“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.”
Considering my own teenage years, I realize it’s a possibility. “Let’s check the loft.”
“Lead the way.”
I hand the Maglite to Tomasetti. Spotting the loft ladder, which consists of six short timbers nailed to the wall, I look up into the darkness. “Mose!” I shout. “It’s Kate Burkholder.”
The unmistakable thud of hurried footsteps on the wood ceiling sounds above us. I glance at Tomasetti. He motions with the light toward the opening, and I begin a too-fast climb to the top.
I feel confident we’re not in any danger; I’m more worried about Mose. He’s suffered a terrible loss and has been under a tremendous amount of emotional distress. Still, I don’t like the idea of entering a place totally blind.
Reaching the top of the ladder, I thrust my head and shoulders into the loft. I hear shuffling to my left and immediately sense a presence. Heart pounding, I heave myself up and lurch to my feet. Tomasetti is right behind me with the flashlight. The beam hits the rafters overhead as he climbs up. Then he’s on his feet and the beam sweeps over bales of alfalfa hay. A pink blanket looks out of place spread out on the floor. Then I see Mose. He’s standing next to the stack of hay. He’s wearing trousers but no shirt, and his suspenders are hanging down to his knees. Using his hand, he shields his eyes from the beam of the flashlight.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
Tomasetti steps closer, keeping the light on the boy, purposefully blinding him. “You Mose?”
He squints, his gaze skating from me to Tomasetti. “Who’re you?”
Tomasetti doesn’t answer.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask.
Mose looks uncomfortable. He can’t meet our gazes. “I just … wanted some quiet.”
For an instant, I think maybe we caught him masturbating. Ready to cut him some slack, I glance at Tomasetti. He doesn’t look quite as compassionate. Suspicion glints diamond hard in his eyes. “What are you doing up here, Mose?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’re hiding out here in the dark all by yourself. No one knew where you were.”
“I’m not hiding.” Mose shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m not doing anything.”