Page 9 of Disappeared

I turn my attention to Bonnie. The young Amish woman looks as if she’s about to come apart at the seams—or throw up. “What about Thomas McKee?” I ask. “Has he been angry with you? Has he been angry with the family? Anything like that?”

Bonnie raises her gaze to mine. Through the shimmer of tears, I see a raw and primal fear and realize she’s holding on to the last of her control with a tenuous grip.

“No.” She lowers her face into shaking hands and begins to sob. “I just want my baby. Please, Chief Burkholder, find him. Bring him back to me before something terrible happens.”

I call Dispatch as I pull out of the lane. “Run Thomas McKee through LEADS,” I say, referring to the Law Enforcement Automated Data System, which is a database that interfaces with several other law enforcement platforms.

“You got it,” says my first-shift dispatcher, Lois.

Realizing it’s too early for me to find McKee at the body shop, I head toward his residence. “Check for warrants. See if you can come up with a phone number.”

“Roger that.”

McKee lives with his mother and four sisters in a small frame house near the railroad tracks in Painters Mill proper. I park in the driveway next to a beat-up Ford Focus and jog through the downpour to the front door and knock.

The porch light flicks on and the door swings open. Shirley McKee is in her mid-fifties with hair dyed an unnatural-looking black and makeup more befitting a twentysomething. She’s wearing a pink uniform, and I’m reminded that in addition to her regular shift at the factory in Coshocton, and taking care of all the bookkeeping for the body shop, she also works at LaDonna’s Diner here in Painters Mill.

She takes my measure, not quite managing to conceal the quick rise of anxiety at the sight of my uniform.

I have my badge at the ready. “Is Thomas here?” I ask.

“Morning, Chief.” She’s not happy to see me. Probably because this isn’t the first time I’ve shown up unannounced, asking about her son. “He’s not here.” Frowning, she opens the door the rest of the way and steps back. “Come on in out of the rain.”

I enter a small, cluttered living room that smells of overheated air and last night’s meat loaf. “I need to talk to him,” I say. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“I reckon he went to work early, like always. Got cars needing body work stacked up till Tuesday.” The woman turns away and starts down a narrow hall. “Lookit, I’m late for work. Can we talk while I finish my hair? I gotta be there in fifteen minutes.”

I follow her down a hall, stepping over a pile of dirty clothes, and stop at the doorway to a brightly lit bathroom. She picks up a curling iron and twists a tuft of hair around it.

“What do you want with my son?” she asks.

“I’ve got a missing minor child,” I tell her. “A two-year-old that belongs to Bonnie Kline. I’m told Thomas is the father.”

Her hand freezes. Her eyes dart to mine, hair and work momentarily forgotten. “Little Joe is missing?”

I nod. “Mrs. McKee, is it possible your son is involved?”

“Oh Lord.” She presses her hand against her abdomen. “You think Thomas took him? Is that what that Amish girl told you?”

“All I know is that the boy is missing. We’ve got flash flooding in the area and, as you can imagine, everyone is quite worried.”

The woman sets down the curling iron with a little too much force. “Look, I don’t pry into my son’s business. He’s a grown man now, and he’s got more than his share of responsibility. But let me tell you something, Chief Burkholder. Thomas would not take a two-year-old baby without permission.”

From where I’m standing, I can hear the salvo of rain against the roof. I think of the swollen creek and just how vulnerable a two-year-old is and I tamp down a rise of impatience.

Shirley McKee isn’t finished. “Thomas was crazy about that girl. She’s the first thing he’s cared about since—” Her voice breaks, but she presses on. “Problem is, her family didn’t want a damn thing to do with Thomas. All because he isn’t Amish. Like he wasn’t good enough or something.”

“Did Thomas ever mention wanting to see the boy?” I ask. “Did he ever mention wanting to have a relationship with him? Anything like that?”

The woman raises her finger at me. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on Thomas. He might’ve made a few mistakes in his time, but he’d never do anything like what you’re suggesting.” She huffs. “Kidnapping, for God’s sake. The last thing my son needs in his life is a baby.”

“Mrs. McKee, I just need to talk to him.”

But she’s on a roll and continues as if she didn’t hear me. “And while we’re on the subject of babies, let me tell you something else, Chief Burkholder. From what I hear them holier-than-thou-art Klines don’t take such good care of their little ones anyway.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Last I heard that baby was sick, and that girl’s parents wouldn’t let her take him to the doctor. How’s that for good parenting?”