Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,20
tongue. Neither of them looks terribly concerned about the police showing up at eight o’clock in the evening.
Glock and I reach the men. “I’m looking for Lester Nisley,” I say.
The elder man jabs his thumb at the younger man. “You found him.”
I turn my attention to the younger man. “Lester, is there a place we can speak privately? I need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts earlier today.”
The older man straightens, puts his weight on both feet. He’s just realized this isn’t a routine visit.
The younger man shrugs. “I reckon we can talk right here.”
“Where were you between noon and five P.M. today?”
“I was here all morning.” Tipping his hat, he scratches his head. “Went to the feed store around noon.”
“Were you with anyone?” I ask. “Or were you alone?”
“I went by myself.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
He looks at me as if he’s not quite sure what “corroborate” means. “My datt,” he says after a moment. “Guy at the feed store. I got a receipt in the house.”
The older man nods. “He worked out here in the barn all day, morning and afternoon. Midday I sent him into town to pick up feed.”
“Do you know the Helmuth family?” I ask, aware that Glock has quietly made his way into the barn for a look around.
The elder Nisley tilts his head. “Why are you asking us these questions?”
I don’t respond; I don’t look away from the younger man and repeat the question.
“Ivan and Miriam?” he says. “Yeah, I know ’em.”
“Not well,” the elder Nisley cuts in. “My wife took a cake to them when Ivan broke his leg last year. I helped when the wind blew their barn down. That is all.”
I don’t look away from Lester. “What about the children?”
He laughs. “They got a bunch, that’s for sure.”
“Do you know them?” I ask. “Have contact with them?”
I feel the older man’s eyes on me, but I don’t look away from his son. I stare at him hard, waiting.
“No.”
I add a harsh note to my voice. “You sure about that, Lester?”
“I don’t deal with them. I have no use for kids.”
“Lester.” I lower my voice. “I know you’re a registered sex offender.”
The young man’s eyes widen. “She wadn’t no little kid!”
“You were convicted of having a sexual relationship with a thirteen-year-old girl when you were nineteen.”
“The Englischer police don’t understand our ways,” the elder hisses.
“Ways?” I say. “What ways is that?”
“They were going to marry,” he tells me. As if that makes any difference whatsoever.
I look at Lester. “Let me see your hands,” I snap.
Looking bewildered, he puts out his hands, turns them over. “What are you looking for?”
His hands are dirty, but unmarked. No blood or cuts. I don’t comment.
The old man’s eyes narrow on mine. “Why are you asking my son about the Helmuth family? Why are you interested in his hands?”
I give them the basics of what happened at the Schattenbaum farm, watching them closely for reactions. The elder’s mouth falls open. “Mary Yoder?” he gasps. “Doht?” Dead?
“Elsie Helmuth is missing,” I tell them.
Comprehension flickers in the elder man’s eyes; he knows why I’m here. “Someone took a child?” he asks.
I turn my attention to Lester, who has fallen silent. “Lester, did you see any of the Helmuth family earlier today?”
The younger man’s eyes dart left and right, as if he’s looking for an escape route in case I attack. He’s just realized where this is going and he doesn’t like it. “No!”
“You were convicted of sexual misconduct with a minor. I’m obligated to ask you about Elsie Helmuth. You are obligated to answer. Do you understand?”
Lester looks at me, mouth open, eyes wide, frightened now. “Yes, but … that was different. Edna was young, but … we’re married now!”
The urge to tear into Lester Nisley is powerful, but I don’t. As much as I dislike him on a personal level—as much as I despise what transpired between him and a minor six years his junior—I understand how and why it happened. It was immoral; it was against the law. Unfortunately, some of the Old Order Amish don’t see it that way.
The age of consent in Ohio is sixteen. Most Amish couples marry in their late teens or early twenties. Some of the Swartzentruber and Old Order marry younger. Even with Ohio’s “Romeo and Juliet” law, which would have protected Lester from prosecution if he was less than four years older than the minor female, the six-year age difference made the so-called courtship a crime, hence his