5:40 AM, Tuesday Morning, February 17th
I was sitting back at the kitchen table, this time lacing my boots back on when my duty cell buzzed from where it lay a foot away. Dana was leaned back against a counter, holding Jef against her shoulder, trying to get him to burp. Boo moved back and forth between us seemingly undecided about what was more interesting, mommy with a baby or my boot laces.
Since I was trying to get laced up and shoe her away at the same time, I punched the speakerphone button rather than picking the unit up.
“Sheriff Crane,” I answered.
“It’s Treadway, Sheriff.”
I couldn’t tell anything from my always stoic patrol supervisor’s tone. “What’s going on Joe?”
“We’ve found her Sheriff...or someone we believe to be her.”
“You have a body?” I asked softly. I watched as Dana move toward the table and dropped into a chair, her eyes wide. The move startled Jef who let out a little cry.
“Afraid so.”
“Where?”
“A, uh, farm just south of Dresden.”
“Dresden?” I was shocked. That was 15 miles out of Zanesville.
“That’s not all of it.”
Realizing he was about to give me the details, I started to pick up the phone but then left it be. Dana would drag it out of me soon enough anyway. “Go on,” I told him instead.
“This is an Amish farm Sheriff. She’s laid out in a buggy in Amish clothes minus shoes and not dressed for the weather. There are no signs of any sort of trauma. She may have frozen to death. It got pretty cold last night.”
I shuddered involuntarily and shot a look at my wife. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Who found her Joe?”
“The farmer that lives here. ‘Says he was out to start his morning milking and his dog kept sniffing at the back of the buggy and carrying on. He looked inside and found her.”
“Did he identify her?”
“No, ‘says he doesn’t know her. His wife and a few children are here. I didn’t question them yet but...I suppose I could.”
“Have they seen the body?”
“No.”
“Then don’t do that yet. I’ll be on my way in a couple of minutes. I’ll ID her when I get there and then we’ll just interview them to find out if they had any association with her. Get the Coroner moving for now. I want an autopsy on this one.”
###
When I reached the farm, not only was the Coroner now there but so was my lead detective Shane Harding and a medical squad. The last one puzzled me.
Shane met me as I dismounted from my vehicle. Pointing at the squad, I asked him, “What’s up with that?”
“The farmer that owns the place, Isaac Byler, and his wife are older. The three kids left here that I’ve seen are mid to late teens. It seems when it dawned on him what he really found, he started having chest pains. Joe called the squad and they’re probably going to run him in if he’ll consent.”
“What exactly did he find?”
“Come on, before the doc moves her.”
Shane led me over to a plain white sided barn that was angled off the driveway, no doubt to block out most of the winds that prevailed in such an open area for six or more months out of the year. He took me around to the far side of it, out of view of the driveway. A black Amish buggy rested there. The tarp that typically covered the back opening during the winter months was tethered up and out of the way. The coroner and two of his crew were working, one in the buggy and two outside it, preparing to lift the girl out.
It was plenty light enough to see well now so I asked them to hold off for a minute and I took a quick look.
No amount of time spent doing police work numbs you to the pain you feel when you witness death and destruction. This time, seeing Katie lying there, stilled forever and so young, I almost lost it. I choked back the bile that rose in my throat and felt its burn as it receded.
Shaking my head at Shane, all I could say was, “She was only 17.” My own heart skipped and fluttered too. I knew how the old farmer felt.
We moved off a little way to let the Coroner do what he needed to do. Treadway joined us then.
“There’s not much here to go on,” he told me. He tipped his head toward Shane, “He’s got pictures of the scene. We’ve found nothing out of place and, with all the gravel and hard ground, we can’t find so much as a footprint.”
I took a breath. “All right then. First, we need to get this family interviewed; find out if they knew her or knew of her, what they heard overnight, what they’ve seen...anything that could help us,” I said. “She didn’t get all the way up here on her own and, given the way she’s dressed, I’d put money on there being Amish ties in the mix somewhere.”
Isaac Byler came out of the main house with the paramedics as our group approached the porch. He was refusing to go with them, telling them he felt fine now and that his place was with his family. They were wheeling their transport gurney out with their equipment riding on top where he would have been instead, had he consented to be taken to the hospital.
“Mr. Byler, I’m Sheriff Crane. This is Detective Harding and you’ve met Deputy Treadway. You’re sure you’re feeling okay.”
“I’m just fine. Had a little shock is all.”
“Okay but I want to know if you start feeling any tightness or short of breath.”
I waited for his affirming nod and then I told him, “I’ve been able to identify the young woman you found this morning. Now, we need to ask you and your family some questions.”
“I see,” he said. Well, you better come inside then where it’s warmer than out here.”
Joe got my attention first. “Do you and Harding have this Sheriff? I’d like to wrap the guys up out here and get them to canvassing the area.”
“Good point Joe. Go ahead.” He stepped off the porch and moved toward the two deputies that were watching the squad and the coroner load up to leave.
Shane and I followed Byler inside. I couldn’t help but note, just inside the door, which led us into the main kitchen area, a car seat carrier similar to the Katie had for Jef, sat on the floor. It, with its’ colorful geometric patterned seat cover, looked so out of place in the sparse starkness of the Amish kitchen.
My unasked question was partially answered when Isaac led us into the family gathering room where a teenaged girl sat giving a baby a bottle. His little flannel shirt with a onesie showing at the neck opening and the blanket covered in ducks wrapped partially around him were all the indicators I needed to see that this was an English rather than Amish baby. Byler said something to the girl in the German dialect members of an Amish Order typically used at home and she rose with the baby and took her leave from the room as I looked on.
“Your daughter cares for children?” I asked him then.
“Aye,” he nodded as he answered. “From time to time for an English couple that lives nearby.”
Shane was anxious to get going. “Is your wife available Mr. Byler?” he asked, almost before the man finished speaking.
Isaac called out for her, again in German, and then turned back to us. “I don’t know how much help we can be,” he said. “I’ve never seen the girl I found today before and your officers wouldn’t let Martha or any of the children go out there.”
Mrs. Byler entered the room then and I introduced myself and Shane. We all sat then and I started off.
“Mr. and Mrs. Byler, I knew the young woman that was in your buggy personally. Her name is Katie Hershberger. She’s from a family in the southeastern part of the county. Is her name familiar to either of you?”
As I knew would be the case, Martha Byler deferred to her husband to answer. He scratched his head and took his time responding. Finally, he told us, “The name Hershberger is; there are many of them, but not Katie. Who is her father?”
“Samuel,” I supplied.
“Aye, I know a Samuel Hershberger. He goes to the auctions at Krell’s from time to time, as I do, if it’s the same one.”
“Krell’s auction house right out on 60?” Shane asked.
Isaac nodded.
“How would Hershberger get there from the southern part of the county?”
I hadn’t expected that question out of Shane but then, we didn’t have many cases that involved the Amish and I often forgot how inexperienced he still was with some things.
Isaac didn’t seem surprised though. “He has a driver bring him up. He buys box lots for his store and even livestock there from time to time.”
“We are talking about the right man then,” I told them. “Samuel Hershberger does run a store. When did you see him last?”
“He comes to the auctions every couple of weeks.”
“Does he ever bring anyone with him?” Shane asked.
“A son, but not always. His driver usually stays the whole time and helps him load what he buys.”
Switching gears, I asked, “Did either of you hear anything at all last night out of the ordinary?”
Isaac Byler shook his head. “It was as quiet as usual, wasn’t it mother?” Martha simply nodded her agreement.
“No cars approaching,” Shane asked them, “or voices or anything that might have had your dog on alert?”
Martha spoke up now. “He sleeps in the kitchen, near the stove. He got to fussing for a minute or two last night, didn’t he Isaac?”
“I yelled and he quieted down.”
“Did you notice anything unusual this morning outside, especially out in front then?”
“Twas pretty dark when we were first out there,” Isaac said, “me and the dog.”
Martha’s expression changed from polite interest to one more animated and she rose, excusing herself, saying she’d be right back.
Less than a minute later, she returned carrying a full laundry basket. She put it down on the straight back chair she’d vacated and began sorting through it. “These are the Sunday clothes I washed yesterday. I hung them on the porch to dry as there was a breeze yesterday, noon. It didn’t cross my mind as I was pulling them in this morning but now I see. Ruth, our eldest daughter...her dress isn’t here.”
I winced at the thought of clothes drying in a winter breeze but I pressed on. “Katie had left the Amish,” I told them then, “but, when your husband found her this morning, she was in a blue dress similar to what you’re wearing now.”
“That must be what old Amos heard,” Isaac said. “Someone removed Ruth’s dress.”
“That poor child,” Martha replied. She picked up the basket, placed it on the floor and sat back down in the chair. I waited for her to say more but she was silent.
Shane stayed behind and joined the patrol deputies in their canvass of the area. Given that none of the Byler’s heard a thing but the dog, Amos, I didn’t hold a lot of hope that their few neighbors scattered in the area would have heard or seen anything unusual.
As I drove toward the station thinking all the while of Katie, my heart grew heavier still. Instead of taking the route that would lead me there, I veered the opposite way after crossing the river and, in a few more minutes driving, found myself in a different part of town.
Thinking I really should be going to tell the Hershberger’s of their daughter’s death, I nonetheless slid down out of my vehicle and approached the little house Hannah and her friends shared for the second time in as many days.
The place was quiet...the whole neighborhood was quiet. Hannah’s car wasn’t visible in front of the house or in the drive. I took the walkway up and started to step up on the little porch but then, figuring she was either at work or school and not home anyway, I turned to go.
I’d nearly reached the end of the walk when she called out to me from behind me, “Mel?”
I turned back and faced her but didn’t move toward her at first.
“I didn’t think you were home,” was all I could manage to say.
Even so young, she was quick to catch the gravity in my tone and in my stance. She knew without me having to say a word but I told her anyway. She sank onto her front step and cried.
Now I moved from the spot I’d been rooted too. Reaching out a hand, I took her arm under an elbow and applied light pressure until she stood. “Let’s go inside,” I said. “It’s cold and you’re not dressed for it.”
Several minutes passed while Hannah composed herself but then the questions started coming. I demurred and wouldn’t answer other than to tell her we’d found Katie in Dresden.
“Did she have family or friends there that you know of?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Mel. I don’t think so.” She sniffled and reached for another tissue.
“Has she ever said anything at all about going to Dresden or ever having been there?”
“No;” she shook her head, “never.”
“What about you; no work, no school today?”
“I don’t work again until tomorrow morning. I’m not going to class today; not now.”
###
Samuel and Rebecca Hershberger were exactly where I thought they’d be; working in their store. A teenage girl I hadn’t seen the day before took over the counter while I walked with them back to their home 50 yards away to tell them what had happened.
Rebecca was inconsolable. She started blaming herself for Katie leaving. Samuel remained stoic and reminded his wife that it was Katie’s choice to leave but it was obvious to me that he too was upset.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” I told them again, once Rebecca regained some of her composure. “Given the circumstances, it’s necessary that I treat this like a murder investigation. Katie was found in Dresden. Do you have any idea how she would have gotten up there or who she might have known up there?”
They were both quiet for the better part of a minute. Samuel was the first to speak, “She’d never been there, before she left here. I don’t know about after she left but...” He trailed off and stared at the wall across from himself then. Finally, he repeated, “She’s never been there. She’s hardly been anywhere; Zanesville for a doctor once for high fever when she was younger.”
Realizing they knew nothing at all that could help me, I asked then, “The boy...young man...who was in your shop yesterday, Jonah Gingrich. He stopped me when I left and asked after Katie.”
“He’s a good boy. A fine young man,” Rebecca said.
Samuel pursed his lips but nodded his agreement.
“It seems he had some feelings for her at one time.”
“He asked me to court her,” Samuel admitted.
“Yes. He told me. Look,” I said, “I don’t want to get him into any sort of trouble and please, don’t think badly of him; He was concerned for Katie and her safety but he wouldn’t tell me why. He only said that she was safer out of the Order than in it. Why might he think that?”
They were both quiet. Martha looked away and stared off somewhere. Samuel kept his eyes on me but he held no discernable expression other than that of a polite listener.
I knew I had to find Jonah. He was the only one who seemed to have any sort of information that would be of help to me. “Can you tell me where Jonah lives, please?”
Samuel cleared his throat and stood up from his chair. “There’s no need to go and drag that boy into this.”
“Mr. Hershberger,” I took an edgier tone as I stood also, “your daughter is gone. Your grandson may be in some sort of danger. I need to find out if Katie’s death was an accident or if it was intentional and, if so, who was after her and why. She may have confided something to Jonah that could help.”
Martha finally looked back to me. “Where is the baby now?” she asked.
He’s safe with my family still.
“What will happen to him?”
“I honestly don’t know. Given Katie’s death, he’ll be a ward of the state. Children’s Services will have to get involved.”
“But, he’s one of us...” She looked at her husband who was now focused on her. “Sam,” she said to him softly.
Samuel Hershberger took a single step toward his wife but then he paused, turned to me and said, “The boy needs to come here.”
I had very mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, they were his blood relatives. On the other, there was the whole mystery surrounding who his father was and now his mother’s death. To them, I simply said, “I understand.”
The Hershbergers’ relented and told me where Jonah Gingrich lived. I left them and went straight there, a small farm about a half mile away as Jonah had said.
A young woman that I assumed to be Jonah’s sister met me at the door. She told me Jonah was working; that he worked as a carpenter, weather permitting, for a Mennonite business. They’d been doing an inside remodeling job somewhere but she didn’t know where; only that the business owner sent a car or a van around to pick Jonah up when jobs were too far to go by horse and buggy and Jonah had left with such a driver early that morning, just after 6:00 AM.
She didn’t know the name of the driving service and that didn’t surprise me. So many of the people that provided transportation for the Amish worked under the table and off the books that they were affectionately known in politically incorrect circles as ‘Yoder Toters’.
The girl did tell me the man Jonah worked for was an Alden Plett. At least I could narrow his potential employers down to about a dozen men within a 50-mile radius. Pletts are as common as Yoders, Bylers and Hershbergers in the county. I had my work cut out for me.