Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,36
to my stomach.
I look at Skid. “Get with the IT guy who does the website for our department. Tell him to create another page, something prominent, and put out a call for the public’s assistance. Any motorist or pedestrian who was in the area of the Schattenbaum farm yesterday between noon and five P.M., ask them to call. Tell them they can remain anonymous. Use our main switchboard nonemergency number. Or they can use the website to give us any information. There’s a five-hundred-dollar reward for information that leads to an arrest and conviction.”
Skid nods, thumbing notes into his cell. “You got it.”
I look out at my small team of officers. “Glock and I talked to RSOs,” I tell them, referring to registered sex offenders, and I turn my attention back to Glock. “I want you and Skid to hit it again today. Talk to the same guys, and then expand the area.” I turn to the map and indicate a larger circle. “Talk to all RSOs within a twenty-mile radius.”
Glock gives me a two-finger salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
I look at T.J., then shift my attention back to Mona. “At some point this morning, you two need to go home and get a few hours’ sleep.”
“No problem,” T.J. mutters.
I consider filling them in on the mystery surrounding Elsie Helmuth’s birth certificate, but since I don’t have a viable theory yet and nothing has been substantiated, I opt not to muddy the waters. “I’ll be speaking with the Helmuths again this morning. My cell is on day and night. Mandatory OT until we find that girl or catch this son of a bitch.”
CHAPTER 9
Seventeen hours missing
On the drive to the Helmuth farm, I pass several men on horseback, Amish men and boys who’ve saddled their buggy horses to search the ditches and culverts and wooded areas near the Schattenbaum place. Men clad in camouflage jackets ride ATVs through open fields and the floodplain that parallels Painters Creek, searching rugged terrain not easily accessed by vehicle or on foot. All of these volunteers have likely been at it since first light. Despite the cold block of dread that’s taken up residence in my gut, it warms me to see that the community—Amish and English alike—has come out in force to find a missing little girl.
I’ve just pulled into the Helmuth lane when my cell erupts. I glance at the display: HOLMES CNTY CORONER.
I take a breath and brace. “Hi, Doc.”
“I’m about to start the autopsy on Mary Yoder.”
“Anything preliminary you can tell me?”
“The forensic pathologist took nail scrapings. Collected hair. Took swabs. We sent everything to the BCI lab. With regard to her injuries and resulting death, the only thing I can tell you at this time is that she was stabbed twenty-two times. Probably with a large knife. She sustained many defensive wounds.”
“She fought back.”
“As much as she could.”
“Cause and manner of death?”
“I suspect she died from blood loss. That’s not official yet.” He sighs. “There’s no doubt it’s a homicide. I’ll be able to answer those questions definitively once I get her on the table.”
“I’d like to be there.” I look toward the back door of the house, where three Amish women carrying grocery bags stare in my direction. “Can you give me half an hour?”
“She’s not going anywhere.”
* * *
The Amish women on the back porch don’t speak to me as I ascend the steps; they move silently aside as I enter the house. I find Miriam Helmuth sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed, hands clasped. Silently praying.
Another Amish woman stands at the sink with her back to us, washing dishes. I stand just inside the doorway for a full minute, waiting for Miriam to finish her prayer, getting my words in order. When she finally raises her head, her eyes jump with anticipation.
“You bring news of Elsie?” she asks in a voice that’s gone hoarse.
I’m loath to crush her hope, but as is usually the case, I don’t have a choice. “No news,” I say.
She presses a tattered tissue to her nose and looks down at the tabletop. “What are you doing here, then?”
“Miriam.” I go to the table, lower myself to the chair next to her. “I know this is difficult, but I need to ask you a few more questions.”
She stares at me for the span of several seconds. Then her face screws up. “I just want her back,” she whispers. “Safe and sound. That’s all.”