I never forgot that weeklong frenzy of good old-fashioned police work. I never forgot little Melissa Sussman or the life that would never be. And I never forgot the things wise old Howie—who got his retirement, by the way—taught me.

I’m at my desk, combing through the Hochstetler file for the dozenth time when it strikes me how few Amish people were interviewed in the course of the investigation. Ron Mackey had been the chief of police back then and retired shortly after. I didn’t know him personally, but I’ve heard that in the late ’70s there was a good bit of friction between the Amish and “English” communities. Most disputes were over the use of slow-moving vehicle signs, building codes, and taxes. I can’t help but wonder if, because of the tension and that cultural divide, Mackey ruled out turning to the Amish for help.

Ten minutes later, I’m in the Explorer and heading toward Bishop Troyer’s farm. He’s been the bishop for as long as I can remember, but I don’t know if his tenure goes back to 1979. Even if it didn’t, he probably had a grasp on what was going on in the Amish community. I’m hoping he can tell me something I don’t already know.

I make the turn into the narrow gravel lane of the Troyer farm and park near the sidewalk. Most of the Amish in Holmes County have extraordinarily neat yards with shorn grass and manicured shrubs. Many go so far as to plant flowers, display potted plants, and landscape their yards. Not the Troyers. Both the front and back yards are plain. No flowerbeds or potted plants or even shrubs. Just a small garden and a birdhouse mounted on a fence post in the side yard, but even that is unadorned.

I’m midway to the house when someone calls out my name. I turn to see the bishop trudging toward me from the barn. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since last fall, when I was working the Borntrager case. Though it’s been only a few months, he looks years older. I’ve never seen him use a walking stick, and I can’t help but notice that his legs seem to be even more bowed.

“Bishop.” I start toward him, wishing him a good morning in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Guder mariye.”

“I’m surprised you still speak the language,” he says, a hint of reproach in his voice.