Alma glances at her husband. William jerks his head, turns away from the door. His boots thud dully against the floor as he crosses to the stairs. “Billy! Come down here please.”
Giving me an uncomfortable smile, Alma sighs. “I asked Billy to confess to Bishop Troyer. The bishop urged us to keep Billy busy with chores. He said the extra work would help with the looking in. William has plenty of work and has done his best to keep him involved. The chicken coop. Feeding the hogs. Repairing the pens.” She shrugs. “Billy prefers to be inside.”
Footsteps on the stairs draw my attention. Billy notices Glock and me, and stops midway down. His gaze goes to his father. “Datt?”
His voice sounds small and scared. I see fear and guilt on the boy’s face. He thinks he’s in trouble. At that moment, I realize that while Billy Zook is mentally challenged, he’s got the intellectual wherewithal to consider consequences.
“It is all right, Billy,” William says. “You’re not in trouble. Chief Burkholder just wants to ask you some questions.”
The boy’s eyes remain wary. He descends the remaining stairs with the caution of a deer approaching a river full of alligators. He’s about my height, five feet six inches with the slumped shoulders typical to skinny teenaged boys. I notice he’s got patches of acne at the base of both cheekbones. Stubble the color of a peach on his chin. He looks upset, so I do my best to put him at ease. “Hello, Billy.”
He sidles up to his father and stares at his shoes.
I glance at William. He gives me a nod.
“Billy, I want to ask you a few questions about something that happened at the Plank house.”
The boy doesn’t move. He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my question.
“You’re not in any trouble,” I say. “I just want you to answer some questions for me. Do you understand?”
The boy looks up at his father. William Zook gives him a nod. “Ich had nix dagege.” I don’t object.
Billy makes eye contact with me and nods. “Ja.”
“Your mamm was telling me you like to look in the windows of other people’s houses sometimes. Is that true?”
His eyes skate away. Raising his hand, he nibbles on a fingernail, then gives a reluctant nod.
“Do you look in the windows of the Plank house sometimes?”
Billy looks at his mother. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, Billy,” she says. “Just answer Chief Burkholder’s questions.”
“Billy?” Tilting my head slightly, I make eye contact with him. “Do you look in the Plank’s windows?”
“Sometimes.” He drops his head, puts his hands behind his back. “I like to see Mary. She’s pretty.”
“Did you look in the window Sunday night?”
He nods.
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
His eyes dart from his parents to me. His left knee begins to shake. He lifts his hand, tears at the ragged nail with his teeth. Tears fill his eyes.
“Did you see something that scared you?” Glock asks.
For the first time, the Amish boy looks at Glock. “Ja.”
I lower my voice to sooth him. “Tell us what you saw, Billy.”
“An Englischer.”
“What did he look like?”
“The devil.” His voice trembles on the last word.
“Do you remember the color of his eyes? Or the color of his hair?”
“Strawberry man.”
“Strawberry man?” My mind circles the term, trying to make sense of it. “What do you mean?”
“His hair was the color of a strawberry.”
Disappointment edges into me. Todd Long had reddish-blond hair. “How many men did you see?”
Billy holds up two fingers.
My heart dips into a single, slow roll. All I can think is, I was right; there is an accomplice! It’s a dark thought, but at this moment I want to get my hands on the second perp so badly I can already feel his hyoid bone giving way beneath my fingers.
“What did the second man look like?” I ask.
The boy struggles with the question, as if he can’t put such a broad description into words. I try to narrow it down. “Was he a white man?” I ask. “Was his skin white like mine?” I motion toward Glock. “Or was it brown, like Officer Maddox?”
Billy grins shyly at Glock. “He had white skin.”
Glock smiles back and gives him a thumbs-up, but Billy looks away.
“You’re doing great, Billy,” I say. “What color was his hair?”
His brows go together, as if he’s faced with a difficult math equation. After a moment, he perks up. “His hair is like Sam’s!” he blurts out.
“Sam?” I look at Alma.
“Sam is one of our horses,” Alma explains. “He’s brown.”
Nodding, I turn my attention back to Billy. “Was the man big or small?”
Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing?”
“Pants?”
I smile. “Do you remember what color they were?”
Another vigorous shake.
“What about his age? Was he old? Or young?”
“I dunno.”
“What color were his eyes?” I ask. “Were they brown like Officer Maddox’s? Green, like mine? Or blue, like your datt’s?”