William runs his fingertips over his beard. “Billy is coming of age. In the last year or so, he expressed . . . interest in Mary Plank. He still speaks of her as if she is alive.” His voice falters. “Just yesterday he asked me if he could take her to the singing after worship on Sunday.”

A “singing” is an Amish social function for young people. Usually held after Sunday worship, teenagers sit around a table and sing and socialize.

William looks anywhere but at me. “His games are harmless, but they are not proper.”

“What games?” Glock asks.

Alma’s cheeks color. “He has become curious in the way that boys get. About the womenfolk, you know. Sometimes in the evening he will go off on his own. Last August, Mrs. Zimmerman down the road told me she caught Billy looking in her window.” Another flush, darker this time. “Last weekend at worship, Bonnie Plank said she caught Billy looking in the window there at the farm. I talked to Billy. I told him the game was unfitting.” She shrugs. “He was embarrassed and upset. I thought he understood. . . .”

“His games are against your English laws,” William says.

“I don’t care about the window peeping,” I say. “I just want to talk to him about what he saw.”

Alma glances at her husband. William jerks his head, turns away from the door. His boots thud dully against the floor as he crosses to the stairs. “Billy! Come down here please.”

Giving me an uncomfortable smile, Alma sighs. “I asked Billy to confess to Bishop Troyer. The bishop urged us to keep Billy busy with chores. He said the extra work would help with the looking in. William has plenty of work and has done his best to keep him involved. The chicken coop. Feeding the hogs. Repairing the pens.” She shrugs. “Billy prefers to be inside.”

Footsteps on the stairs draw my attention. Billy notices Glock and me, and stops midway down. His gaze goes to his father. “Datt?”

His voice sounds small and scared. I see fear and guilt on the boy’s face. He thinks he’s in trouble. At that moment, I realize that while Billy Zook is mentally challenged, he’s got the intellectual wherewithal to consider consequences.

“It is all right, Billy,” William says. “You’re not in trouble. Chief Burkholder just wants to ask you some questions.”

The boy’s eyes remain wary. He descends the remaining stairs with the caution of a deer approaching a river full of alligators. He’s about my height, five feet six inches with the slumped shoulders typical to skinny teenaged boys. I notice he’s got patches of acne at the base of both cheekbones. Stubble the color of a peach on his chin. He looks upset, so I do my best to put him at ease. “Hello, Billy.”

He sidles up to his father and stares at his shoes.