Amish Country Murder

ONE

Her memory before waking up in the basement the night before was blank. Her head ached. Vision blurred. Dried blood caked the makeshift bandage secured around her head. She was completely at her kidnapper’s mercy. And he had none.

Thinking clearly with her heart threatening to explode from her chest was nearly impossible, but she had to try.

Her hands were zip-tied in front of her body. Beneath her, the cold of the cement floor seeped deep into her limbs. She was tethered to a support beam by a rope around her ankle.

He’d blindfolded her, but she’d pulled it free the second he was gone. She’d been in and out of consciousness most of the day, her body broken from the things he’d put her through.

The room was dark now. A twelve-by-twelve-inch window displayed the blackness of the night outside.

Through the drilling pain in her head, a niggling of something far more terrifying was just out of her reach. A nightmare waiting to be revealed. Last night, when she’d awakened to find the monster standing over her, she thought she’d heard another woman scream. Her stomach clenched. She prayed it was but a hallucination.

Is anyone there? Her frightened voice echoed through the basement and received no answer.

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember anything from her past beyond waking up in this basement to him. Not how she’d come to be here, or what she’d been doing before he took her. Nothing. Yet one thing was clear. Without help, she would not walk out of this basement alive.

Outside, a car slowed. The garage door chugged up and fear spiraled throughout her body. He was home.

Somewhere in the house, a door opened. Closed. Her heart pumped fear-induced adrenaline through her body as footsteps approached upstairs.

Light crept in from above and terror filled her to capacity. She closed her eyes and clamped down on her bottom lip to hold back a scream. The hurt he’d inflicted on her the night before had threatened to break her. He’d enjoyed every bit of her pain. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of hearing her scream again.

The steps leading to her torture chamber creaked. Each sound grated along her frayed nerves. She willed this to be a nightmare she would wake up from any minute.

His loud breathing filled the room. Vague memories of a safer place crept in. Real? Imagined? She wasn’t sure, but she needed to believe it existed, because going there had helped her reclaim her name earlier. Catherine. She was Catherine.

The shrill sound of a phone ringing came from upstairs. He snorted in anger, furious to have the fun postponed. She could feel his gaze boring into her.

He never spoke. Not once since she’d woken last night to him standing over her had he said a single word to her.

With a growl, he forced the blindfold back over her eyes. But not before she’d caught a glimpse of him. He was dressed in dark clothing, a ski mask covering his face. His eyes were dark and disturbing—filled with evil. They would haunt her forever.

He trudged up the steps and slammed the door hard. Catherine listened carefully, almost certain he hadn’t locked it behind him.

This was her chance. If she wanted to live, she had to break free of her restraints and escape before he returned.

Catherine jerked the blindfold down. He’d tied the double knot around her ankle so tight it had rubbed her ankle raw. Her limbs were weak. She barely had the strength to grasp the first knot. She wanted to live. Wanted to see... Her memory would not fill in the blanks, but she was certain there were people out there who loved her.

Tugging as hard as she could, Catherine worked on the first knot with her fettered hands. No matter how hard she tried, she could not free it.

Tears stung her eyes. She scrubbed them away with anger. She would not give in to the helpless feeling. To him. Would not let him win.

When she glanced around the dark room, her attention snagged on something near the stairs. The sliver of light coming from beneath the door above glinted on metal. The knife he’d used. It must have fallen from his pocket. If she could get it...

She flattened herself on the floor and strained, yet the knife was still out of reach. Defeat hovered, urging her to give up and accept her fate, but she could not, because she wanted to live. She stretched her fingers as far as possible. Touched the knife. It slid farther away. The last bit of hope threatened to evaporate before she saw it—what appeared to be a piece of wood splintered from the banister. Close enough to touch.

It took three tries before Catherine reached it. Holding it tightly, she thrust the splinter at the knife. After several attempts she was able to maneuver it close enough to grasp. The mere act depleted her waning energy.

Clutching the knife awkwardly, she used her teeth to open the blade, then finally started sawing at the zip tie on her wrists. The knife slipped from her hand and she had to start again.

Stuffing frustration down deep, Catherine kept her attention on cutting the zip tie. After several more tries, it snapped free. The rope around her ankle proved more difficult.

The man’s angry voice filtered down from upstairs. It’s my dog and my property. If you don’t like its barking, then perhaps you should move. Something about his voice was familiar, but there was no time to consider how she might know him. She had to get away.

She sawed harder. The rope frayed. Almost there... A few more rounds with the knife and she was free.

Putting one foot in front of the other became an insurmountable effort. She crawled up the steps to the landing. Out of the dark recesses of her mind, the memory of the woman’s scream the night before came back to her. Was it real? She’d been blindfolded at the time. In and out of consciousness most of the day. There’d been no other indication someone else was here with her, so chances were it was just a hallucination. Still, Catherine couldn’t leave without knowing for certain. Clutching the banister, she pulled herself up and struggled back down the steps. Without turning on the light, she searched the shadows of the room. Nothing. Had she been wrong?

In another part of the house, he was still arguing on the phone. Catherine made it back up to the basement door. Eased it open. A cluttered and grimy kitchen faced her. Stale food odors clung to the walls.

The man’s voice came from her left, and the backdoor was straight in front of her. Just a few steps. Drawing in a breath, Catherine gathered her courage and slipped out of the basement prison, listening carefully. More angry words.

Moving to the door, she slid the lock free as quietly as possible. It protested with a squeak. The man stopped arguing. He’d heard.

With her heart in her throat, she ran, her bare feet sinking into the deep snow outside. Numbness set in quickly.

Close by, something charged her, growling and barking. The dog. The gate appeared up ahead. She had to reach it before the beast took her down.

Catherine fumbled with the latch, her fingers trembling. The animal leaped through the air, teeth bared and inches from her face. She could feel its hot breath on her cheek as it reached the end of its chain and fell backward with a yelp.

Finally, she unlocked the gate. Free of the yard, she raced through the darkness. Dressed only in grimy jeans and a T-shirt, she shivered as the cold wind sliced through her weakened body and threatened to knock her down.

Pitch blackness stretched beyond the lights of the house, shrouding what appeared to be a pasture. Behind her, a door crashed open. He was coming! Unable to draw enough air into her body, she fought panic and hopelessness as she stumbled across the uneven field.

Thundering footsteps gained on her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her bruised face. She would not give up. Could not go back to that prison.

His heavy breathing warned that he was close.

"Gott, please help me." Catherine wasn’t sure if she’d said the words aloud, but she suddenly ran faster, the white silk scarf he’d knotted around her neck flapping behind her. The burst of energy could only have come from above.

The cold burned her lungs. One big hand snatched her from behind. Another clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream. She fought him with all her waning strength, kicking out and clawing at the mask on his face, but it was useless. Something was jabbed into her neck. She wrestled to free herself, but soon the world blurred. Darkness closed in around her. Her last thought was that he’d won. He’d won.

A rocking motion woke her. How long had she been unconscious and entombed in this tiny space? She felt around, touching metal above and beside her, and what felt like carpet beneath her. A car trunk. The jostling continued for a while before the vehicle came to a halt. His familiar footsteps approached. He’d taken her from her prison. Why? The only explanation...he was planning to kill her.

No matter what, she would not die without putting up a fight.

The trunk swung open, but she was ready for him, her feet in position. With all her strength, she kicked him in his midsection. He slumped over and Catherine clambered out of the car and ran.

Up ahead, the noise of rushing water captured her attention. She ran toward the sound, and a bridge came into view, with lights beyond it. If she could make it to them someone would help her.

She stepped onto the bridge and almost slipped. It was covered in ice and snow, forcing her to slow down. She glanced over her shoulder. He was there, but he didn’t appear to be in a hurry. In his hand, he carried something. Why wasn’t he coming for her?

Slipping and sliding, Catherine kept moving. When she was halfway across the bridge, a bang split the night, louder than her ragged breathing. Pain seared through her body and shoved her forward. She lost her footing. Slipped. The momentum of the bullet piercing her shoulder was too much.

The railing gave way beneath her weight, and Catherine screamed as she plunged through the air. Her hands grasped for something to hold on to, but there was nothing. Unable to blink, she watched as the raging water came up fast. Seconds ticked by while her heart exploded with fear.

She hit the river hard, the cold sucking the breath from her lungs. Catherine was sinking and she didn’t know how to swim. Frozen tears clung to her cheeks. Up above, he leaned over the bridge. Watched her struggle.

Her face slipped beneath the water’s surface. Her body grew limp. She was dying. He’d won. She’d fought so hard to live, but it wasn’t enough.

I beg your pardon? FBI Profiler Sutter Brenneman couldn’t believe he’d heard Sheriff Walker Collins correctly. The sheriff stood in the doorway of the conference room where Sutter, his partner, and two agents from the Montana Division of Criminal Investigation had been working around the clock, poring through the information they were able to obtain from the latest victims. Which amounted to little.

So far, six young women had died at the hands of a killer whose identity remained as elusive as his motives. Yet one thing was without question. A serial killer was on the loose in Montana, and they needed to figure out what motivated him to commit these murders before he could take another innocent woman. And the clock was ticking.

Sutter rubbed his eyelids. He wasn’t sure if his sleep-deprived brain had created the possibility of their first real break.

I said you need to head to Eagle’s Nest Memorial Hospital right away. A young woman was just brought in. Two Amish boys from the West Kootenai community pulled her from Silver Creek a few hours ago and carried her to the hospital. She’s been shot. The doctor is in with her now. We don’t know anything more about the extent of her injuries.

Sutter scraped back his chair. The expression on the sheriff’s face confirmed the news was big. You think...? He couldn’t finish.

Yeah, I do. In fact, I’m sure of it. We have the first living victim of the Dead of Night Killer.

The sheriff’s words sank in while Sutter swallowed his disgust at the name the media had given the perp, who took each of his victims during the dead of night.

How can you be so sure? Sutter asked while his partner, James Pennington, grabbed his jacket and started for the door.

Because she had a white silk scarf tied around her neck. Like the other victims. That information has never been released to the media.

Go, Garrett Miles, one of the DCI agents, told him. Trevor and I will head to the crime scene to see if we can find anything useful there.

Sutter shoved his arms into his coat and followed his partner without a word.

Ask for Dr. Rolland. He’s the one treating her. The two Amish boys are at the hospital. I’ll head to Silver Creek with Trevor and Garrett, and start canvassing, the sheriff called after him.

Sutter barely heard him, his mind was on what lay ahead. He and James practically ran from the station. His partner clicked the key fob to their Bureau-issued black Suburban and then slid behind the wheel, while Sutter scrambled into the passenger seat.

They had a live victim. He couldn’t believe they’d caught such a break. Up until now, the only things tying the victims to each other were the method of death—a single gunshot wound to the chest—and the white silk scarf tied around each victim’s neck. Plus the note, You made me do this. The profiler in him was still trying to unravel the meaning behind that.

James backed out of the parking space, shoved the SUV into Drive and floored the gas pedal, dodging the light evening traffic until the blue hospital sign came into view. After turning, he drove the short distance to the lot and whipped into the nearest vacant spot.

They exited at the same time, as if choreographed. Inside the building, Sutter advanced to the receptionist’s desk, showed his badge and told her who they wished to speak with.

The young woman’s troubled gaze swept from one to the other before she picked up the phone and spoke briefly.

Dr. Rolland will be down in a minute, she assured them with a nervous smile. No doubt the news of the killer, along with the FBI’s presence in Eagle’s Nest, had the citizens on edge.

Sutter thanked her and stepped away, unable to sit. Too much at stake. He wanted to speak to their victim quickly. Find out what she could tell them about the Dead of Night Killer.

The elevator dinged. Both Sutter and James whirled at the sound. The doors slid open, and a tall, middle-aged man in a white coat stepped out and glanced around. Spotting them, he headed their way as Sutter suppressed a smile. He and James obviously fit the part of government agents.

Dr. Rolland? Sutter asked, once the man reached them.

He nodded. Yes, that’s correct.

Special Agents Brenneman and Pennington. We’re here about the gunshot victim who was brought in earlier.

Come with me. We can talk on the way. The doctor headed for the elevator. Sutter and James scrambled to keep up.

The doors opened, and all three men stepped inside the elevator.

The two Amish boys who took her to the hospital probably saved her life. Dr. Rolland spared them a look. They were night fishing when she fell into the creek. I assumed you’d want to speak with them, as well, so I asked them to stay. He punched the third-floor button. We removed a bullet from her left shoulder. A few inches lower and it would be a different story. She’s awake now. All she’s been able to tell us is her first name. Catherine. She doesn’t remember her last, or any family members to contact. The doctor spotted Sutter’s shock and added, As I said, she’s suffered a lot and she took quite a blow to her head. I believe Catherine is suffering from a form of temporary amnesia.

The reality of those words washed over him. This was the last thing Sutter wanted to hear. Their victim couldn’t recall parts of what happened to her. Without her help, they had nothing.

The silence in the elevator car was palpable. Sutter glanced at his phone. Almost midnight. He thought about all the questions he should be asking. You have the bullet? We’ll need it for evidence.

The doors slid open and the doctor stepped out. Yes, we preserved it, along with the scarf she had around her neck.

Good. All Sutter could think about were the horrific things the victim must have gone through. And the realization that she would have to relive it all telling him. Moving beyond something of this magnitude wouldn’t be easy.

Two young boys dressed in Amish clothing sat in the waiting area. Both appeared to be in their early teens. The sight of their traditional garb sent Sutter’s heart back in time. At one point, this could have been him. Was him.

"I’ll take the