random.”
He considers that a moment. “Every person who was murdered or targeted was somehow involved in the taking of or the transporting of the infant to Painters Mill. Sadie Stutzman. Bishop Schwartz. Bishop Troyer.” He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “How does Mary Yoder play into this?”
“Maybe she was … collateral damage.” I shrug. “She tried to stop him, tried to protect her granddaughter, and he killed her for it.”
“Stabbed twenty-two times.” He shakes his head. “That’s a lot of violence. A lot of rage if all he intended to do was take the girl.”
I stare at him, my mind blinking back to my exchange with Sadie Stutzman when I asked about Byler.
They shamed her to death. That’s why she jumped. They shamed her. Shamed her. Like mother, like daughter. One and the same—both were bad eggs.
At the time I’d thought the words were the ranting of a woman whose mind had been devastated by a stroke. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe Sadie Stutzman was a hell of a lot more cognizant than anyone gave her credit for.…
“A name that has come up repeatedly in the course of this case is Marlene Byler,” I say. “She lived in Scioto County.”
“Mary Yoder’s sister.” His eyes narrow. “Miriam’s aunt. Elsie’s great-aunt.”
“It’s a familial connection.” I tell him about Marlene Byler’s suicide. “Rumor has it she took her baby with her when she jumped off the bridge.”
“Does Byler have other children?”
“Not that we’ve found.”
“If she does,” he says, “they might be worth a look.”
“I’ll get with Mona, tell her to keep digging.”
A sharp rap sounds at the door. Tomasetti and I exchange a look and for the first time I realize Pallant will know we shared a room. Nothing we can do about it now.
Growling beneath his breath, Tomasetti goes to the door, yanks it open. Sheriff Pallant and another deputy are standing in the dark and drizzle, looking in.
“Morning.” Pallant’s eyes slide from Tomasetti to me and back to Tomasetti.
“Any luck with that warrant?” I ask.
Pallant slaps a rolled-up stack of papers against his palm. “Got it.”
Tomasetti steps back, all business. “In that case, come in.”
An instant of awkwardness descends when the two men enter the cramped confines of our room. It doesn’t last; there’s too much focus on the case, on what lies ahead.
“What does the warrant cover?” I ask.
“In light of a missing minor child, the house and property,” the sheriff tells me. “The judge was pretty gung-ho and kept it broad.”
“Which means we can basically go in and look at whatever we want,” Tomasetti says.
Pallant nods. “That’s about the size of it.”
“Do either of you know Vernon or Rosanna Detweiler?” I ask. “Have you met them? Dealt with them? Do you know anything about them?”
The sheriff shakes his head. “We’ve never had any dealings with them. Never taken a call that involved them. Never had cause to go out there or talk to them.” He grimaces. “How sure are you these people have the kid?”
I recap what I know and explain the significance of the dates. “Add to that the plaster from the size-thirteen work boot and Detweiler’s height, and we’ve got probable cause.”
Pallant doesn’t seem convinced. “The judge bought it.”
“Does anyone know if Detweiler has guns on the property?” Tomasetti asks. “Does he hunt?”
“We don’t know,” Pallant responds.
“If they’re Amish and live on a farm, we have to assume they do,” I say. “Most Amish hunt.”
“David Troyer was likely shot with a muzzle-loader,” Tomasetti says.
“The only thing good about that is a muzzle-loader is slow to load,” Pallant adds.
“Anyone know the layout of the property?” I ask.
The two men shake their heads.
“It’s a big spread,” the sheriff says.
“They run cattle,” the deputy adds. “I’ve seen them when I drive by. A couple dozen head.”
I go to the desk, pull up an aerial view on my laptop, and zoom in close. “In addition to the house, there are at least three good-size outbuildings.”
“Lots of places to hide,” Tomasetti says.
The sheriff leans closer, squints at the screen. “Any other buildings?”
“Not on this aerial, but it’s over a year old.” I indicate what looks like an excavated area at the rear of the property. “Not sure what that is.” Using my mouse, I zoom in, but it doesn’t help. “A pond that’s gone dry?”
“There’s a quarry on the northwest corner of the property,” the deputy says. “It’s defunct now. There used to be a lot of gravel trucks coming and going through a gate at the back.”
The sheriff indicates