Page 69 of The Burning

Freda glances over her shoulder, toward the door, which has remained shut. In the back of my mind, I wonder if she has any idea how crazy her story sounds. How unlikely it is that any of what she’s told me is seated in reality.

“I don’t know,” she tells me.

“Is there someone I can talk to who knows about them?”

“I heard there’s a Hutterite man.” She whispers quickly now, as if the words aren’t meant to be spoken aloud or heard by others. “He lives in a compound over to Dundee.”

Another vague memory, something I’ve heard …

“What’s his name?” Tomasetti speaks up for the first time.

“Last name is Hofer. That’s all I know.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t even be speaking to you about it. Most Amish don’t believe this group exists. Call it folklore. But I’m old enough to remember.”

The door creaks. I glance past her, see Bishop Troyer standing in the doorway, holding open the door, looking out at us. “Die zeit fer kumma inseid is nau.” The time to come inside is now.

“Find him,” the old woman whispers, and turns away.

I call out her name.

She doesn’t stop and she doesn’t look back.

CHAPTER 18

“Do you have any earthly idea what the hell she was talking about?” It is the ten-thousand-dollar question and Tomasetti is the one to pose it.

We’re in the Explorer, parked on the street outside the police station. We didn’t talk much after leaving the Troyer farm earlier. Neither of us has a clue what to think of Freda Troyer’s assertion that there’s a group of Anabaptist men who do away with fellow evildoers.

“She is elderly,” he says slowly, “is it possible—”

“This is going to sound odd, but I think I’ve heard of them.”

He makes a sound of incredulity. “Are you saying you believe this group actually exists?”

“I’m saying I remember a story like that from when I was a kid. Like a ghost story that gets repeated and yet no one really believes it.”

He looks dubious.

“I don’t blame you for being skeptical. I’m right there with you.”

I consider the scene back at the Troyer farm for a moment. “I think it’s noteworthy that the bishop stayed inside while Freda talked to us. If he’d objected, you can bet he would have stopped her.”

“So, she did it with his blessing.”

“If I didn’t know better, I might think he wanted us to have the information.”

“If we can even refer to that as ‘information’ at this point.”

I frown at him. “I’m going to dig around. See what I can find. Run the name. See if anything pops.”

“In the meantime, if I were to plug a few signature aspects into ViCAP, what the hell would they be?”

ViCAP is a database administered by the FBI that’s used to match connections between cases. I shrug. “Amish. Homicide. Suicide. Religious. Fire. Burning. Wooded area. Barn. Ritualistic.” I feel my brows furrow as my memory stirs. “Tomasetti, I do recall reading about a Hutterite community opening a business in Tuscarawas County. They’ve been around a few years.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly is a Hutterite community?”

“The Hutterites are Anabaptist, as are the Amish, but the similarities end there. The Hutterites use more technology—like vehicles and electricity—and seem to have more industrial-type businesses. Probably the biggest difference is that they live in a commune-type colony.”

“Haight-Ashbury meets the Amish?”