Amish Christmas Abduction. Dana R. Lynn

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       THREE

      “Chief, you need to come out here.”

      Paul shifted so his phone was wedged between his shoulder and his chin as he shrugged back into his coat. Sergeant Olsen’s voice was slightly muffled, but he could still hear the words clearly. Jerking his shoulder to adjust the fit of the coat, he took the cell phone back in his hand and strode out the sliding doors and back into the cold, snowy night.

      “I’m heading out now, Olsen. Just needed to wait for Sergeant Zee to get here.” He felt a little guilty. She had no idea what was coming when Mary woke up. Maybe it would be fine and Mary would take to her the way she had to Irene. Maybe. But, somehow, he doubted it.

      Thinking of Irene left a hollow feeling in his stomach. Was she safe? Jace would have called if something more had happened. But he couldn’t get the image of the bearded man out of his mind. He didn’t look like a man who would give up. One thing was sure—Paul wouldn’t be able to focus as long as Irene was still in danger. He grabbed his phone and put in a call, directing that someone would drive past her house each hour. Being the chief of police definitely had its perks.

      At the scene, he parked his cruiser in the driveway behind Olsen’s vehicle. It was obvious that the driveway had not been plowed in the past few hours. He couldn’t really tell if he was on the pavement or on the grass. Not that it mattered.

      “Chief.” Olsen trudged through the snow to meet him. “Jackson is with the neighbors right now. The people who called nine-one-one. I figured you might want to go over. And then there are some things in the house I want your opinion on.”

      Paul nodded. “Right. I’ll head right over.” He lifted his gaze to the house. It looked dark and ghoulish at night, very poorly lit. It had obviously not been kept up. Just what horrors did it hide inside? The sooner they finished processing this scene, the easier he would feel.

      Sergeant Jackson was still talking to the family when Paul entered the room.

      “Sir, this is Mr. and Mrs. Zilcher. They called in the shots when the man started shooting after Irene. I mean, Mrs. Martello.”

      Paul focused in on the stressed faces of the young couple. What a way to spend their evening.

      “Folks, thanks for calling it in. Mrs. Martello is safe, no doubt because you were so brave.” That was certainly true. He shuddered to think what would have happened if the couple hadn’t notified the police. He wouldn’t have known to head in this direction, and Irene...

      He took in a deep breath, noticing that everyone was staring at him. Now was not the time to think of Irene. Pushing thoughts of the lovely widow out of his mind, he recommitted himself to getting to the bottom of the case. As soon as humanly possible. With lots of Divine help.

      Lord, I place Irene, my officers, that child, and all involved in Your hands.

      “Do you know the people who live in that house?”

      Mrs. Zilcher bit her lip, then she ducked her head, as if ashamed. “I know it sounds bad, but we avoided them. They seemed, I don’t know... Honey?”

      She turned to her husband.

      “The first time we saw them, the younger man—not the one who fired the shots—yelled at our older son for playing too near their property. Now, Joel is only six. He wasn’t doing any harm, but that man scared him so much that ever since, we have just avoided them at all costs.”

      Paul nodded. It made sense. “And would I be correct to assume that your son never went near the house again?”

      “Chief, this has always been a very safe area. But in the past two months since they arrived, I don’t even let him go outside in the backyard alone. And it’s fenced in.”

      Smart move.

      “What about this afternoon? After the man pursued Mrs. Martello, did he come back?”

      “No. But within half an hour, all of them took off.” Mrs. Zilcher twisted her wedding ring. “I didn’t see them come out, but I heard lots of loud revving, and then the truck and the car both left. I haven’t seen them since.”

      The man who went after Irene must have warned them when he saw Paul’s police car approaching.

      Paul broke into their narrative. “Who is ‘them’? Can you describe the people you saw there? Anything you can remember will help. Age, gender, descriptions...anything at all.”

      “Well, let’s see,” Mrs. Zilcher ticked them off on her fingers. “There was that young guy. Just an average-looking man. Maybe in his early twenties? Blondish hair, collar length. Average build. Really, no one you’d look twice at if you saw him on the street or at the store. Then the big guy who shot at Irene, our service coordinator. He was a handsome enough man. Well groomed. But he looked so fierce. Probably late thirties, early forties. Not overweight, but big. Definitely over six feet. The last guy I never got a real good look at.” She turned to her husband.

      He shook his head. “I didn’t, either. He was usually pretty covered up. Hats, hooded sweatshirts, hunting coats. Got the impression that he tried to keep from being noticed. Only glimpsed him briefly when I did see him. And then I only really saw him from the back.”

      “Did you ever notice a young woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, at the house?”

      Both of them shook their heads.

      So how long had she been there? And was she one of them or another victim? Paul was starting to get a very ugly picture in his mind.

      “What about any children?”

      “Children?” СКАЧАТЬ