Page 7 of The Pact

I look down at the two little girls standing next to her. The toddler clutches a faceless doll, which is typical for the Amish due to their dislike of graven images. She’s shivering, little teeth chattering, her cheeks blushed with cold. The other suckles her thumb, clinging to her mamm’s coat with her fist.

“Mrs. Kuhns, I know you’re worried about your son, but I almost didn’t see you when you came over that hill.” I motion toward the buggy. “You don’t have reflective signage on that buggy. It’s not safe for you to be on the road after dark, especially with all those kids. Why don’t you take these children home and wait for Aaron? I’ll go down to the creek with a few of my officers and we’ll search for your son.”

Hugging the baby tightly against her, the Amish woman blinks back tears. “Danki, Chief Burkholder. Danki.”

The Tuscarawas covered bridge has seen a lot of things in the one hundred years it’s spanned Painters Creek. Tonight, the wooden structure is lit up with the flashing lights of Skid’s cruiser. As I pull up behind him, I spot a buggy parked on the gravel shoulder a few yards away, telling me Levi Kuhns and his neighbor have already arrived.

I pick up my mike and hail Skid. “What’s your twenty?”

“A hundred yards south of the bridge, Chief. There’s a path, but it’s dark as a damn cave in these woods.”

The beam of my Maglite leads the way as I skid down the bank to the path that parallels the creek. It’s so quiet I can hear the water trickle over rock where the stream narrows. A quarter mile in, I catch a glimpse of Skid’s flashlight beam.

I find him standing on the bank, shining the beam on the water twenty feet away. “Anything?” I ask.

“Nada.”

We’re standing at the place where the creek cuts into the bank as it veers east. I motion ahead. “Icebox is a quarter mile north,” I tell him.

We start in that direction, our beams sweeping from side to side.

“A lot of kids come out here in the summer.” He ducks to avoid a branch reaching for his cap. “Caught Councilwoman Fourman’s daughter out here smoking dope with her boyfriend.”

“I don’t recall seeing a report on that.”

“Dude ate the roach, so I cut them loose.”

A few minutes later, the path widens. The trees along the creek to my right fall away, revealing a large pool of water that shimmers black in the light of our beams. I’m on my way to the bank when I spot the footprint and, just a few feet ahead, the remnants of a campfire.

“Someone’s been here.”

He approaches and we shine our lights on the print. “Waffle sole,” he says. “Size nine or ten, maybe.”

The campfire ashes smolder. I hold my hand over a chunk of burned wood. “Still warm.”

In tandem we set our beams on the ground and split up, looking for clues. I’ve gone just a few feet when a spot in the dirt gives me pause. I bend for a closer look. It’s dark and wet. A chill sweeps down my spine. Blood.

I call out for Skid. “I got blood.”

He comes up beside me. His beam joins mine. A red-black pool the size of a quarter glitters in the light. A dozen or so smaller droplets surround it. “Not too much,” he murmurs.

“Too much for it to be from a fish, even if they cleaned it. No scales.” I straighten and run my beam in a circle. “Could be from a bloody nose.”

“Maybe they got in a fight.” He looks at me and smiles. “That’s boys for you.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “No sign of a struggle.”

“Any chance they were hunting?” he asks. “Got a rabbit or something?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Both sets of parents told me they were fishing.”

“No gear.”

“Could have moved on, taken it with them.”

His beam stops on disturbed ground. “Definitely two sets of prints.”

I track a set of prints that take me deeper into the woods. A few yards in, the distance between the tracks increases. The heel imprint is deeper. I’m no tracker, but it looks as if someone had been running. I shine my light ahead, and another layer of concern settles over the first. There’s a backpack on the ground.