Free Harmless as Doves by P. L. Gaus

Kline’s Amish cheese this morning. They say he’s already left.”
    Robertson nodded. “Probably no point in checking on him with the Klines. They’ll confirm the shipment.”
    “It was a long shot, anyway,” Niell said.
    “No longer a shot than thinking that an Amish kid is guilty of homicide.”
    “I suppose not.”
    “OK, Ricky,” Robertson said. “Let’s write it up for the prosecutor, but hold the paperwork. I’m not ready to press forward, yet.”
    “What charge?”
    “Manslaughter, for now. But don’t file the charges, just yet.”
    “Let me interview him again,” Ricky offered. “Maybe Spiegle provoked him.”
    “It’ll still be manslaughter,” Robertson said. “If he really did it.”
    “I’ll just make sure.”
    Robertson shrugged a detached approval. “You think Ellie is serious about going all digital, here?”
    “You should use her to get us modern, Sheriff. While she’s still working.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “She’d be an asset, if we all need to take it to the next level with IT.”
    “No. What’s that mean—‘while she’s still working’?”
    “We want to have a family.”
    “You think she’d stop working?”
    “I know she would.”
    “What are you, Ricky? Thirty-five?”
    “Thirty-eight.”
    “And Ellie?”
    “Thirty-four.”
    Robertson considered that. “You’ll make lieutenant by the time you’re forty.”
    Smiling, Ricky said, “Sheriff, I’m really not sure I want to work for you for the rest of my life.”
    There was a knock through the wall, and they heard Ellie sing out, “You have
company,
Bruce!”
    Robertson pushed up from his chair and started out to the front just as Cal Troyer opened the door to the office and came in, announcing, “Bruce, I want to talk with Crist Burkholder.”
    “Cal, you need to let us handle this,” Robertson complained, and dropped back into his swivel chair.
    Cal nodded to Ricky, “Sergeant,” and took a seat next to him in front of the sheriff’s desk. “Bruce, you need to move him to a single cell. He shouldn’t be in with the others.”
    Ricky said, “We already did that.”
    Cal nodded his appreciation to Niell and said, “Rachel says you helped her out, a couple of days ago.”
    “Out at Kline’s,” Ricky said. “There were too many kids skateboarding on the parking lot.”
    “She’s a technician there,” Cal said for Robertson’s benefit. “She handles their Information Technology Services. You know, Bruce, IT.”
    Robertson quipped, “Like a cheese factory needs IT,” and pulled papers out of his in-box again.
    “You need to get a little modern yourself, Bruce,” Cal chided. “Nobody uses
in and out
trays anymore.”
    Growling, Robertson said, “You two can have your reunion out in the hall,” and stood up behind his desk.
    Cal shrugged at the sheriff’s gruff tone, smiled his awareness of Robertson’s impatience, and followed the sergeant out into the hall, saying, “I need to talk to Crist, Ricky. Can you take me up?”
    Ricky paused outside Robertson’s door and said, “He claims he did it, Cal. Burkholder says he hit him.”
    Cal started toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, saying, “I know, Ricky. I just want to talk to him about court practices.”
    “Why?” Ricky asked, following Cal down the hall.
    Cal answered, “Amish folk don’t know anything about trials.”
    “There probably won’t be a trial, Cal.”
    “Won’t he have to explain himself to a judge?” Cal asked.
    “Sure. If the judge requires it. He’ll have to admit to what he did.”
    Cal nodded and started up the steps. “I doubt he knows what that means.”
    “He’s gonna have a lawyer, Cal,” Ricky argued.
    “Let me talk to him, Ricky. I’ll just be a minute.”
    “Take all the time you want, Cal,” Ricky said at the top of the steps. “He’s not going anywhere.”
    * * *
    When Ricky opened the cell door, Cal pulled a chair inside from the aisle between the cell blocks and sat down