Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

suggest you encourage your daughter to cooperate.”
    “Angi didn’t do nothing to that little Amish troublemaker. Whatever trouble Sadie Miller met with, she brought down on herself.”
    “I need his name,” I say. “Right now.”
    Tossing a sideways look at her mother, Angi crosses her arms over her chest. “Dave Westmoore.”
    I write down the name, recalling that the parents live near Millersburg. “So you were angry because Sadie touched your boyfriend?”
    “She was doing more than touching him. That slut had her hands all over him.”
    “Jealousy is a powerful emotion.”
    Something ugly flashes in the girl’s eyes. “I am not jealous of that bitch.”
    “What would you call it?”
    “Protecting my territory.”
    “How far are you willing to go to protect what’s yours?”
    She shoots me an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t do anything to her!”
    “You threatened to kill her,” I say.
    “I didn’t mean it literally.”
    “Or maybe you planned a little revenge.”
    Her mother lurches to her feet. “This is bullshit.”
    I give the woman a hard look. “Sit down.”
    When she does, I continue. “Your daughter was one of the last people to speak with Sadie before she disappeared. They had a physical confrontation. Angi threatened to kill her in front of witnesses, including me.”
    I turn a cold look on Angi. The scratch marks on her throat are healing, but they’re still visible, so I use them to my advantage. “Where did you get those marks on your throat?”
    The girl raises a hand, her fingers fluttering at her neck. “They’re old. I got them that day on the bridge.”
    “How did you get them?” I repeat.
    “That psycho Amish girl attacked her,” her mother interjects.
    “I’d like to hear that from Angi,” I say, never taking my eyes from the teenager.
    “She ain’t saying nothing without a fucking lawyer, you goddamn Nazi bitch.”
    Holding Angi with my gaze, I lean back in my chair. “Thank you for your time. That’ll be all for now.”
    “That was fun,” Rasmussen says.
    It’s half an hour later, and Rasmussen and I are in my office. I’m sitting behind my desk, trying to resist the urge to pound my head against its surface.
    “She didn’t run away,” I tell him. “Someone took her.”
    My phone rings, and I put it on speaker. “What’s up, Lois?”
    “I just took a call from Elaina Reiglesberger out on County Road 14, Chief. She claims her daughter was out riding and saw Sadie Miller get into a car yesterday.”
    Hope jumps through me and then I’m on my feet and reaching for my keys. “Tell her I’m on my way.”
    Rasmussen is already through the door. “Here’s to a witness with good recall.”
    I’m on my way to talk to the purported witness when the call from Tomasetti comes in. “I hope you’re calling with good news,” I say in lieu of a greeting.
    “I wish I was.”
    “Shit, Tomasetti, you’re not going to ruin my day, are you?”
    He sighs. “Coroner says Annie King sustained a fatal stab wound. She bled to death.”
    Something inside me sinks, like a rock tossed into water and dropping softly onto a sandy bottom. “Goddamn it.”
    It’s times like this when that voice in my head tells me I’m not cut out for police work. I’ve done this before. Receiving this kind of news shouldn’t be so hard.
    Tomasetti says something else, but I don’t hear the words. I pull onto the shoulder, brake with so much force that the tires skid. For several seconds, I sit there, trying to get a grip. I want to punch something; I want to rant and rave at the unfairness of death. Because I’m terrified the same fate awaits Sadie.
    “What kind of a monster does that to a fifteen-year-old girl?” I whisper.
    He knows I don’t mean the question literally; it doesn’t require an answer. What he also understands is that I need to find the person responsible and stop him. “Sooner or later, he’ll fuck up,” he tells me. “They always do. When that happens, we’ll get him.”
    For a moment, neither of us speaks; then he says, “Anything on your end?”
    I take a deep breath, and slowly the world around me settles back into place. My window is down and I hear a dove cooing from the fence outside. A small herd of Hereford cattle graze in the pasture beyond. The sun slants through the windshield, warm on my face, and I remind myself that no matter what happens, life goes on. Life always goes on.
    “We might have a witness.” I