Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11)(42)

“That changes everything,” he says. “Do you think any of this could have something to do with the girl being special needs?”

“I can’t imagine. Tomasetti, the Amish consider special-needs children a gift from God. They’re never considered a burden. Any Amish person with a physical or mental handicap is well cared for.”

“What if, for some reason, the mother couldn’t care for her?” He lets the thought trail. “Would that be enough for the Amish to step in?”

“Maybe,” I say. “Family.”

A pause ensues as our minds work that over. “I’m looking for information on missing infants in Scioto and surrounding counties during that time frame. Tomasetti, there’s nothing there.”

“You follow up with the sheriff’s department down there?”

“They got nothing.”

“What about the Amish community?”

“Of course none of them have phones,” I tell him.

“Were you able to find Mary Yoder’s sister?”

“Dead,” I say. “Suicide.”

“Shit.”

“Tomasetti, the bishop who brought the baby to Painters Mill is dead.”

“How?”

“Buggy accident.”

Silence ensues. “Kate, why the hell would a bishop get involved in something like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t think a bishop would without some … compelling reason.”

“And what would a compelling reason be to take a newborn baby from its parents?”

“In light of Elsie Helmuth having Cohen syndrome, maybe her mother had been deemed mentally or physically unable to care for a baby. Maybe there was no father in the picture.”

It’s the most honest answer I can give. Or is it? Would it be more truthful for me to admit that the cultural roots I left behind so long ago still have a hold on me whether I like it or not?

“The footprints found at the scene were male,” he reminds me. “What if the mother and her male partner relinquished the child for whatever reason and, at some later point, had a change of heart? Maybe they did some digging and found out where the child was sent.”

“But … murder?”

“We’ve seen it happen for less.”

Lowering my head, I put my face in my hands and rub my eyes. “These people are Amish.…”

“What if they’re not? What if the Amish community saw some … injustice or wrongdoing and stepped in?”

“There has to be some … connection to the Amish,” I say. “Or the bishops wouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“There’s only one thing I can do.”

“I can’t go with you to Scioto County. Not with this girl missing and a task force in place.”

“With this being an Amish issue, it’s probably best that I go alone anyway,” I tell him.

“In the interim, I’ll dig around a little on my end.” He pauses. “Is the mayor going to give you grief over leaving town?”

“Of course he is. But I’m hired to protect and serve, not please. Besides, I’ll only be gone a day,” I tell him. “Two, tops.”

“Famous last words.” He sighs. “If it’s not too much trouble, come home and get some sleep before you go.”

“On my way.”





CHAPTER 12


Forty-two hours missing

Dawn ushers in the first frost of the season, a sky the color of slate, a north wind, and just enough drizzle to keep my intermittent wipers busy. I’d planned on an early start, but ended up spending several hours at the station. I didn’t pull out until after nine A.M. to make the four-hour drive to Crooked Creek, which is on the Ohio side of the river half an hour east of Portsmouth. I’m southbound on Ohio 23 just past Chillicothe when the call comes in from Tomasetti.

“The tire-tread plaster casts captured at the scene were viable,” he tells me.

“Best news I’ve had all day.”

“And it’s still early. Manufacturer is Goodyear. Wrangler radial P 235/75R15 105S SL OWL.”

“Does any of that tell us the type of vehicle?”

“Light truck or SUV.”

“Pickup truck,” I say. “Covers a lot of territory.”

“The good news is the tires are worn. The technician says there are markings from wear. In this case, some minor damage, a slice on the outer edge that’s unique to this tire.”

“So if we produce a suspect, chances are good we’ll be able to match the tire.”

The silence that follows tells me there’s more, that it’s probably not good. “Have you talked to anyone at the station?” he asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “Do I need to brace?”

“The national media have moved in. Cable networks started running the story last night. They’re camped out in front of the police station and on both ends of Township Road 14. They’ve got people in town, shoving cameras and mikes in front of anyone who’ll talk to them, especially if they’re Amish.”

“Shit.”

In some cases, the media can be helpful to law enforcement, especially when there’s a missing person. Television and radio can help get the word out and circulate photos. The rest of the time, they just get in the way, passing along misinformation, demanding time no one has, and disrupting the lives of the people involved.