I tell them about the video. “It’s him. He was there. I need to speak with Billy. Right now.”

William stares at me, looking stubborn and afraid, his jaw fixed. “He has the mind of a child.”

“He might have seen the killer,” I say. “He might be able to identify him.”

Neither of them denies my accusation, but the door doesn’t open.

“The evildoer is dead,” William says. “I do not see how your speaking to Billy now will help.”

“We think the killer had an accomplice.” I look past him. Alma stands to one side, wringing her hands. “I need to speak with Billy. Please.”

The Amish woman lowers her gaze, deferring to her husband.

“We have nothing more to say.” William starts to close the door.

I thrust my foot into the jamb, stopping him. “I need your help.”

“You are an outsider,” he hisses. “Dem Teufel und allen seinen Engeln ubergeben.” You were cast off from the church and committed to the devil and his angels . . .

It’s a personal jab I should have expected, but even after all these years, the words make me feel somehow diminished. I remind myself William is only protecting his son. I don’t want to force the issue, but I can’t walk away.

“I’m not leaving,” I say.

“He saw nothing,” William says harshly.

“Have you talked to him about it?” Glock asks.

William doesn’t answer. His expression turns stoic. I see him shutting down. I know neither parent is going to cooperate. The last thing I want to do is go back into town and get a warrant. While that will gain me access to Billy, it could take days to accomplish and would further strain relations between the Amish and my department.

I play my ace. “If the killer saw Billy, he could be in danger.”

William pales all the way down to his beard. Next to him, Alma looks like she’s going to be ill. I see their brains working this bit of information over, and I realize it’s the first time they’ve considered the possibility.

“Please,” I say. “I’ll do my best not to upset him. I just need to know what he saw.”

William opens the door and steps back. “Come inside.”

Glock and I enter the living room. I see the same dirty rug. Plywood floors. Even from twenty feet away, I can feel the heat coming from the kitchen where pots rattle on the stove.

“Billy is a good boy.” Alma stares at her hands as she wipes them against her apron. “But . . . Er is weenich ad.” He is a little off in the head.

I nod. “I understand.”

William and Alma exchange a look that tells me I do not understand, and I get the feeling things are about to take a strange turn.