“You couldn’t have foreseen what happened. You did your best, and that’s all any of us can do. It was an accident. God knows that, Hoch.” The words make me feel like a hypocrite; I’m the last person who has the right to talk to this man about God. Still, I believe the words. “You were trying to save your mother’s life. That was very brave.”

“The children suffered because of me.”

“Because of those men. Not you.”

Hoch hangs his head. He doesn’t make a sound, but tears stream from his eyes. He wipes his face with his shirtsleeve. “I bragged about the money. To the Englischer. He was a couple of years older than me, and I … wanted to impress him.” He utters a sad laugh. “I wanted to be cool. Like him. I told him we had jars full of money.”

“Who did you tell?” I ask.

“He’s a government man now. Johnston. He worked for my father for a few weeks. I think he must have told the others.” Pain flashes on his features. “But it was my fault. I was … prideful. That’s not the Amish way.”

I nod, understanding. “You were a kid. You didn’t know someone would act on that information.”

“God punished me. I deserved it.”

“The only people responsible for what happened are Blue Branson and the others.” I reach out and touch his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me what happened. I know it wasn’t easy.”

He raises his head, his cheeks wet. “I hear them sometimes,” he whispers. “When I go out there. I hear them crying for me from the basement.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing.

He blows out a shuddery breath. “What happens next?”

“I’m going to find Ruth Weaver.”

*   *   *

The weight of Hoch’s grief follows me on the drive back to the station. Guilt is always a bad thing, but it’s somehow worse when you’re Amish. It’s times like this when I need Tomasetti most. He’s been on my mind on and off all day, mostly on, despite the fact that I’m fully engaged with the case. I’ve wanted to call him a dozen times, but each time I somehow convinced myself not to. Finally, sitting in my Explorer outside the police station, knowing I’m not going to make it home anytime soon, I hit the speed dial for our home number.

He answers with his usual, “Hey, Chief.”

“Things are heating up with this case,” I tell him. “I just wanted to let you know … I’m not going to make it home tonight.”

“Everything all right?”