Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

“He’s been excommunicated. His family won’t talk to him. They won’t take meals with him. His parents won’t let him see his siblings. Those things can cause a lot of stress. A lot of anger. Rage, even.”
    “Especially if your family is the center of your life.”
    “For most Amish, it is,” I tell him. “In every sense.”
    A pause ensues. I sense that we’re both working through the possibilities.
    “So he’s pissed off at the Amish,” Tomasetti says after a moment. “He sees other young people getting away with all the things he couldn’t. His life is ruined. He’s had to join another church. Maybe he sees this as a way to get back at them. Hurt the Amish as a whole.”
    “I don’t know,” I say. “Murder seems extreme.”
    “Rage is an intense emotion. Add insanity and/or sociopathy to the mix and you have a fucking time bomb.”
    “How does he find them?”
    “When we talked to him, he told us most people had heard of him through word of mouth and contacted him.”
    “How does he know about the teenagers from other towns?”
    “Maybe he’s got some kind of network in place,” he tells me.
    The scenario isn’t a perfect fit. A lot of unanswered questions remain. But I know there are times when crimes simply don’t make sense, at least not in the mind of a sane person.
    “Do you think this is enough to get a search warrant?” I ask.
    “I’ll see what I can do to get things rolling.”
    “We need to talk to some of the teens he’s helped in the past,” I say. “See if Stoltzfus sent up any red flags.”
    “I’ll get to work on getting some names,” he replies.
    More than anything, I want to turn around and help him with those names, but I’m nearly to the Mast place. Better to get this out of the way while I’m here. “I’ll finish up as quickly as possible and head your way.”
    I barely notice the smell of hogs or the tall cornstalks encroaching onto the narrow gravel track as I turn the Explorer into the lane of the Mast farm. My mind is still working over my conversation with Tomasetti. The more I consider the possibility of Gideon Stoltzfus’s involvement with the missing teens, the more convinced I am that he’s a viable suspect.
    Child predators and other deviants go to great lengths to cultivate prospective victims, doing their utmost to become caregivers or counselors. Stoltzfus puts himself in direct contact with Amish teens who are considering leaving the Amish way of life. I know from experience that a good number of those teens are, at the very least, discontent, or, at worse, troubled—the type of teen that fits the profile of the missing. They would be vulnerable to someone who claims to have the answers to all of their problems.
    The grapevine is a powerful means of communication in the Amish community. It’s general knowledge that Gideon Stoltzfus helped young people leave the plain life. He’s built that reputation by taking in troubled teens, gaining their trust, and helping them start new lives. He lends them money, gives them food and a place to stay. He counsels them and helps them find jobs. What if all of those things are a front for a more sinister agenda? What if Gideon Stoltzfus has discovered the ultimate stratagem for hunting prey?
    The question sends a scatter of gooseflesh down my arms. The scenario fits—and neither Tomasetti nor I saw it until now. What I haven’t been able to figure, however, is motive. As far as we know, there is no sexual element to the kidnappings. To complicate matters, Stoltzfus, whose reputation is above reproach, has indeed helped a handful of teens leave the Amish way without a single complaint that we know of. Are there other victims who’ve never come forward? Is it possible he helps some and simply does away with others? How does he decide which teens to help and which ones to eliminate?
    In the Amish community, when someone does something deemed immoral, he or she is expected to confess before the congregation and ask for forgiveness. If the accused follows that protocol, despite the seriousness of the mistake, that person is redeemed in the eyes of the community.
    What if this is about redemption? What if, using some twisted logic, Gideon Stoltzfus takes it upon himself to cull the “bad Amish” from the community? In a perverse, fanatical way, it makes sense. Deliver the salvageable. Expunge the unredeemable.
    I park behind a black four-wheeled buggy and kill the engine. The stench of the hogs