“It was just old and kind of gross-looking.” Her eyes dart left as she tries to recall. “Dark. Blue, I think.”

I glance at Rasmussen and see him jot something in his note pad; then I turn my attention back to Mandy. “Do you know what time that was?”

“Around seven-thirty.”

I glance through the door toward the gravel lane. “When you go down the road, do you go left or right?”

“Left. We usually ride down to the bridge.”

I’m familiar with the bridge. It’s about a half a mile down the road and spans a small stream and greenbelt that separates a soybean field from a cornfield.

“Was the driver a man or a woman?” I ask.

Her eyes slide toward her mom, who gives her an encouraging nod. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Did Sadie get into the car?” I ask.

She knows where I’m going with my line of questioning; I see it in her eyes. And for the first time, the girl looks scared. “I don’t know.”

“Did you notice which direction the car went?”

“It was still there when I left.”

I give her a smile. “You did great, Mandy. Thank you.” I turn my attention to Elaina and hand her my card. “If she remembers something later, will you give me a call? My cell number is on the back. I’m available day or night.”

The woman gives me a firm nod and lowers her voice. “God bless you guys. I hope you find that girl safe and sound.”

A few minutes later, I’m back in the Tahoe, idling past the bridge where Mandy Reiglesberger claims to have seen Sadie Miller talking to someone in a vaguely described vehicle. It’s not much to go on—not enough to go on—but it’s all I’ve got.

I’ve called Tomasetti and asked for a list of individuals in Holmes and Coshocton counties who own dark-colored cars more than three years old. But we both know extracting any useful information is a long shot. Still, I could whittle down the results to pedophiles or males convicted of a sex crime in the last five years. It’s a start.

I park on the gravel shoulder a few yards from the bridge. Looking in my rearview mirror, I see Rasmussen pull over behind me. We exit our vehicles and meet on the shoulder.

He looks toward the west, where the sun has already sunk behind a purple bank of clouds. “It’s going to be dark in half an hour.”

Trying not to feel as if we’re wasting our time, I motion left. “I’ll go east and you go west. Let’s see what we can find.”

He nods and we start in opposite directions.