“Daniel Lapp lived on a farm down the road from us,” I begin. “He came over sometimes to help with baling hay and chores. He was eighteen years old.”

Tomasetti listens, his cop’s eyes watchful and assessing. “What happened?”

“I was fourteen years old that summer.” I barely remember the young Amish girl I’d been, and I wonder how I had ever been that innocent. “Mamm and Datt went to a funeral in Coshocton County. My brother, Jacob, was in the field cutting hay. Sarah was delivering quilts in town. I stayed home to bake bread.”

I pause, but Tomasetti doesn’t give me respite. “Go on.”

“Daniel came to the door. He’d been helping Jacob in the field and cut his hand.” Even now, a lifetime later, recalling that day disturbs me so profoundly my chest goes tight. “He attacked me from behind. Took me to the floor. I screamed when I saw the knife, but he hit me and he kept hitting me.” I feel breathless and lightheaded. Vaguely, I’m aware of my breaths coming too quick, too shallow. “He raped me.”

I can’t look at Tomasetti, but I hear the scrape of whiskers as he runs his hand over his jaw. “The Amish like to believe we’re a separate society,” I say, “but that’s not always the case. We knew about the murders that had occurred in the last few months. Datt told us it was an English matter, the deaths were of no concern to us. But we were scared. We kept our doors locked. We prayed for the families. Mamm took food to them.” I shrug. “We didn’t get the newspaper, but I’d been to the tourist shops in town and read the stories. I knew the victims had been raped. I thought Daniel Lapp was going to kill me.”

“What did you do, Kate?”

“I grabbed Datt’s shotgun and shot him in the chest.”

He stares at me, unblinking. “Did you call the police?”

“I might have if we’d had a phone. But we didn’t. I was hysterical. There was blood everywhere.” A breath shudders out of me. “My sister came home. She saw the body on the floor and ran out screaming. She ran for over a mile and got Jacob.”

“No one called the police?”

I shake my head.

“What about your parents?”

“It was dark by the time they got home. Jacob explained to Datt what happened. I think if Lapp had been English, Datt would have called the police. But Daniel was one of us. My father told us this was an Amish matter and would be dealt with his way.” I take another breath, but I can’t get enough air. “He and Jacob wrapped the body in burlap feed bags and put it in the buggy. They drove to the grain elevator and buried it.” I look at Tomasetti. “When they came home, Datt told us never to speak of it.”

“Didn’t people wonder what happened to Lapp?” he asks.