LITMIR.BIZ

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Elijah’s teeth clenched. His mind raced with the images of old faces, friends and family. He shuffled to the next picture. A stable. And the next. Her slit throat. The next. Bruises and cuts.

      When he’d gone through the entire stack, he placed the pictures back on the edge of the desk and tried to keep down his breakfast of toast and black coffee. Silence filled the room. Eli stared at the floor, trying to squeeze the horrid images from his mind. But he couldn’t stop his racing thoughts. Who was this girl? A neighbor? A friend’s daughter? He pitied the family. Mourned for them. Then wondered at the idea that they encouraged an investigation. Could that be possible? Had things changed that much since he’d left home? The Amish didn’t usually encourage any sort of police aid—or interference, as they thought of it. They liked to take care of their own problems. Eli didn’t imagine this community trait had altered since he’d lived there.

      “You okay?” the captain asked.

      Eli shook his head. “I don’t want to work an Amish homicide…. She could be a relative.”

      “She’s not. I checked. Her name is Jessica Nolt.” O’Dell grabbed a page from the tiny file folder and began to read. “Daughter of Peter Nolt. Also deceased. Lived with stepmother Han—”

      “Hannah Kurtz Nolt.” Eli’s voice was cold as he pronounced that name for the first time in a decade.

      “Oh, you know these people?”

      “Yes. My family shares a property line with them. I knew Peter well. He was a bit older than me. I was friends with his younger brother. And Hannah…” His throat closed tighter. “Hannah was my girlfriend.” Once upon a time…in a faraway land.

      “Girlfriend?” The captain looked skeptical.

      Eli swallowed hard. “Yep. I dated Hannah while she worked as a nanny to Peter’s daughter. Peter’s first wife died soon after giving birth to Jessica—a bad case of hepatitis. Peter was devastated. Hannah’s parents sent her to help the Nolt family.”

      “Then daddy fell for the nanny?”

      Eli shrugged; he did not like having that heartache rubbed in his face even after eleven years. “Something like that. Hannah started working for the family when she was twelve. The Nolts became her family—marriage just made it official. And Jessica was a very sweet girl. I remember her well.” He shook away the memories—both good and bad. “So, how old was she? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

      “Seventeen.”

      Seventeen. He frowned, thinking how an unexplained death like this would affect all of the community. And especially Hannah. “I see a deep laceration on her throat in this picture, but there’s no blood. Not even on her clothes. This isn’t the crime scene? Or has it been cleaned up?”

      “I thought you didn’t want to work the case.”

      “I don’t. But I can’t help being a little curious.”

      “The notes here explain that the uncle, Thomas Nolt, called Chief McClendon, but by the time he arrived, the family had already changed the girl’s clothes and burned them. They claim there was no blood around her, only on her clothes. If they are telling the truth I think we can assume she wasn’t killed in the stable.”

      “They are telling the truth…. What’s the story on the girl?”

      “A perfectly good girl, as far as the family tells it. No evidence of drugs or alcohol.”

      “But the family wouldn’t necessarily know what she’s involved in. She was probably on Rumspringa. Kids don’t have to tell their parents anything much during that time.” Eli sighed and glanced again at the horrid photos. “There’s bruising on her arms and neck in those pictures. A struggle before death? Abuse? I can’t imagine it of the Nolt family, but there are cases of abuse in the Amish community.”

      “I don’t know. This is all we have.” The captain held up the thin file. “The only other information in here is that her stepmother, Hannah, is the one who found her in the milking stable. Maybe you could start by questioning her.”

      Question Hannah? The woman who dumped me. No way. No Hannah. No Willow Trace. No investigation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

      “Oh, come on. You don’t have to be official about it. Just go and pay respects or whatever.”

      “Why me? If you just want someone to figure out what’s going on, why not one of the local guys?”

      “Chief McClendon says his own men aren’t always Amish-friendly. He’d heard of you, the Amish cop in the city, and thought the people would respond better with one of their own asking the questions.”

      Eli shook his head—that made no sense. Very few people knew he was raised Amish. “They’d be even less likely to answer me—because they’d think I should know better than to ask. The Amish don’t seek revenge or restitution or even answers for unexplained events. They accept it as God’s will and move on. So they would have no reason to seek answers and therefore would have no interest in answering them. I can’t imagine the family even wants an investigation.”

      “Well, they don’t. That’s why there was no autopsy. All we have are these pictures. And Chief McClendon took them himself. He thinks there’s something major going on here and that you’re our best shot at finding out what it is.”

      Eli shook his head. “I haven’t seen these people in eleven years. I’m not one of them anymore. They won’t talk to me about any of this. They probably don’t even talk to each other about it.”

      The captain frowned. “McClendon thinks you’ll have a chance.”

      Eli groaned. He did not want to go back to Willow Trace. Not now. Not ever. “I’m sorry, Captain. But I can’t do this.”

      “You have to.”

      “But Tucci and I are right in the middle of a case against that officer in District Seven.”

      “I’ll put someone else on it.”

      Eli shook his head. “You don’t get it. I really cannot go back there.”

      “You have to.” O’Dell folded up the record file. “I’ll be honest with you, Miller, I don’t quite get it, but this is way over my head.”

      Eli narrowed his eyes on the captain. “What? How can it be over your head from the Lancaster County police?”

      His boss crossed his arms over his chest. “The request came from Chief McClendon via the governor.”

      “The governor?” Elijah stood and began to pace in front of his boss’s desk. “How does the governor even know I exist?”

      “No idea, Miller. But when the governor asks for you, you go.”

      * * *

      An hour later, Eli was navigating the rolling hills of eastern Pennsylvania reluctantly on his way to Willow Trace. With every passing mile, the tension in him racked tighter and tighter. After eleven years, how would he be received? Would he be received? The only person who’d stayed in touch with him was his sister, Abigail. But even she did so in secret—their father, the local bishop, had told Elijah never to return if he chose to take up weapons as a part of his life and work.

      Eli knew it was difficult for his family to understand the choice he’d made, not just to leave the community but to become a police officer. Yet the reasons for it went far back into his childhood. He’d only been about five years old when, during a trip to the city with his father, a crazy man on the train had kidnapped him and his sister, Abigail. If it had not been for the help of the Philadelphia police, Elijah and his sister would never have been reunited with their family. That incident had always made him admire and respect the police. When Hannah had chosen to marry Peter instead of him, Eli had felt certain that leaving the Amish community behind and becoming a policeman was what God had called him to do. Ironic that the very reason he’d never returned to Willow

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