Page 24 of Shamed

“When’s the last time you spoke to Elsie Helmuth?” I ask Lester.

“I don’t speak to her at all. I don’t even know which one she is.” Lester says the words with a great deal of defensiveness, as if my questions offend some moral sensibility. The irony doesn’t escape me.

I pause, let the silence ride. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Glock approach from the shadows of the barn. The older man looks over his shoulder at him, suspicious, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Mr. Nisley, we believe Elsie Helmuth is in extreme danger. As you can imagine, her parents are worried. If you know something you need to tell me right now.”

“We don’t know anything,” the older man tells me.

“Do you mind if I take a look inside your house?”

“We have nothing to hide.”

“Thank you.” I send Glock a nod, and he starts toward the house.

I turn my focus back to the men. “Have you seen any strange vehicles or buggies in the area?” I ask. “Anything unusual?”

Both men shake their heads.

Over the next minutes, I take both men through the same questions I posed to the Grabers, but they’ve nothing to add. By the time I’m finished, Glock has exited the house and joins us.

“If you think of anything that might be important, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.” I hand the elder man my card.

Neither man says anything, so I nod at Glock and we head back to the Explorer.

“Not very repentant for a religious guy,” Glock says as we drive down the lane.

“In the eyes of the Swartzentruber Amish, he did nothing wrong.”

“A thirteen-year-old kid?”

I shrug. “As disgusting as that is, I don’t like him for the Helmuth girl.”

“Yeah.” Glock sighs. “I’d still like to beat his ass.”

CHAPTER 5

Four hours missing

A missing endangered child is the kind of scenario in which a cop needs to be in a dozen places at once. Searching. Talking to family, witnesses, and suspects. Extracting evidence at the crime scene. Doing something—whatever it takes—to find a child in imminent danger and bring her home. Every minute that passes is another minute lost, and that torturous clock never stops ticking closer to a potentially devastating outcome.

Glock and I spent half an hour talking to registered sex offender Gene Fitch. He’s an unlikable individual and a drunken slob to boot, but he had a solid alibi.

I’ve called upon every law enforcement resource available, including BCI, the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department, and the Ohio State Highway Patrol. I’ve mobilized every member of my own department. The Amber alert has gone out. Tip line has been activated. No one is going home tonight. We’re four hours in, and it’s as if she’s disappeared from the face of the earth.

It’s excruciating to know an innocent little girl is out there, frightened and alone and in the kind of danger no child should ever have to face. I don’t know what’s worse, thinking of her being brutalized—or imagining her little body lying somewhere and growing cold.

I’m consciously trying not to become too entangled in my own emotions when a call comes in from Tomasetti. Dread punches me squarely in the gut, and I brace. Please don’t have bad news.…

“I’m on my way to the Helmuth place,” he begins. “I’m with a colleague. She’s trained to interview young children. I thought we might have another go at the five-year-old.”

“I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Hang on a sec.” I hear him speaking to someone on the other end, and then he comes back on. “She’s wondering if you can bring a toy for the girl. Something a kid her age will like and be comforted by.”

“I know just the thing.”

I make it to the Carriage Stop Country Store on the traffic circle just as the manager is locking up for the night. Some fast talking gets me in the door and to the toy aisle. I was never a doll lover as a child; much to my mamm’s chagrin, I was a tomboy and more likely to be playing ice hockey or riding the plow horse. Still, I manage to find an Amish-made doll I think a five-year-old girl will like.