Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,75

a rise of temper. “Look, all I can say is that most Amish trust their bishop implicitly. In most cases, whether they agree or not, his word is final.” I look out across the group, trying to gauge their receptivity. “Yes, the Amish are insular. They prefer to handle problems themselves. They’re more apt to rely on each other or their community rather than law enforcement, certainly some government child welfare agency. But it’s not done for deceitful purposes.”

“That remains to be seen,” the sheriff says. “Potentially, we’re talking about a federal crime.”

“We get it, Mike,” Tomasetti growls. “Let’s move on.”

I don’t respond. Mainly, because he’s right and I’m on the losing end of a battle I don’t want to fight. If my premise is correct, what those two bishops and the midwife did is not only indefensible, but criminal. That the Helmuths did nothing makes them an accessory. It doesn’t matter that the issue is probably a hell of a lot more complicated than any of us realize.

I close my notebook and look out over the group. “We’re hoping that as David Troyer recovers, he’ll be able to give us a name. As it stands now he’s in extremely critical condition and on a respirator.”

I nod at Tomasetti to let him know he has the floor.

He stands. “I spoke with Sheriff Dan Pallant down in Scioto County at length earlier. He’s on board with the task force and taking a second look at the hit-skip that killed Noah Schwartz as well as the murder of Stutzman.” He gives me his deadpan expression. “Chief Burkholder and I are going to head down that way first thing in the morning.”

“Do you think the Helmuth girl is being held in Scioto County?” Rasmussen asks.

“We don’t know,” Tomasetti says. “But in light of everything we now know, I think there’s a possibility we’ll find some answers there.”

The sheriff shifts in his chair. “Look, I’m not going to get into the whole jurisdictional thing, but I’d like County involved in that, too, John.”

“You’re welcome to come along or send a deputy, Mike. The reason Chief Burkholder got drafted for this is because she knows the Amish, and she’s already made some contacts down there.” He shrugs, nonchalant, then looks at me. “You game, Chief?”

I nod.

Sheriff Rasmussen sighs. “Look, just keep me updated.”

“Bet on it,” Tomasetti says, and the meeting is adjourned.

CHAPTER 20

Seventy-nine hours missing

Miriam Helmuth sat at the kitchen table by the light of the lantern and sobbed. When she had no tears left, she bowed her head and prayed. She knew God listened. She knew He heard. That oftentimes His ways were simply not understood. Tonight, she couldn’t shake the sense that the God she loved with all her might had abandoned her.

Please return her to me O Lord God.

It was the first time she’d been alone all day. The first time she didn’t have to put on a brave face. The police had left half an hour ago. The last of her Amish brethren had gone home. The children were finally sleeping. Ivan, unable to bear the waiting, had saddled the plow horse for the second time that day. He’d been gone for hours with no food or water.

For the thousandth time she wondered about her sweet Elsie. Was she warm and dry? Had she been fed? Was she crying and afraid and missing her family? She thought about the shattered glasses found in the bishop’s buggy and she couldn’t help but wonder if someone had hurt her—or worse. The not knowing tore at Miriam like some clawed animal trapped in her chest and trying to dig its way out.

“Lord, I put my hope in You, for Your love never fails.” She uttered the words on a sob, in a voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I need you, God. I can’t handle this on my own.”

Even as she said the words, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was being punished for what they’d done all those years ago. If this was God’s way of telling her they’d taken the wrong path.

“Please forgive me my sin, Heavenly Father, for I didn’t know—”

The shattering of glass followed by an odd thwack! tore her from her prayer. Miriam got to her feet, looked around, her heart beating hard against her ribs.

“Ivan?” she called out.

She strode to the mudroom, but her husband wasn’t there. She went back through the kitchen to the hall, glanced up the stairs to the landing where the children sometimes sat when