Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(20)

With the niceties out of the way—and kept to a minimum—she’s ready to get down to business. I like her already.

Tomasetti motions to his Tahoe and we gather around for a quick huddle. “Kate, Mackie is trained in the forensic-interviewing protocol RATAC—rapport, anatomy identification, touch inquiry, abuse scenario, and closure,” he tells me. “It’s a questioning process most often used with child victims of sexual abuse.”

“It’s a terrific protocol,” Mackie tells us. “Effective and nonintrusive. It basically means I’ll be asking nonleading questions, using terms the little girl will understand. I’ll keep it nice and slow since most children that age have pretty short attention spans.”

“I talked to Annie immediately after the incident.” I relay to her our exchange. “I didn’t get as much out of her as I would have liked.”

“Kids make for extremely difficult interview subjects, especially when they’re younger than six or seven years old.” She pauses. “I understand this child is Amish.”

I nod.

“Is there anything you can tell me that might help me relate to her?” Mackie adds.

I take a moment to get my thoughts in order. “Amish kids are much like their English counterparts, especially when they’re as young as Annie. That said, there are distinct differences.” I pause, thinking. “Generally, Amish kids are more sheltered. More disciplined. Religious. They’re taught to respect and obey their elders, especially their parents. The biggest difference is that she will probably see you as an outsider, not because you’re a cop, but because you’re not Amish.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Win her trust.” I hold up the doll, pass it to her. “Bribery.”

Mackie takes the doll and grins. “Cool.”

“Works every time,” Tomasetti mutters.

“If I sense she’s clamming up or becoming uncomfortable,” Mackie says, “I want you to jump in. We need to keep her engaged and as focused as possible. Any thoughts on that?”

I shrug. “Deitsch might help.”

“Excellent.” She thinks about something a moment. “Is she shy?”

I nod. “That’s my impression.”

Mackie looks at Tomasetti. “Would you mind sitting this one out? The fewer people present, the more comfortable she’ll be.”

“No problem.”

“You’re a good sport, Agent Tomasetti.” Mackie looks at me. “Shall we?”

As we cross the gravel to the sidewalk, I notice the young hostler carrying a bucket of water to the buggy horses. I recognize him as one of the Helmuth children. Even in times of turmoil and stress, the parents keep the kids busy with responsibilities.

I knock and we enter. The aromas of lantern oil, candle wax, and something frying fill the air. We’re midway through the mudroom when Ivan Helmuth rushes through the door to greet us. “You bring news of Elsie?”

“We’re here to speak with Annie,” I tell him.

His brows furrow. For an instant, I’m afraid he’s going to refuse. But he knows what’s at stake. “This way.” He leads us into a well-lit kitchen.

Two Amish women stand at the sink, washing and drying dishes. A third mans the stove, stirring a steaming Dutch oven with a wooden spoon.

Mackie extends her hand to Helmuth and recites her name. “I’m with BCI,” she tells him.

“Sit down.” He motions to the big wooden table. “I’ll get Annie.”

Mackie and I pull out chairs and sit. She puts the doll on her lap and sets her hand on it. I nod, letting her know it’s going to make a good first impression.

A minute later, Ivan and Miriam Helmuth appear at the kitchen doorway with their daughter. Miriam’s hands are on Annie’s shoulders. The girl is pale, with circles beneath her eyes. She’s wearing a light green dress with sneakers and her kapp. Upon spotting us, she turns and buries her face against her mamm’s skirt.

“You remember Chief Burkholder?” Ivan asks.

The girl doesn’t turn around, but nods.

“You can call me Katie,” I tell her in Deitsch.

She turns her head, peeks at me out of the corner of one eye. Curious about my use of Pennsylvania Dutch.

“My friend’s name is Mackenzie,” I tell her, “but everyone calls her Mackie.”

Annie turns slightly, her one eye seeking the BCI agent, and she repeats the name, testing it, as if she likes the way it feels on her tongue.

The instant the girl makes eye contact with Mackie, the BCI agent raises the doll. “I’m hoping we can come up with good name for her. Do you have any ideas?”

The girl looks up at her mamm as if asking for permission to speak. Tugging out a chair, the Amish woman settles into it, pulls the child into her lap, and wraps her arms around her. Ivan leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching.

“What do you think about Willie?” Mackie says with a mischievous grin.

Annie smiles shyly and presses her face against her mamm. “That’s a boy’s name.”

Mackie laughs. “Do you have any ideas?”

The girl nods, but she’s not engaged; she doesn’t want to talk to us. She doesn’t care about the doll.

“I always liked the name Susie,” I tell her. “What do you think, Annie?”