Page 70 of Sworn to Silence
I give Ezra a hard look. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”
“This was an Amish matter to be dealt with by us.”
The awful familiarity of the words make the hairs at my nape stand on end.
“We assumed she had run away,” Ezra says. “In the last few months, Ellen had become...difficult and rebellious.”
“She had told us she would be taking the bus to Columbus to see her cousin Ruth,” Bonnie says. “When she disappeared, we assumed that was where she had gone. Last night, we heard from Ruth. Ellen never arrived in Columbus.”
I want to take them to the police station where we can speak privately. There are too many people, too many cameras here. I glance down the hall and spy an open classroom door. “Let’s go where it’s quiet.”
Leaving the Augspurgers, I cross to Glock and Tomasetti. “Find a fax machine,” I say quietly. “Ask Mona to fax the best photo she can find of the second vic.”
When I pull back, both men’s eyes are filled with knowledge. They know where this is going. Glock turns and jogs toward the auditorium in search of a school official.
I wish I could handle this without Tomasetti. A salient distrust exists between the Amish and the English police, particularly the conservative Amish, such as the Augspurgers. But protocol dictates I include him. Whether I like it or not, he’s part of the investigation.
I go back to Bonnie and Ezra and we start toward the classroom. Tomasetti falls in behind us. I flip on the lights to see student desks, a green chalkboard where someone wrote the wordshit,and a teacher’s desk covered with papers. I pull out a few plastic chairs and we sit.
“Do you know something about Ellen?” Ezra asks in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Do you have a recent photograph of her?” I ask, but I already know the answer. Most Amish do not believe in having their photographs taken, citing images as evidence of pride. Some believe photos and even paintings depicting faces violate the Biblical commandment,Thou shalt not make unto thyself a graven image. Some of the old order still believe a photo steals the soul.
“We do not have a photo,” Ezra says.
I take out my notebook. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“The day she disappeared. I caught her smoking cigarettes in the barn. We had an argument...” Ezra shrugs. “She said she was going to see her cousin, Ruth.”
“Back when Ellen first disappeared, did you notice any strangers in the area? Maybe a car or buggy?”
Ezra’s thick brows snap together. “I remember seeing footprints in the snow. I did not know who made them.”
“Where?” My heart beats faster. This could be our first clue. Yet this man had taken it upon himself not to contact the police.
“Leading to the road.”
There’s no doubt any footprints are long gone by now. Still, if the killer was there, he may have left something behind. I glance at Tomasetti. “Get Pickles and Skid out there.”
“What’s the address?” he asks.
Bonnie recites a rural address. “Do you think someone took her?” she asks.
Rising, Tomasetti unclips his cell phone and goes to the back of the room to make the call.
I turn my attention back to Ezra. “Can you give me a description of Ellen?”
The man is at a loss, so I look at Bonnie and the words tumble out of her in a rush. “She is twenty-seven years old. Blue eyes. Dark blonde hair.”
“Height? Weight?”
“She’s about five feet three inches. One hundred and twenty-five pounds.”
The description matches that of the second victim. “Any distinguishing marks? Scars?”
“She’s got a birthmark on her left ankle. A brown mole.”
I write everything down, aware that Tomasetti watches my every move. My phone rings. I look down to see Glock’s name on the display and I snatch it up.
