“This case is going to go federal,” I tell him. “You kidnapped a woman and crossed a state line. The FBI will probably assume jurisdiction. Children were killed in the commission of a felony. That could turn this into a death penalty case. Once those things happen, it’s out of my control.” I wait a beat. “Tell me what happened that night, and I’ll go to bat for you. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your cooperation is taken into consideration by the court.” I stop speaking and hold his gaze. “I can’t help you unless you help me.”

“What will happen to Crossroads?” he asks, referring to his church. “My work … it’s important. Not to me, Chief Burkholder, but to the people I help.”

“I can’t answer that.”

We fall silent. The room is so quiet I can hear the tick of the clock on the wall. The muffled ringing of the phone in the reception area down the hall. Several minutes pass, but I’m not inclined to rush this. The longer we’re here, the better my chances of walking away with something I can use.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so low and rough, I have to lean closer to hear. “I was there that night.”

“At the Hochstetler home?”

“Yes.”

“Who else was there?”

“Dale Michaels. Jerrold McCullough.” He heaves a heavy sigh. “Jules.”

“Was Norm Johnston there?”

He gives me a dark look, and I realize he knows Johnston was the person who’d come forward. “He was supposed to meet us, but didn’t show.”

“Did he know what was going down?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t tell him, but I reckon he figured it out.”

I nod. “Tell me what happened, so we can put this behind us and decide what we’re going to do next.”

Another lengthy silence ensues, and then he says, “Johnston told me the Amish kid was bragging about his father keeping a lot of cash at the house.”

“Hoch Yoder?”

“Yeah.”

“Was Hoch in on it?”