to Troyer?” I ask.
“Kate.” Rasmussen’s expression is grim. He’s looking at me as if he isn’t quite sure he can give it to me straight, so I make an effort to tone it down, yank back my emotions, stuff them back in their hole.
“All we know is that he was shot,” the sheriff tells me.
He motions toward the buggy a few feet away. “Wife said he was over at the Helmuths’. He was late getting home. She walked out here and found him in the buggy. Troyer was slumped over, unconscious. We’re still trying to figure things out, but it looks like he was shot elsewhere and the horse brought him home.”
“His wife ran half a mile to the neighbors, and they called 911,” Glock adds.
Beyond him, I see Tomasetti; he’s talking to a trooper, but he’s caught sight of me. Abruptly, he ends his conversation and heads my way. “Chief Burkholder.”
I start toward the buggy. I’m midway there when he sets his hand on my shoulder, turns me around. Concern sharpens his features, tightens his mouth. “What happened to your face?”
“I got jumped,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“Kate…”
“I can’t talk right now.”
“You need to see this,” he snaps.
I waver, turn to him. I watch as he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a clear plastic bag. There’s something inside. A smear of blood on the plastic. The ground swells and dips beneath my feet when I recognize the eyeglasses inside. They’re small and round with thick lenses. Lenses that are cracked and covered with blood.
The sight is a jab to my solar plexus that takes my breath. For a moment, I can’t speak. Finally, I manage, “They’re Elsie’s. Where did you find them?”
“Buggy. On the seat.” He shakes his head. “We don’t know if Troyer had them for some reason or if the shooter left them.”
“He left them for us to find,” I say. “The son of a bitch.”
“I’m going to rush them to the lab. Have the blood analyzed, check for latents.”
“Dear God if he hurt that child,” I hear myself say, trying to breathe, get oxygen into my lungs.
He grimaces, looks away. “I’ll have Ivan confirm the glasses belong to the girl.”
It’s not going to be easy. I want to be there, I realize. But I can’t leave. “I need to talk to the bishop’s wife.”
“Go,” he says. “I’ll take care of this.”
I start toward the buggy. I’m ten feet away when I spot the pool of blood on the gravel. There’s more inside the buggy, dripping down the side. Someone has set up mini orange cones demarking the pool. I walk around the buggy, taking in details. There’s an afghan on the seat, also stained with blood. A thick smear on the seat front. Dear God …
I look over my shoulder toward the men. Glock and Rasmussen have followed me over. “Where did this happen?” I ask.
“We’re trying to figure it out,” Rasmussen says. “We’ve got a trail of blood. Deputies are tracing it now.”
“Where’s his wife?” I ask.
“Inside,” Rasmussen says. “I talked to her. She didn’t see anything.”
Outrage thrashes inside me, expands in my chest. I think about Sadie Stutzman and Noah Schwartz. I think about Mary Yoder and now David Troyer. I think about Elsie Helmuth, terrified and alone and in terrible danger—if she’s still alive. And now the bishop’s wife, a woman who likely knows more than she’s letting on, has nothing to say.
“Mike, did you question her?” I ask.
“Of course I did.”
“I want a go at her.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrow. “You think she’s not being forthcoming?”
I lay out my theory, hating the quaver in my voice. That I’m angry and upset. As implausible as all of it seems, I know I’m right. “I think Bishop Troyer was involved with this … adoption.”
“If there was a newborn stolen, why wasn’t it reported to the authorities?” he asks, incredulity thick in his voice.
“Because they wanted to handle it on their own. Because they didn’t want to involve Children Services. They knew someone would try to stop them. All of the above.”
“Look, Kate, we’ll certainly take a hard look into all that, but—”
“The bishop in Crooked Creek was killed in a hit-and-run buggy accident two weeks ago, Mike. The midwife who was part of this was murdered in her home early this morning.” I motion toward the buggy. “Now Bishop Troyer has been shot. I believe they were targeted. I believe the person who abducted Elsie Helmuth is responsible. And I don’t think he’s