A few feet away, the pitch of Tomasetti’s voice changes, drawing our attention. I glance over at him and find his eyes already on me. I can tell by his expression that he’s got something. I wait while he thanks the person on the other end of the line and sets down his phone. “Remember those queries I put into VICAP?” he asks. “Analyst found a cold case with the same MO.”

Goddard looks baffled. “We checked similars,” he says. “Ran a search through OHLEG. Nothing came up.”

“That’s because it didn’t happen in Ohio,” Tomasett i explains. “Happened in Sharon, Pennsylvania.”

“That’s just across the state line,” Goddard says.

“How old is the case?” I ask.

“Four years. Fifteen-year-old Amish female.” Tomasetti glances down at his notes. “Ruth Wagler. She was selling bread alongside the highway and disappeared. Body was never found.”

“Suspects?” I ask.

“Sheriff’s office looked at her boyfriend. Looked at her stepfather. But nothing panned out and no arrest was made.”

I look at Goddard. “How far is Sharon from here?”

“Forty-five minutes in traffic, and there ain’t no traffic.”

“We need to talk to the parents.” Tomasetti looks at me. “You up for a trip?”

“Yeah.” My cell phone vibrates against my hip, inducing a flash of annoyance. Expecting Auggie Brock, I glance down. Surprise slips through me when Glock’s name appears on the display.

Turning away from the two men, I answer. “I’m glad you’re not Auggie.”

“Not as glad as me.” He doesn’t laugh, and I feel some internal radar go on alert. Some instinct that tells me he’s not calling to chat. “I just took a call from the Amish bishop, Chief. Your sister and her husband are at his place. William Miller’s niece is missing.”

Something akin to an electrical shock goes through me. My surroundings fade to gray. The voices of Tomasetti and Goddard dwindle to babble. “Sadie Miller?” I ask.

“Right. Fifteen-year-old Amish female.”

His words barely register. I see Sadie as she was the day on the bridge—so defiant of society’s rules, so sure of herself, and so utterly certain the world would be hers if she just had the chance to conquer it. Simultaneously, the image of Annie King’s body tangled in the tree roots on the creek bank flashes in my mind’s eye.

“When?” I hear myself ask.

“Sometime last night.”

“Goddamn it, why are they just now calling?” I know better than to take my frustration out on Glock, but the words are out before I can stop them.

My phone beeps. I glance down and see Troyer’s name on the display. “Put out an Amber Alert,” I tell Glock. “Bring in the SHP. Call Rasmussen. Get everyone out looking. See if you can find someone with tracking dogs.”

“I got it.”