We watch as a male enters the room. I can only see his back, but I take note of his appearance. White male. Late twenties. Light hair. Slight build. He’s wearing blue jeans and an untucked navy shirt. On the bed, Mary raises her head and looks at him. Her eyes are unfocused. Drugged, I think, but the revulsion on her face is unmistakable, and a slow burn of outrage spreads through me because I know whatever is about to take place isn’t consensual.

The male bends to her, kisses her hard on the mouth. She tries to twist away, but he pushes her back and begins to tear at her clothes. The sound of fabric ripping is drowned out by the blare of guitar and bass drum. Nausea seesaws in my gut when her pale flesh looms into view. I don’t want to bear witness to what happens next. But I can’t look away.

She still has the angular body of a pubescent. Gangly arms and skinny legs. Small breasts. Plain underclothes. She makes a halfhearted attempt to cover herself, but the man is relentless. Fisting her hair, he shoves her backward onto the bed and comes down between her legs. He shoves his jeans down to his knees. Then he’s pumping into her. Her legs flying apart with every thrust. Child-like hands clutching the sheets. Tears streaming from heavy-lidded eyes. For a moment I’m afraid I’m going to throw up the coffee I just drank.

“Show us your face, you cowardly son of a bitch,” Tomasetti growls.

But the man’s face is angled away from the camera. All we can see is his profile.

“Do you recognize him?” Tomasetti asks.

Here I am—a cop—and the obvious question didn’t even register. I’m too blown away by what he’s doing to her. A fifteen-year-old kid. An innocent girl. An Amish girl. “No.”

“We need a fuckin’ ID. What about your guys?” Rising, Tomasetti starts toward the door. “This is a small town. Someone might recognize him.”

I know it’s a stupid reaction, but all I can think is that I don’t want any of them to see her like this. I try hard to shake off the emotions curdling inside me. “Get Glock and T.J. in here.”

Tomasetti disappears into the hall. Thankful I have a few minutes to regroup, I pause the video. I’m in the process of bagging the rest of the items when Glock, T.J. and Tomasetti enter.

I tell them about the flash drive. “It’s tough to watch, but we’re trying to identify the male.”

“You think this is about the murders?” T.J. slides into a visitor chair.

I nod. “She’s a minor. This is pretty hard-core stuff.”

“There’s a motive for you.” Glock remains standing. “You think he’s local?”