Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(33)
“That was my general impression.”
“Did Marlene have kids?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What was your aunt’s last name?”
“Her maiden name was Byler, of course, same as Mamm’s. If she ever got married…” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Do you have any idea where she used to live?”
“I don’t know. I told you. I don’t know!” She struggles to her feet, staggers, grabs hold of the table.
I reach out to steady her, wondering if she’s eaten or slept, but she draws her arm away. “If you really want to find my little girl, Kate Burkholder, I suggest you stop asking all these foolish questions and get out there and look for her.”
* * *
I call Lois on the way to Pomerene Hospital. “I need you to dig up everything you can find on every member of the Helmuth family. There may not be much out there, since they’re Amish. But … I need for you to dig around a little, see if anything pops.”
“Can you give a hint what I’m looking for?”
“Anything to do with children. Deaths in the family. Marriages. Divorces.” I think about that a moment. “I’ve got Mona looking at Miriam’s sister, Marlene. She’s deceased, but I have a last name: Byler. Tell Mona to take look, see if there’s anything out there. Lois, I want you to take a look at the midwife, Martha Hershberger, too. Check to see if Hershberger has any problems with her certifications.”
“I’ll get right on it.” She pauses. “Oh, before I forget, that courier package from Holmes County General Health District came for you.”
Copies of the birth certificates. “Put it on my desk, will you?”
“You got it.”
I end the call as I slide into a parking space near the Emergency entrance. I’m distracted, thinking about Miriam Helmuth as I go through the double glass doors and take the elevator to the basement. What the hell aren’t you telling me? I simply can’t fathom why a mother would withhold information from the police when her little girl is missing and in danger. What secret is worth jeopardizing the life of your child?
The question pounds at my brain as I enter the reception area of the morgue.
“Hi, Chief.”
I look up to see Doc Coblentz’s administrative assistant rise to greet me. “Hey, Carmen.”
“I saw the Amber alert on my phone.” She extends her hand and we shake. “Any luck?”
“We’re pulling out all the stops.” I let my eyes slide toward the doors that will take me to the medical side of the morgue. “He in there?”
“He’s waiting for you.”
I barely notice the smell of formalin that rides the air as I pass through the doors. The autopsy room is ahead. The niche where the biohazard protective gear is stored is to my right. Left is Doc Coblentz’s glassed-in office. The mini blinds facing the hall are open. Inside, Doc and a second man clad in royal-blue scrubs are staring at the laptop on his desk.
“Kate.”
Doc Coblentz is a corpulent man, about my height, with a balding pate and bushy salt-and-pepper brows. This morning, he’s wearing his usual hunter-green scrubs with high-end sneakers and a blue apron that ties in the back.
He looks at me a little too closely as he offers his hand for a shake. “Looking a little worse for wear this morning,” he tells me.
I frown, hoping it looks more good-natured than it feels. “Long night,” I murmur. “Sorry I’m late.”
The other man in his office rises. He’s African American, with a tall frame, thinning hair the color of steel wool, and keen, intelligent eyes.
“This is Dr. Larry Blake,” the coroner says. “He’s the deputy medical examiner for Cuyahoga County and specializes in forensic pathology.”
Blake and I shake. His grip is firm, but not crushing. He smiles easily and I wonder how it is that these men can spend so much time with the dead yet remain upbeat and optimistic.
“I’m here at the behest of BCI,” Dr. Blake tells me. “I understand you’ve got a missing child on your hands.”
I give him a condensed version of the case. “I’m hoping we’ll learn something today that will help us find her.”
Doc Coblentz motions toward the alcove where the biohazard supplies are stored. “In that case, let’s get started.”
The three of us leave his office and walk to the alcove where Carmen has laid out individually wrapped protective gear. A paper apron for me. Face mask. Shoe covers. Hair cap. Disposable gloves. Quickly, I tear open the packages and gear up. The men don’t wait for me. I watch them saunter down the narrow hall and go through the double doors that lead to the autopsy room. Once I’m dressed, I draw a couple of deep breaths and follow.
No matter how many times I make this pilgrimage, no matter how many times I assure myself I’m prepared, the dead are quick to prove me wrong. The air thickens and cools, melding with a darker odor that brings the familiar quiver to my stomach. I think about Elsie and I pray to God I don’t have to walk this hall again because her little body is laid out on a gurney.
I’ve seen many a tough guy cut down to size because he can’t bear to look at the body of a child and not think of his own. It’s the people who can keep all that outrage and disgust under lock and key that I don’t quite trust.