The man points in the general direction of the road. “Go on. Get out of here.”

I put their physical descriptions to memory as best I can. Turning away, I start toward the trailer.

Behind me, I hear the man order the woman back onto the snowmobile. The twin engines rev. Once I’m in the trees, I stop and turn. Through the trunks, I catch a glimpse of the woman’s face. The cop inside me winces at the thought of letting them go. But I do, watching them fade into the darkness. When they’re gone, I turn toward home and break into a run.

*   *   *

I’m still out of breath when I call Suggs. Quickly, I take him through everything I saw and give him the physical descriptions of all four individuals. “The men were wearing ski masks beneath their helmets, so I don’t know what they looked like.”

“Of course they were,” he mutters darkly. “You’re certain the women weren’t Amish?”

“They weren’t wearing Amish clothes. They didn’t know Pennsylvania Dutch. I don’t even think they knew English.”

“Well, that’s puzzling as hell.” He goes silent a moment. “A couple of young Amish guys with foreign women? Is it possible they’re on Rumspringa and picked up … er … dates? Some of those kids, especially the boys, can get pretty wild.”

“I thought of that. But I don’t think that was the case. Dan, I saw one of the men strike the woman he was with. Her hands were bound.”

“Shit.” We fall silent; I can practically hear our thoughts zinging over the line. “Were the men armed?”

“Not that I could see. No rifles. But they were wearing snowsuits, so hard to tell. And those snowmobiles were nice ones. New. Polaris.”

“Not cheap.”

“Why would young Amish men have snowmobiles?” I ponder.

“I suppose they could have borrowed them.” But he doesn’t sound convinced. “Were they part of Schrock’s group?”

“Maybe. They told me I was on Schrock’s land and that I was trespassing.”

“Did you get a tag number?” he asks. “In New York state, snowmobile owners are supposed to display their registration number with a plate or decal.”

“I looked, but it was dark and the headlights were blinding me. One of the machines was silver and blue. Couldn’t see the other one well enough to tell.”

“A lot of snow machines up here this time of year.”

I’m still thinking about the women. “Are there any pockets of non-English speaking immigrants in the area? Eastern European, maybe?”

“We have a few immigrants here and there, but no concentrated pockets.”

“Is there a snowmobile dealer in town?”

“There’s one in Malone.”

“Could you check with them and see if any Amish have purchased machines?”

“Good idea. I’ll do it.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”