Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

the shadows to my left. I hear Sadie singing an old Annie Lennox song, and I head toward where the sound is coming from.
    I find her in a stall. She’s holding an aluminum pail with a large nipple affixed to the base. A newborn calf with a white face sucks greedily at the nipple, his eyes rolling back as he gulps and nudges vigorously at the pail. The sweet scent of milk replacer fills the air, and for an instant the familiarity of the scene transports me to the past.
    “He’s cute,” I tell her.
    Sadie looks up from her work and grins. She’s wearing a light blue dress with a white apron and kapp. There’s no sign of the girl who was fighting on the bridge just a few days ago. The transformation seems to go deeper than clothing. There’s a peace in her eyes I didn’t see before. “He is a she and her mamm has decided she wants nothing to do with her.”
    “She might come around.”
    “Maybe.” She looks down at the calf and smiles. “I kind of like bottle-feeding her, though.”
    We watch the animal in silence for a moment and then I ask, “How are you doing?”
    She doesn’t look at me. “Fine.”
    “Your mamm tells me you’ll be getting baptized soon.”
    “After everything that happened with . . .” Her words trail off. “I think it was God’s way of telling me the path I should take.”
    “That’s good, Sadie. I’m happy for you.”
    The calf’s mouth slips from the nipple. We laugh when she makes a slurping sound and reattaches.
    “I need to ask you some questions about what happened,” I say.
    Sadie nods, but she still doesn’t look at me. “Are they in jail?”
    “They’re dead,” I tell her.
    Her mouth tightens. “They were crazy.”
    “I know, honey.” I pull my note pad and pen from my pocket. “I need you to tell me what happened, Sadie. From the beginning.”
    She continues to watch the calf nurse, but all semblance of plea sure is gone from her expression now. “I was walking on the road, down by that old horse farm.”
    “The Reiglesberger place?” I ask.
    She nods. “I was standing by the bridge when I noticed an old car parked alongside the road. The man was walking around, calling for his dog. He told me the dog’s name was Benji and that he’d jumped out the window and run away. He asked me to help him find it.” A breath shudders out of her. “So we walked the ditch for a few minutes, calling for him. When my back was turned, he rushed me and stabbed me with something sharp.” Using her right hand, she reaches around and rubs her left shoulder. “At first, I thought it was a knife. I thought he was going to kill me, so I ran. But I got woozy—I mean, like I’d been drinking or something—and I could barely walk. The next thing I knew, he got back in the car and he rammed me with it.” She indicates her right hip. “Bumper hit me here, and I went flying.”
    She takes a deep breath, as if to garner the full force of her determination, and keeps going. “He dragged me to the car. I tried to fight, but by then I could barely move.” She shrugs. I guess I passed out after that. When I woke up, I was in the tunnel.”
    Her breathing is elevated. Beads of sweat coat her upper lip. She’s no longer paying attention to the calf, but lost in a nightmare I suspect she’ll be dealing with for quite some time.
    Everything she has said corresponds with Bonnie Fisher’s statement and the evidence found at the scene.
    “Thank you,” I tell her. “I know that wasn’t easy.” I look down at my notes. “I’ll add this to my final report and then all of us can put it behind us for good.” I smile at her. “You can concentrate on your upcoming baptism.”
    She chokes out a laugh. “I still have two weeks to misbehave.”
    I open my arms. Setting down the pail, she steps into my embrace. I squeeze her tight. “You’d better get back to your calf.”
    I’m closing the stall door behind me when I think of one final question. “Was Irene Mast with him?” I ask.
    Sadie looks up from the calf. “His mamm ?”
    “His wife.” Even as I say the words, something cold and sharp scrapes up my back.
    I pause outside the stall, my heart pounding. “Sadie, how old was the man who accosted you?”
    She’s already turned her attention back to the calf. “Older than me,” she says matter-of-factly. “At least twenty-five years old.”
    For a moment, I’m so shocked that I can’t speak. I think of the way Noah Mast looked lying in the hospital bed, as