“I know their son disappeared.”
“Right. Noah. I was reading about the son when I found another story the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette did, like, ten years ago.”
“What happened to the daughter?” I ask.
“She went missing. Local PD conducted a search and found a suicide note in her room.”
“Suicide?” In the back of my mind I wonder why the Masts didn’t mention it.
“A year before Noah Mast disappeared,” I say, my mind scrambling to make sense of the news, draw some kind of connection. “Did they find her body?”
“Four months later, when they dragged a nearby lake.” More keys click. “Evidently, she’d jumped through an ice-fishing hole on Mohawk Lake. Official manner of death was suicide.”
Tomasetti and I drove past the lake on our way to the Mast farm.
“Do you think this is relevant?” she asks. “I mean, connected to the missing teens or that murdered girl?
“I don’t know.” Even as I say the words, I know that lying by omission can be as deceptive as an outright lie. “But I’m going to find out.”
CHAPTER 18
Frustration rides my back as I speed past densely forested countryside interspersed with farmland and rolling, lush pastures toward Monongahela Falls. I’m annoyed because once again I’ve been pulled away from where I need to be: Buck Creek. I don’t know why the Masts failed to mention their daughter’s suicide; I don’t believe its relevant. Nor do I believe they’re involved in the disappearances. Nonetheless they’ve got some explaining to do.
I’ve spent the last two hours racking my brain, trying to hit on some common denominator that connects the missing teens: Annie King, Bonnie Fisher, Ruth Wagler, Sadie Miller, and, finally, Noah Mast.
Aside from being Amish, what did these five young people have in common? We haven’t been able to determine if they knew one another or if they’d been in contact with one another. In all probability, mainly due to the physical distance between them and limited transportation options, they did not. As far as we know, none of the teenagers had access to a computer or laptop, so they probably didn’t meet online. Of course, they could have used a public computer—at a library, for example—but I don’t think that’s the case.
The most obvious characteristic they shared was that they were Amish. Second, all were between fourteen and eighteen years of age. I think about what events take place during that period of time in the life of an Amish teenager. Since most only go to school through the eighth grade, they would have finished by age fourteen and already have been considering joining the church. Some were already working, either on the farm or, depending on where they lived, outside the home. Some had entered rumspringa, which is basically a period of one or two years when the teenager is granted the freedom to experience the outside world before being baptized.
My gut tells me that while age is key, the element that connects these teens is more personal. Something unique to these particular teenagers. But what? What are we not seeing? Why the hell doesn’t anything about this case feel right?
I know, perhaps better than most, that the Amish keep secrets. Even conservative Amish families do. My own family, while not exactly Old Order, were conservative. My mamm and datt held my sister and brother and me to some pretty high standards, even in terms of the Amish. Jacob and Sarah fared well beneath that kind of iron-fist parenting. Neither strayed beyond the parameters of the Ordnung.
But I floundered within those constraints. Even as young as twelve, I resented the restrictions imposed on my life, even though I had no inkling of the concept of freedom. I remember feeling as if every aspect of my life was being micromanaged—by my parents, by our bishop, by society and the Amish culture in general. I recall begrudging my brother because he—and Amish males in general—had more freedoms than I and my female peers did. Even then, the unfairness of that chafed my sensibilities.
All of that discontent came to a head when I was fourteen and an Amish man by the name of Daniel Lapp walked into our farmhouse when I was alone and raped me. I learned the meaning of violence that day. I learned to what lengths I would go to protect myself. And I learned that I was capable of extreme violence. I learned what it meant to hate—not only another human being but myself. Especially myself.