Cynthia Cruz.”
Jojo didn’t appear to know who Cynthia Cruz was.
“She’s a legal secretary in Harlan Cunningham’s office,” Ruth said. “I know her because she was the one who helped us with all the papers we had to sign when we bought those fifteen acres from Jakob Hostedler last year.”
“I can’t place her,” Jojo said.
“She’s a nice enough woman, but, well, she was sobbing, crying so hard, she didn’t even notice that I was standing there watching her. And I thought to myself—why was she so brokenhearted that David Blackburn had been killed?”
That was exactly what Conor planned to ask Cynthia Cruz.