Page 57 of Breaking Silence

He looks confused for a moment, as if the thought had never occurred to him, then slowly shakes his head. “Frannie and I arrived here around five o’clock. We’ve been busy with the children and chores. Supper and prayer and baths. We’ve had no visitors.”

I nod. There’s been a lot of traffic in and out of the house in the last day or so. Almost anyone could have come in and taken it, unnoticed. “Are the children here?”

“Of course they are.”

“Could you go get Mose for me?”

His hesitation tells me he doesn’t want to do it. The Amish are extremely protective of their young, particularly when it comes to outsiders. “Please,” I say. “I wouldn’t ask you to wake him at this hour if it wasn’t important.”

Shaking his head in resignation, Raber turns and starts toward the living room. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Outside, rain pours off the gutters and slaps the ground. It’s so quiet inside, I can hear the hiss of the lantern.

“What the hell is going on?” I whisper.

Across the room, I see Tomasetti looking at the potbellied stove. “Who had access to the house?”

“Almost anyone. A visitor.”

“I sent the rifle to the lab for latents,” he tells me. “Results should—”

Raber bursts into the kitchen. “Mose is gone!”

“Gone?” Tomasetti and I exchange looks. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” The Amish man looks upset. “He’s not in his bed.”

“Any idea where he might be?” I ask.

Raber shakes his head. “I do not know.”

“Does he have transportation?” Tomasetti asks.

“The horses.” He crosses the room, yanks a heavy wool coat off a wooden dowel set into the wall. “I will check.”

Tomasetti stops him. “We’ll take the barn. You go check the other children.”

The man looks undecided for a moment, then his eyes find mine. “Mose and his brothers and sister are my responsibility.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” I say. “Go check on the others. Agent Tomasetti and I will check the barn.”

“Ja.” Jerking his head, he spins and disappears into the darkened living room.

“Let’s go.” I fly into the mudroom, jog to the door, yank it open.

Then we’re outside in the cold, sprinting through the rain. I can hear Tomasetti beside me, cursing. Without moonlight, the nights in Amish country are incredibly dark. There are no streetlamps, no porch lights or glowing windows. We splash through a deep puddle, and I’m soaked from the knees down. Fumbling for the mini Maglite in my pocket, I pull it out, turn it on.

I see the behemoth shape of the barn twenty feet ahead. Concern transforms into an edgy uneasiness when I notice that the door is ajar. We pause before entering, not sure what we might be walking into. I’m aware of Tomasetti next to me, pulling his sidearm. I do the same, keep my finger off the trigger. He goes in first, but I’m right behind him.

Entering the barn is like stepping into a long-buried casket. It’s dark and dank and dusty. I smell the earthy scents of horses and hay, punctuated by the unpleasant tang of the manure and hogs. I sweep the area with the flashlight. I see huge wooden rafters garlanded with gossamer cobwebs. The rails of the fence are dead ahead. I can see the glint of the pigs’ eyes.

“I can’t see shit,” Tomasetti whispers.

“I think the horse stalls are to the right,” I whisper.

We sidle right ten feet, twenty. I’m keenly aware of Tomasetti beside me, the gun in his hand. My own weapon is heavy and cold in mine. I start when I hear movement ahead and direct the beam forward. Two buggy horses look at us through the bars of their stall, chewing hay.

“Horses are here. Mose has got to be around somewhere,” I say.

“Unless he walked into town for a beer.”