Something akin to an electrical shock goes through me. My surroundings fade to gray. The voices of Tomasetti and Goddard dwindle to babble. “Sadie Miller?” I ask.
“Right. Fifteen-year-old Amish female.”
His words barely register. I see Sadie as she was the day on the bridge—so defiant of society’s rules, so sure of herself, and so utterly certain the world would be hers if she just had the chance to conquer it. Simultaneously, the image of Annie King’s body tangled in the tree roots on the creek bank flashes in my mind’s eye.
“When?” I hear myself ask.
“Sometime last night.”
“Goddamn it, why are they just now calling?” I know better than to take my frustration out on Glock, but the words are out before I can stop them.
My phone beeps. I glance down and see Troyer’s name on the display. “Put out an Amber Alert,” I tell Glock. “Bring in the SHP. Call Rasmussen. Get everyone out looking. See if you can find someone with tracking dogs.”
“I got it.”
“I’ll be there in a couple of hours.” I take the incoming call with a growl of my name.
“Katie, it’s Sarah.” High-wire tension laces my sister’s voice. “Sadie is missing.”
“I just heard.” I don’t cut her any slack. “Why didn’t you call me right away?”
“We didn’t realize she was missing until this morning.”
“It’s now afternoon, Sarah. Why didn’t you call me the instant you realized she was gone?”
“It was William. . . .” I hear her breathing on the other end and I know she’s struggling to control her emotions. “He did not want to involve—”
“That’s bullshit. I’m sick of it, Sarah. Do you hear me?” I’m shouting now and keenly aware that Tomasetti and Goddard are staring at me. I know I’m not helping the situation, that I’m alienating my sister, and I struggle to check my temper. “How long has she been gone?”
“We believe she went out through her bedroom window last night.”
“Last night.” I lower my head, pinch the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. The urge to tear into her verbally and denigrate the tenant of separation I loathe burns through me. I want to ask my sister how she could allow her belief system to endanger her young niece. Somehow, I manage to rein in my fury. “Do you think she ran away?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Katie, I’m scared. Sadie has been so rebellious and angry.”
I glance at my watch, knowing that even with my emergency lights flashing, it’ll take two hours to get back to Painters Mill. “I’m going to send Glock out to Roy and Esther’s farm. Can you meet him out there?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Sarah, I want you to speak with them and tell them to cooperate with the police. Tell them we’re their best hope of finding Sadie. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I will do my best.”
I want to say more. I want to tell her I love her, but I’m too angry. Instead, I snap my phone closed and shove all of those useless emotions into a compartment to deal with later.
“What happened?”
I turn to Tomasetti, who’s standing directly behind me, staring at me through narrowed eyes that see a hell of a lot more than I’m comfortable with.
Quickly, I recap my conversation with my sister. “The missing girl is my brother-in-law’s niece.” The words don’t begin to convey what I feel for that girl. I want to explain to him the connection Sadie and I share. The way she looks up to me. How I see in her all the good parts of myself. But there’s no time and the words dwindle on my tongue.
“Kate, is it a runaway situation, or do they suspect foul play?”
The question rattles me anew. I look at Tomasetti, struggle to get a grip. “She fits the profile of these victims,” I tell him. “Troubled. Rebellious. The age is right.”
“The timing is off,” Tomasetti says. “This is too close to the previous disappearance.”
I think of the pool of blood on the road, of Annie King’s body tangled in those roots, and I can barely bring myself to answer. “I have to go back.” I stride to the table, close my laptop without shutting it down, and slide it into its sleeve. “I need the Tahoe.”
Tomasetti reaches into his pocket and retrieves the keys, hands them to me. “I’ll ride with Goddard to Sharon. Pick up another vehicle later.”
I take the keys. Tomasetti frowns when he sees my hand shaking.
Goddard comes up beside me. His hand on my shoulder is unexpectedly reassuring. “Let us know if you find something that links this one to the others, Chief.”
Tomasetti unplugs the power cord of my laptop and hands it to me. “Be careful.”
I stop what I’m doing and look at him. More than anything at that moment, I want to feel his arms around me. I want to know he’s going to be there—not only in terms of the case but for me, too.
I loop the strap of my laptop case over my shoulder. “I’ll call you when I know something.”
And then I’m through the door and rushing toward the Tahoe.
There are a thousand reasons why a cop should never work a case in which he or she has a personal connection. Ask any veteran and they will tell you that a cop who is personally motivated will fuck things up faster and more thoroughly than any rookie. When the stakes are high—when someone you care about is at risk—everything changes. I want to believe I can handle it, muscle my way through, conventional wisdom be damned. But already I can feel the gnarly beast of emotional involvement riding my back, goading me into territory in which I have no business venturing. I know going into this that I’m at a disadvantage. I’m vulnerable to making snap decisions and taking risks I might not normally take. It would be smarter to hand this case off to someone else. Only there is no one else.
It takes me just under two hours to reach Painters Mill. I employed emergency lights and siren and hit ninety miles per hour once I reached the highway. Still, those two hours seemed more like days and a thousand terrible thoughts ran through my head the entire time. I don’t know for a fact that Sadie Miller has been kidnapped. As far as any of us know, she could have made good on her promise to leave the Amish way and taken off for greener pastures. But I know all too well how quickly a runaway situation can become a missing-person case.
Or a homicide.
It’s early evening by the time I pull into the gravel lane of the Miller farm. I park the Tahoe in the long shadow cast by the house, ever aware that the day is drawing to a close. I see Bishop Troyer’s buggy parked by the barn, the old Standardbred horse tethered to a tie post near the main door. Glock’s cruiser is a few yards away. A Crown Vic from the sheriff’s office sits at a haphazard angle behind Glock’s car. There’s another buggy I don’t recognize next to the bishop’s.
I’ve known the Millers since I was a teenager. They’re a conservative Amish family, and there were many times growing up when they didn’t approve of the choices I made or the things I did. Back then, I thrived on that kind of controversy. I thumbed my nose at the rules, and I didn’t give a good damn that they looked at me as if I were something that needed to be mucked out of a stall with a pitchfork.
As an adult, I know they’ll never approve of the decisions I made that put me on the path to where I am now. But this isn’t about me or a past that’s long gone. I hope their disdain for me doesn’t affect the level of cooperation my department receives with regard to Sadie.
My legs are stiff from the drive, but I hit the ground running and head toward the back porch. I’m hoping Sadie has been found and I made the drive for nothing. I’m hoping for the chance to scold her and then throw my arms around her and tell her how glad I am to see her. But when the door swings open and Sarah and her sister-in-law rush out, my hopes are dashed. Both women wear light blue dresses with white aprons, white head coverings, dark-colored hose, and practical shoes. Their faces are blotchy from crying and their eyes are haunted.