Page 54 of Fallen

I point at the marks on her neck. “Who did that to you?”

Giving her husband a scornful look, she turns and walks into the kitchen.

Puzzled by her response, I follow. “Loretta, what happened?”

Ben brushes past me to stand next to his wife. He sets his hand on her shoulder, but she moves aside and it drops away. An odd mix of concern and confusion infuses his expression. I notice the trousers over his sleep shirt, telling me he’d been in bed and wakened.

Loretta sinks into a chair as if her legs aren’t quite strong enough to support her. “It was nothing,” she tells me. “Just … a man down on his luck and in need of help. That’s all.”

I look at Ben and raise my brows.

He meets my gaze, gives a shrug. “I woke and she wasn’t in our bed. I found her in the barn, crying. I saw those marks on her neck, and she told me about the man. I thought we should tell someone.” He turns his attention to his wife and his mouth tightens. “Men who are down on their luck do not leave marks like that on a woman.”

When Loretta looks away from him, he adds, “Fazayla see.” Tell her.

The Amish woman looks down at her hands and shakes her head. “I haven’t slept well since … what happened to Rachael. So I go to the barn sometimes to see the lambs. The babies, you know.” Her mouth curves as if the thought gives her comfort. “I was holding one of the newborns when a man just … came out of nowhere. He grabbed me.” Her eyes flick away and she lowers her head, presses her fingers against her forehead. “He … wanted money. I told him I didn’t have any and … he…” She touches the marks at her throat. “I think he didn’t believe me. He shoved me. Choked me.” She shakes her head. “He’d been drinking. I could smell it on his breath. I offered to give him food, but he got angry and … he pushed me down and then he just … ran out the back.”

It’s not the kind of crime we have here in Painters Mill. In fact, in all the years I’ve been chief, I can recall only two muggings. Both times it happened in the parking lot of the Brass Rail Saloon at closing time and involved individuals who’d had too much to drink.

“Did you recognize him?” I ask. “Have you ever seen him before? Around town?”

“No.” She shakes her head, but doesn’t look at me. “It happened so fast. And by lantern light. I didn’t get a very good look at his face.”

“Did he have a weapon?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did he look like?” I ask. “Was he English? Amish? White? Or black?”

“English.” Her brows knit. “White.” She blinks as if taking herself back to a nightmare she doesn’t want to revisit. “He was just … average looking. Scruffy. Sandy hair. Strong, though.”

“Age?”

“Maybe thirty-five? A little younger than Ben and I.”

“Height? Weight?”

She looks at her husband. “Shorter than Ben. Heavier though.”

The image of the man’s silhouette on the CCTV video flashes unbidden in my mind’s eye. “What was he wearing?” I ask.

She struggles for a moment, then shakes her head. “Blue jeans, I think. I was so shaken up I didn’t really notice.”

“Was he on foot?” I ask. “Did he have a vehicle?”

“I didn’t see a vehicle, but he could have parked it somewhere, I guess.”

“Do you have any idea where he went?” I ask. “Do you know which direction he went when he ran away?”

Another shake. “I just saw him go out the door. At the back of the barn, the underside where the pens are. Ben woke up and … he ran over to the neighbor’s house and called 911.”

Speaking into my shoulder mike, I hail Dispatch. “I need County to assist. Ten-eighty-eight.” Suspicious activity. I recite the address for the Bontrager farm. “White male. Six feet. One-ninety. May be on foot.”

“Roger that.”

I look at Loretta, trying to isolate the source of the sense that something about this incident isn’t quite right. It’s not that I don’t believe her. She’s visibly shaken. I can plainly see the marks on her throat. The blooming bruise on her cheek. I’ve no doubt someone accosted her. But I don’t believe it was some random stranger and I don’t believe he was here for money. The one thing I’m relatively certain of is that I’m not getting the whole story.

That said, like much of rural America, Painters Mill has been hard hit by the opioid epidemic. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that someone looking for easy money went to an Amish farm in search of cash. It’s well known most Amish keep cash on hand. It’s also known that they will not defend themselves or their property. Many Amish, in fact, would hand over their cash just to help someone in need.