Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(22)

It’s the first time I’ve heard the words. I stare at the girl, wondering if she got it right, but there was no hesitation in her voice.

Mackie looks at me for translation, raises her brows.

“It means ‘She’s mine,’” I tell her.

“You’re a very brave little girl.” Mackie reaches out and pats the girl’s hand. “Just a few more questions and we’re all done, okay?”

Over the next twenty minutes, Mackie covers every conceivable question with the child. Some the girl answers readily; others she veers away from or curls inward. But Mackie is a highly skilled juvenile interrogator. She has sharp instincts, knowing when to push, when to back off, and she has patience. There’s no doubt Mackenzie Upshaw is very good at what she does. Is it enough?

When we’re finished, I thank the parents and then Mackie and I walk to the Tahoe where Tomasetti is waiting.

“I feel confident that child told us everything she can recall at this time,” Mackie says with a sigh. “It’s possible she’ll remember new details over the next few days. But I think we got most of it.”

“Anything new?” Tomasetti asks.

I nod. “When Mackie asked Annie if the man said anything, she responded with, ‘Sie is meiner,’ which basically means ‘She’s mine.’ It’s an odd thing for an attacker to say.”

Tomasetti grimaces. “As if he feels somehow … entitled to her.”

Mackie shrugs. “Or he’s mentally unhinged. Confused.”

“Do you think she’s reliable?” he asks.

“I do,” Mackie replies. “I believe she was truthful. I think her an swers were unembellished. When she didn’t know the answer to something, she said so.”

“Do you think she’s credible enough for us to get a facial composite?” Tomasetti asks.

“I think it’s worth a shot.”

“I’ll get permission from the parents.” I look at Tomasetti. “It would be helpful if the composite artist can come here to the house.”

“I’ll get it done,” he says.

I’m still pondering the order of the events that led up to the attack. “Was the killer waiting for them? Was he familiar with Mary’s routine?” I say, thinking aloud. “Or was this a crime of opportunity? Did they surprise him? And he panicked?”

Tomasetti watches me closely, nods. “And who was his target? Was this about Mary Yoder? Or was it about Elsie?”

Mackie chimes in. “Most child predators are opportunists. They wait or they stalk; they see a kid alone or one that’s in a vulnerable situation, and they move in, either through deceit—the do-you-want-to-see-my-puppy approach—or force.”

“The violence of the attack on Yoder is significant,” Tomasetti says.

“That degree of savagery indicates a profound level of passion,” I say. “Hatred or rage or both.”

“He knew her,” Mackie says.

“Unless he was focused on the girl and Yoder got in the way,” Tomasetti says. “Maybe she tried to stop him, and things went south.”

We take a moment, digesting everything that’s been said.

I glance at my watch. “I’m going to talk to the Helmuths, find out who Mary Yoder was close to.”

“I’ll work on getting a composite artist down here.” Tomasetti glances at his watch. “Probably first thing in the morning.”

Mackie extends her hand to me. “I’ll email you a transcript of our interview with Annie as soon as I get it transcribed.”

We part ways and I head back into the house. I find Ivan and Miriam and five of their children in the kitchen. Ivan has put on his coat and boots. He’s going to do the only thing he can: search for his child, though by now he’s realized the effort will be fruitless. I can tell by his expression he can’t bear to sit inside and do nothing. Miriam is sitting at the table, her face in her hands, an untouched mug of coffee on the table in front of her. Two of the children have fixed bowls of cereal. They’re silent and subdued, knowing that tragedy has invaded their safe and protected home. Both parents look frazzled and exhausted and utterly miserable.

I pull a prepaid cell phone from my pocket and hand it to Ivan. The Amish man doesn’t take it. “We do not need a phone,” he says. “All we need is our daughter.”

“Take it,” I say firmly. “If there’s an emergency and you need to talk to me quickly.”

When he doesn’t accept the phone, I go to the counter and set it down next to the sink. “Keep it handy,” I tell them.

The Amish woman looks away, but not before I see the assent in her eyes.

“I’m going to look for her.” Ivan Helmuth’s gaze is defensive, defiant, as if he thinks I’m going to try to stop him. “She’s out there somewhere.”

I was only gone for a few minutes, but in that short span of time I’ve reclaimed my position as an outsider. I address both of them. “I know it’s been a difficult day. I want you to know … I’m on your side. I’m—”

“Why hasn’t anyone found her?” Miriam snaps.

“We’re looking,” I assure her.

“It’s going to be cold tonight.” She puts a hand over her mouth, tears streaming. “Elsie doesn’t have a coat. She’ll be cold. I can’t bear to think of it.”