The smells of coffee and old building laced with the redolence of something that smells suspiciously like lemon wax greet me when I walk in. Tracy Chapman belts out a bluesy tune from Mona's radio. There's no one in sight, but I hear Lois and Mona talking somewhere nearby. I cross to the reception desk and look over the top of the hutch. The switchboard has been shoved aside and a can of Pledge with a dirty white cloth draped over the top sits next to it.

Lois is on her knees beneath the desk, a power cord in her hand. "I don't know where it goes," she snaps.

"Plug it in to the surge protector." I see Mona's red stilettos sticking out from beneath the desk, and I realize she's on her hands and knees. As usual, her skirt barely covers her equipment.

"What if it starts smoking again?"

"Do I look like a freaking electrician?"

I clear my throat. "Do you guys want me to have the fire department stand by?"

"Oh. c.r.a.p." Lois crawls out from beneath the desk and gives me a sheepish look.

"Oh, hey, Chief." Mona backs out from beneath the desk, a Swiffer duster in one hand, a power cord in the other.

"Phones up and running?" I ask, only mildly concerned.

"Never unplugged the switchboard or dispatch station."

Lois plucks a dust bunny from Mona's hair and the two women break into laughter. I laugh, too. It starts as a small chuckle and then turns into a belly laugh powerful enough to bring tears to my eyes.

"What's so funny?"

I turn, to see Pickles and Skid standing just inside the front door. On the other side of the room, Glock leans against the cubicle divider, his arms crossed, shaking his head.

"We're not rightly sure," Lois mutters, and we break into a new round of laughter.

Skid studies the tangle of wires beneath the desk. "That s.h.i.t looks like a fire hazard."

I cross to the coffee station and fill my mug. The Mast story made the morning news shows. Anchors from Bangor, Maine, to San Diego have been carrying it ad nauseum all morning. I know my team is wondering how much is true and how much is sensationalism.

"Everything quiet on the home front?" I ask as I turn to face them.

Skid makes a sound of annoyance. "Garth Hoskins ran a stoplight out on Hogpath Road and T-boned old man Jeffers's pickup truck last night."

"Anyone hurt?"

He shakes his head. "I cited Hoskins."

Garth Hoskins is eighteen years old and drives a 1971 Mustang fastback that has more horses than the kid has brain cells.

"I'll talk to him," I say.

The room falls silent, all eyes landing on me. I tell them everything I know about the case. "Apparently, Perry and Irene Mast suffered some kind of breakdown after their daughter committed suicide. For reasons unknown, they held their son responsible and imprisoned him. They began preying on troubled Amish teens."

"How many dead?" Glock asks.

"Four," I tell him. "Coroner's office is still there."

"How's Sadie Miller doing?" Lois asks.

"I'm going to drive over there and take her final statement in a few minutes," I tell her.

My cell phone vibrates against my hip. I see Tomasetti's name on the display and hit TALK as I start toward my office. "You make it home okay?"

"Been here a couple of hours," he tells me. "What about you?"

"Letting myself into my office now." I toss my keys on my desk. "Any news?"

"Noah Mast is missing. He left the hospital this morning and no one has seen him since."

"That's odd. They checked the farmhouse? The tunnel? Sometimes people go back to the places they're used to, even if those places are unpleasant."

Tomasetti makes a sound that tells me he's not convinced. "If he doesn't turn up in the next hour or so, the sheriff's office is going to put out an APB."

"You don't think he hurt himself, do you?"

"Nothing would surprise me at this point." He pauses. "Have you talked with Sadie Miller yet?"

"I'm heading out to the farm now. I'll send my report your way as soon as I get everything typed up."

I find Esther Miller in the backyard of her farm house, hanging trousers on the clothesline. A wicker basket full of damp clothes sits at her feet. She smiles around the clothespin in her mouth when I approach.

"Guder mariye," I say, wishing her a good morning.

"Wie bischt du heit?" How are you today?

She looks like a different woman. Her eyes are bright and alive, and I can tell she's truly happy to see me. Dropping the trousers back into the basket, she crosses to me, throws her arms around me, and clings.

"Gott segen eich." G.o.d bless you. She's not crying, but I feel her trembling against me. "Thank you for bringing her back to us."

After a moment, feeling awkward, I ease her to arm's length and offer a smile. "How is she?"

"Good. Happy, I think." She blinks back tears. "She's to be baptized in two weeks."

"I'm happy for you." But I feel a pang in my gut. I think of Sadie's pa.s.sion for her needlework and the part of her that will be lost when she takes her oath to the church, and I realize something inside me mourns its loss.

"I need to get a final statement from her, Esther. Is she busy?"

"She is in the barn, feeding the new calf." Bending, she reaches for the trousers, pins them to the clothesline. "Go on, Katie. She'll be happy to see you. I'll be out as soon as I get these clothes hung."

I take the crumbling sidewalk to the hulking red barn. The big sliding door stands open. The smells of fresh-cut hay and horse manure greet me when I enter. An old buggy in need of paint sits in the shadows to my left. I hear Sadie singing an old Annie Lennox song, and I head toward where the sound is coming from.

I find her in a stall. She's holding an aluminum pail with a large nipple affixed to the base. A newborn calf with a white face sucks greedily at the nipple, his eyes rolling back as he gulps and nudges vigorously at the pail. The sweet scent of milk replacer fills the air, and for an instant the familiarity of the scene transports me to the past.

"He's cute," I tell her.

Sadie looks up from her work and grins. She's wearing a light blue dress with a white ap.r.o.n and kapp. There's no sign of the girl who was fighting on the bridge just a few days ago. The transformation seems to go deeper than clothing. There's a peace in her eyes I didn't see before. "He is a she and her mamm has decided she wants nothing to do with her."

"She might come around."

"Maybe." She looks down at the calf and smiles. "I kind of like bottle-feeding her, though."

We watch the animal in silence for a moment and then I ask, "How are you doing?"

She doesn't look at me. "Fine."

"Your mamm tells me you'll be getting baptized soon."

"After everything that happened with..." Her words trail off. "I think it was G.o.d's way of telling me the path I should take."

"That's good, Sadie. I'm happy for you."

The calf's mouth slips from the nipple. We laugh when she makes a slurping sound and reattaches.

"I need to ask you some questions about what happened," I say.

Sadie nods, but she still doesn't look at me. "Are they in jail?"

"They're dead," I tell her.

Her mouth tightens. "They were crazy."

"I know, honey." I pull my notepad and pen from my pocket. "I need you to tell me what happened, Sadie. From the beginning."

She continues to watch the calf nurse, but all semblance of pleasure is gone from her expression now. "I was walking on the road, down by that old horse farm."

"The Reiglesberger place?" I ask.

She nods. "I was standing by the bridge when I noticed an old car parked alongside the road. The man was walking around, calling for his dog. He told me the dog's name was Benji and that he'd jumped out the window and run away. He asked me to help him find it." A breath shudders out of her. "So we walked the ditch for a few minutes, calling for him. When my back was turned, he rushed me and stabbed me with something sharp." Using her right hand, she reaches around and rubs her left shoulder. "At first, I thought it was a knife. I thought he was going to kill me, so I ran. But I got woozy-I mean, like I'd been drinking or something-and I could barely walk. The next thing I knew, he got back in the car and he rammed me with it." She indicates her right hip. "b.u.mper hit me here, and I went flying."

She takes a deep breath, as if to garner the full force of her determination, and keeps going. "He dragged me to the car. I tried to fight, but by then I could barely move." She shrugs. I guess I pa.s.sed out after that. When I woke up, I was in the tunnel."

Her breathing is elevated. Beads of sweat coat her upper lip. She's no longer paying attention to the calf, but lost in a nightmare I suspect she'll be dealing with for quite some time.

Everything she has said corresponds with Bonnie Fisher's statement and the evidence found at the scene.

"Thank you," I tell her. "I know that wasn't easy." I look down at my notes. "I'll add this to my final report and then all of us can put it behind us for good." I smile at her. "You can concentrate on your upcoming baptism."

She chokes out a laugh. "I still have two weeks to misbehave."

I open my arms. Setting down the pail, she steps into my embrace. I squeeze her tight. "You'd better get back to your calf."

I'm closing the stall door behind me when I think of one final question. "Was Irene Mast with him?" I ask.

Sadie looks up from the calf. "His mamm?"

"His wife." Even as I say the words, something cold and sharp sc.r.a.pes up my back.

I pause outside the stall, my heart pounding. "Sadie, how old was the man who accosted you?"

She's already turned her attention back to the calf. "Older than me," she says matter-of-factly. "At least twenty-five years old."

For a moment, I'm so shocked that I can't speak. I think of the way Noah Mast looked lying in the hospital bed, as pathetic as a dog that's been neglected and brutalized by a heartless owner.

Not wanting to upset Sadie any more than I already have, I leave the stall. Disbelief trails me to the barn door. Once outside, I dial Tomasetti, praying I'm wrong, refusing to acknowledge that my hands are shaking.

He answers on the second ring.

EPILOGUE.

Two months later: Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

The party was in full swing by the time he arrived. The Amish teens, most of them on rumspringa, had been gathering at the trailer home for going on a month now. Everyone, it seemed, was always broke. But somehow, someone always managed to wrangle a few six-packs of beer. On a good night, someone would bring a bottle of whiskey or tequila and everyone would sit in the living room and do shots until it was gone and everyone was so s.h.i.t-faced that they were lucky to make it to their vehicles. Most simply pa.s.sed out where they were.

As usual, the front door stood wide open. As he parked behind Big Dan Beiler's pickup truck, he could hear the ba.s.s thrum of Nirvana's "The Man Who Sold the World" blaring through the open windows. Two Amish girls wearing dresses and sneakers sat on the steps, sharing a joint. They looked up when he got out of the car, but he didn't pay them any heed. They weren't the one he was looking for tonight.

He found her in the kitchen. Rachel Shrock was seventeen years old and as beautiful and intelligent as she was headstrong. He'd met her here three weeks ago and he'd thought of little else since. She'd charmed him with her sense of humor and gentle way. When he was with her, it was as if he were the only man in the world and the very center of her universe. He'd taken her to one of the bedrooms that same night and they'd made love until the sun streamed in through the window.

He knew it was wrong to lie with her before marriage. They'd discussed it, in fact, and Rachel felt the same way. She was a gentle soul, after all. She loved G.o.d. She loved her family. And he was beginning to think she loved him, too. It was the start of something beautiful. That was why Noah had to do everything in his power to save her soul. The way his datt had saved the others.

The way his datt had saved him.

Perry Mast had been an ordained deacon-an important position within the church district. One of his responsibilities had been to go into the Amish community and secure information about transgressors. He'd also been charged with meting out admonitions, usually at worship. They were burdensome duties, but his datt had borne them with courage and fort.i.tude.

Noah would never be the man his father had been; he'd made too many mistakes-sinned too many times-most of which he was not repentant for. That was why he'd had to live in the tunnel, why his father had chained him and used the whip. It was why he'd been denied food and, sometimes, water. His datt had loved him and wanted only to ensure his son's place in heaven. Noah understood that. He'd accepted his punishment with the same strength and grace with which his father had doled it out.

As part of his penance, his datt had sent Noah into the Amish community sometimes to seek out the rebellious members, the ones who'd fallen into sin. Noah had brought them home, where his father had meted out the appropriate punishment.

Noah had decided early on that, while he would never be a deacon, he could continue his father's work. His father had taught him well, after all, and Noah had been an astute student. His datt, he mused, would be pleased.

Noah had worked hard through the summer. Held down two jobs. But he had a place now. A little house set on two acres. He'd bought a nice young gelding for his buggy, and also a cow. By spring, he'd have a calf, the beginning of a herd.

Rachel stood at the kitchen counter with her back to him. She wore cutoff shorts and a white T-shirt, both of which hugged her female curves. He loved the way her long brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. He loved the feel of it in his fingers, the way it smelled when he brought it to his face and breathed in her scent.

Yes, he thought as he drank in the sight of her, she is the one. He knew she would make a good wife. She would bear him children. She could be saved, and he was just the man to do it.

"Rachel," he said.

She turned. Her eyes widened, as if she was surprised to see him, which was silly, since he'd been coming for a month now. She held a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Then she smiled, and he was so dazzled by her expression, he forgot all about her vices. With patience and admonition, they would be eradicated.