Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult Page A

suggest smothering.”
    â€œSmothering? This isn't some Jersey girl giving birth in the toilet at the Paramus Mall and then going off to finish shopping, Lizzie. The Amish don't even kill flies, I'll bet.”
    â€œWe made national headlines last year when two Amish kids were peddling cocaine,” Lizzie countered. “What's 60 Minutes going to say to a murder?” She watched a spark come to George's eyes as he weighed his personal feelings about charging an Amish girl against the promise of a high-profile murder case. “There's a dead baby in an Amish barn, and an Amish kid who gave birth,” she said softly. “You do the math, George. I wasn't the one who asked for this to happen, but even I can see that we've got to charge her, and we've got to do it soon. She's being released today.”
    He meticulously cut his sunny-side-up eggs into bite-size squares, then placed his knife and fork down on the edge of his plate without eating a single one. “If we can prove smothering, we might be able to charge Murder One. It's willful, premeditated, and deliberate. She hid the pregnancy, had the baby, and did away with it.” George glanced up. “Did you question her?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd?”
    Lizzie grimaced. “She still doesn't think she had a baby.”
    â€œWhat the hell does that mean?”
    â€œShe's sticking to her story.”
    George frowned. “Did she look crazy to you?”
    There was a big difference between legally crazy and colloquially crazy, but in this case, Lizzie didn't think George was making the distinction. “She looks like the girl next door. One who happens to read the Bible instead of V. C. Andrews.”
    â€œOh, yeah,” George sighed. “This one's gonna go to trial.”
    Sarah Fisher pinned her daughter's kapp into place. “There. Now you're ready.”
    Katie sank down on the bed, waiting for the candy-striper to appear with a wheelchair and take her down to the lobby. The doctor had discharged her minutes before, giving her mother some pills in case Katie had any more pain. She shifted, folding her arms across her stomach.
    Aunt Leda put an arm around her. “You can stay with me if you're not ready to be at home yet.”
    Katie shook her head. “Denke . But I ought to get back. I want to get back.” She smiled softly. “I know that doesn't make any sense.”
    Leda squeezed her shoulders. “It makes more sense to me, probably, than to anyone else.”
    As the door swung open, Katie jumped to her feet, eager to be on her way. But instead of the young volunteer she'd been expecting, two uniformed policemen entered. Sarah stepped back, falling into place beside Leda and Katie; a united, frightened front. “Katie Fisher?”
    She could feel her knees shaking beneath her skirts. “That's me.”
    One policeman took her gently by the arm. “We have a warrant for your arrest. You've been charged with the murder of the baby found in your father's barn.”
    The second policeman came up beside her. Katie looked frantically over his shoulder, trying to reach her mother's eyes. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said. “Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to be represented by an attorney—”
    â€œNo!” Sarah screamed, reaching for her daughter as the policemen began to lead Katie through the doorway. She ran after them, ignoring the curious glances of the medical personnel and the cries of her own sister.
    Leda finally caught up with Sarah at the entrance of the hospital. Katie was crying, arms stretched toward her mother as the policeman set a hand on her kapp and ducked her inside the squad car. “You can meet us at the district court, ma'am,” he said politely to Sarah, then got into the front seat.
    As the car drove away, Leda put her arms around her sister. “They took my