Didn’t concern him anyway.
Harrison didn’t envy Deputy Spoth’s position. Not all law-enforcement officers could understand how a fellow officer could testify against them. Some would silently support their fellow officer no matter what.
One side was right. One was wrong. Clear lines.
He had done that with his brother. Harrison had only seen his side of things. Had let his brother know of his disapproval under no uncertain terms. Had purposely alienated his brother in hopes that he’d realize the error of his ways. Had seemed like a good idea.
Everything had always been clearly black-and-white—until life served him up some bleak gray.
Harrison squeezed the steering wheel and shifted his focus to the female deputy standing by the open driver’s side door. She had her hands planted on her hips and a frustrated expression on her face. At first he thought she was still carrying the weight of her rough shift in her posture until he dropped his gaze to the two flat tires on her personal vehicle.
He pulled up alongside where she was parked, jammed the gear into Park and climbed out, allowing the engine and the AC to run. The deputy glanced up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
The woman held out her hand toward her car. “Someone slashed all four tires.” Her cheeks filled with air, then she huffed in frustration. “Apparently, the number of people I’ve managed to irk has grown.”
Harrison crouched down and ran his finger along the clean slice in the rubber. “Man...” He angled his head toward the row of patrol cars across the parking lot. The heat was pulsing off the blacktop surface and he could feel the sweat forming under his uniform shirt. “I can put a call in to a local garage.”
“I already did. They’re on their way.” She dropped down on the curb and rested her arms on her knees, letting her hands hang limply. “Looks like bad things really do come in threes.”
He narrowed his gaze, not sure what she meant.
“Patrol car towed in. Flat tires.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “Got suspended.”
“Suspended? Why?” He thought she had come out smelling like a rose after her testimony against the other officer.
“New video.” She didn’t need to elaborate; her participation in the most talked about case was well known. “Apparently enough to make them question my involvement.”
“Really?” He ran a hand across his chin, reminding him that he should have shaved this morning. “How so?”
“The video’s not clear-cut, but a person with something to gain could suggest I used my baton on Elijah Lapp.” She shook her head, clearly dejected. “That’s exactly what Deputy Reich’s lawyer is doing. He’s using the video to spread the blame. It’s a mess.”
“Who sent the video in?”
“Good old anonymous.” She closed her eyes briefly and drew in a long breath, before finally meeting his gaze. “And now I’m out of a job.”
She pushed to her feet and pulled out her cell phone from her duty belt. She walked around to the back of the vehicle and snapped a photo. “Don’t let me hold you up. Pretty sure it won’t do you much good to hang out with me.”
He walked around to where she was standing to see what had caught her attention. He raised his eyebrows, surprised she seemed so calm. Is fattgange was written in soap on her back window. Gibberish as far as he could tell.
“What does that say? Anything?”
“It’s Pennsylvania Dutch. You know, the language the Amish speak.”
He hitched a shoulder. He had been here for less than a year, but other than a few bits and pieces here and there, he mostly heard the Amish speaking English, perhaps with a touch of an accent. “What’s it mean?”
“Go away.” Her tone was flat.
“I’m just trying to help.” Harrison held up his palms and took a step back, not sure what he had said to offend her.
For the first time, the young woman’s mouth curved into a grin and she laughed, adding to his confusion. “No, that’s what is fattgange means. Go away. In Pennsylvania Dutch.”
Harrison scratched his head and couldn’t help but laugh at himself. “Sorry, I haven’t picked up much Pennsylvania Dutch yet, beyond the basics.”
“You’ll learn a little here and there, but most of the adults speak English. That is, when they want to talk to you. The Amish, as a rule, don’t care to deal with law enforcement. The only problem you might run into is with little kids. Most of them don’t learn English until they start school. But it’s not likely you’ll run into an Amish child without one of their parents or older siblings around.”
Harrison nodded. “Yes, they mentioned that in my training.” What little training the small-town sheriff’s department had provided. He frowned. “You think an Amish person vandalized your car?”
“I don’t know what to think. The car has been parked here all night on the edge of the parking lot by the trees. Pretty easy for someone to sneak in and out without being seen.” She ran a hand across the top of her head. Her long blond hair had been braided, then pinned over her head, almost like the Swiss Miss girl. Something told him she was holding back, as if she had her suspicions as to who had vandalized her car.
“Go inside and report this. I’ll wait. Give you a ride home.”
“Are you sure?” Skepticism flickered in her eyes as she glanced toward the sheriff’s station, then at him.
“Yes, go.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out his business card and handed it to her. “My cell phone number’s on here. If you come out and I’m not here, call me. I’ll swing by and pick you up.” He had no idea how long the report would take.
She took the card and slipped it into her back pocket.
Harrison watched the deputy cross the parking lot to the station. He sensed, rather than saw, another patrol car approaching. He tugged open his patrol car door and the cold air from the AC hit his legs. The car inched past, coming awfully close to his open door, and stopped. Harrison squinted, unable to see the officer’s face due to the brim of his hat.
The window slid down. Harrison tilted his head to see inside. The officer had his wrist casually slung on top of the steering wheel, blocking the name tag on his chest. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes.
“A little advice for the new guy.”
Harrison wondered how long he had to be here before he was no longer the new guy. He gestured toward the driver to get on with it even though he didn’t want his advice.
“Stay away from the chick. She’s toxic.”
Harrison crossed his arms and glared at the deputy, struggling to place him, then finally remembering his name: Colin. Colin Reich. Ned’s son. No wonder he had it in for Deputy Spoth.
“Thanks for the tip.” Harrison’s tone was even. He had seen office politics take down the best of them. He had no plans to stir the pot. A noncommittal answer was best.
Behind the wheel, Colin saluted him in a mocking gesture, as if he suspected Harrison was going to do his own thing regardless. The man wasn’t wrong.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the deputy muttered before closing the window and driving away.