“How did they react when you told them you were gay?” I ask.

“They weren’t pleased.” Shrugging, he looks away. “They didn’t understand. Thought I was perverted. Sick.” He gives a rough laugh. “They wanted grandchildren.”

“So your being gay caused problems between you and your parents?”

“To put it mildly.” His gaze snaps back to mine, and he smiles sadly. “Chief Burkholder, I was not distraught enough to do something like this, if that’s what you’re getting at. All of this happened a long time ago, and I’ve long since come to terms. I still loved my parents. I just couldn’t abide by their ways.”

The familiarity of his words strikes a chord within me. I wish I didn’t understand, but I do. All too well. I know what it’s like to be Amish and not fit in. Though I haven’t ruled him out as a suspect, my empathy is profound.

“Where were you the night of the murders?” I ask.

“Home.”

“Where’s that?”

“I rent a house. In Philly.”

“Can someone substantiate that?”

“My partner, Rob Lane, was there part of the evening.”

“What about the rest of the evening?”

“I was alone.”

“What’s Mr. Lane’s contact info?”

Plank rattles off two phone numbers, and Glock scribbles them down.

“Tell me about your relationship with your parents,” I say.

He shrugs. “Not much to tell, really. Once I told them I was gay, they sort of . . . shut down. At first they pretended everything was the same. They prayed for me.”

“What was the catalyst for your telling them?”

“I met Rob. That’s when I sort of figured out I wasn’t going to change. When I began to question my parents’ assertions that there was something wrong with me.”

“How did you meet Rob?”

“He traveled to Lancaster County to write a book about the Amish. He was from Philly. I met him by accident. In town. I know this probably sounds hokey, but after a few minutes with him it was as if we’d known each other our entire lives. I let him photograph me. A lot of the other Amish wouldn’t. I agreed to an interview and a few days later we . . . started a relationship.”

“How long was he in Lancaster County?”

“Three weeks.” He sighs. “They were the best three weeks of my life. We were discreet, but my parents couldn’t handle seeing us together. They called it devilment.”

“What happened?”

“They talked to the bishop. They forced me to talk to the bishop.” He smirks. “I refused to confess. Needless to say it didn’t go well.”

“I talked to one of the bishops in Lancaster County. I specifically asked about relatives, but your name never came up.”

“Well, there are several church districts and more than one bishop in the county. That’s not to mention the rift in communication between the Amish and the English.”