I nod. “I’m not sure it matters now, but according to the ME, she’d been recently pregnant and may have had a home abortion.”

“You think Gingerich might have performed the abortion?”

“I think it’s worth asking about.” I motion toward the storefront of The Dutch Kitchen. “She’s a waitress there. Want to walk with me?”

“Probably not a good idea for me to let you out of my sight at this point.” But he smiles.

The Dutch Kitchen is nearly deserted this afternoon. The only customer is a middle-aged man wearing khaki pants and a JCPenney shirt and tie who taps on an iPad and sips coffee in one of the booths. The aromas of French fries and coffee float on the warm air as we make our way to the counter. Mary Gingerich is there, scrubbing the sink with a good bit of vigor. I glance toward the pass-through, but the Amish man who’d been there last time I was here is nowhere in sight.

“Be with you in a—” Straightening, Mary cuts the words short and stares at me with unabashed shock. “Kate?”

“Hi, Mary.” I climb onto a stool. I don’t reach for the coffee cup turned upside down in front of me. “How are you today? How’s Abe?”

Her eyes flick over my street clothes and then sweep over to Tomasetti and back to me. “But … what … I don’t understand.”

I tell her the same thing I told Laura and the other women. “Eli Schrock’s in jail facing an array of charges. Sheriff Suggs is dead.”

“Mein Gott.” She presses her hand against her stomach, takes a step back. “I heard something happened out there last night. I knew it was bad, but … I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore,” I tell her. “You and Abe are safe now.”

I’m aware of Tomasetti sliding onto the stool beside me. His attention divided between me and Mary.

“So you’re not Amish?” she asks, trying to regain her composure.

“Not for a long time.”

“I can’t believe Bishop Schrock was doing the things they said. I can’t believe he’s … in jail. An Amish bishop.”

“He’s no bishop, Mary. He never was. He’s a predator. Maybe worse. Now that he’s locked up, no more intimidation. No more threats or hurting people. No more lies.”

“So many things have happened.” She makes a sound of pure emotion, fighting tears. “Bad things.”

“I know. It’s over.” I give her a moment. “Mary, I need to ask you some questions and I need you to be honest with me.”

“Questions about what?”

“Rachel Esh.”

“Rachel…” She looks down at the soapy sponge in her hand. “She was such a sweet girl. A good girl. She was so kind to my Anna.”

“I know you were a midwife in Cambria County, Pennsylvania,” I say.