“Pink blanket,” Dillon said. “Anyway, our guys also grabbed the Dardens’ computers and are mining the data down in the geek cave.” He paused. “As far as the parents go, Mom is totally beside herself. Dad not so much. Guy seems guarded, but that could just be good old Nordic stoicism.”
Like a good partner, Max Montgomery recognized his cue and stepped in with his own assessment. “The babysitter, Ashley Copeland, wasn’t a lot of help. She was pretty freaked out and was able to give only a rudimentary description of her assailant.”
“You don’t think she knew him?” Thacker asked. “That she let him in?”
“Oh, she let him in, all right, but it’s doubtful that she knew him. We talked to her in the hospital, but her nose was broken and she was on some kind of IV drip, so we didn’t get much out of her. The girl’s mom assured us we could talk to her later so she can give a formal statement.”
Montgomery, who was silver-haired and handsome in a slightly grizzled sort of way, stood up and kicked back his chair. “But there are a couple of interesting things. One of the Dardens’ neighbors was out walking his dog, a big slobbery brown malamute, around eight thirty last night. He said he saw a couple of people kind of bent over and hustling toward a junky-looking car. Said the only reason he remembered the incident at all was because the car had one of those yellow smiley face stickers pasted on the back bumper.” Max shrugged, strolled to the back of the room, and dimmed the lights. “And, of course, we got this. Footage from a nanny cam.”
“A lucky break,” Afton murmured. She knew this could be a real help.
Max flicked on a ceiling-mounted projector that was connected to a laptop computer sitting on the table. He punched a few keys and the projector hummed to life. “Those of us who have been up all night have already seen the baby cam footage. But you all need to see this, too.”
“It’s not the best quality,” Dillon put in. “Dad cheaped out on the equipment.”
“Is there sound?” Thacker asked.
“Minimal,” Max said.
On the screen, a jumpy black-and-white image of a baby nursery burst into view.
Afton leaned forward and saw that the time code in the right-hand corner read, 20:17:45.569641.
“We moved the video forward to the part just before the kidnapper enters the baby’s room,” Dillon explained.
The footage was grainy and dim, but Afton could see that the room was large by nursery room standards. The crib was frilly and elaborate and surrounded by stuffed animals. There was also a changing table, rocking chair, and of course, the sleeping baby.
The baby looked to be a few months old. A little girl. She was swaddled in a puffy quilt, her little cherub face looking peaceful and innocent in her slumber. The soft, easy breathing of the baby reminded Afton of the many nights she had stood in her own children’s rooms, gazing at them with a mixture of tenderness and awe.
There was the sound of a muffled scream and the child seemed to stir in her sleep.
“Babysitter just got jacked,” Dillon said. Then silence returned and the camera continued to roll as the baby slept on.
Two minutes later, a dark shadow fell across the crib. Afton and the others in the room held their breath. Then someone slipped directly in front of the camera. To Afton, it reminded her of a scene from that old movie Nosferatu, when the slithery, wispy figure of the vampire casts his shadow, then slowly oozes into the frame.
“Jesus,” one of the uniformed officers breathed. “That could be a woman.But it’s hard to tell.”
“Nobody said that men had a lock on kidnapping,” Afton muttered under her breath.
“So a woman? We’re looking for a woman?” the officer asked. He sounded shocked and more than a little dismayed.
“We think maybe a woman working with a male partner,” Dillon said. “That’s what the babysitter seemed to indicate.” He consulted his notes again. “And there was a dusting of snow last night, so there was a pair of tracks on the sidewalk. One large set, one a little smaller, just where the dog walker guy said they’d be.”
“Are there any other leads?” Afton asked.
“I was just getting to that,” Thacker said. “There are a few . . . interesting aspects to this case. It seems that Susan Darden, the baby’s mother, attended a doll show yesterday at the Skylark Mall. From what she’s given us so far, the only person Mrs. Darden spoke to was a woman by the name of Molly who makes what is termed reborn dolls.”
There was a cacophony of grunts and mumbles around the table.
“What’re those?” asked Andy Farmer, one of the detectives. “Retread dolls.”
“Reborn,” Thacker said, making a disparaging face. “They’re dolls that have been painted and reworked so they resemble real live babies.”
More murmurs ensued. “Sounds like real fruitcake stuff,” Max muttered.
“Is this doll lady a suspect?” Afton asked.
“We’re not ruling anything out at this point,” Thacker said. “Especially since Mrs. Darden gave this woman her phone number. The other thing is, reborn dolls are apparently some kind of cult thing. Apparently, hundreds of these dolls are sold over the Internet for big bucks.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from a manila folder and passed them around the table. “Here. I had Angel make printouts from some of the more popular websites.”
“Plastic dolls,” Afton muttered, studying the splash page of a website called Anita’s Babykins. “Painted and molded and dressed so they resemble newborns.” It was the first she’d ever heard of this kind of thing. An interesting concept, she decided, but with a slight creep factor.
“A lot of these reborn doll makers are very proprietary about their creations,” Thacker said. “In fact, they’re big on having buyers sign actual adoption papers. So that’s another wacky, off-kilter aspect to this case.”
“You said a mouthful,” Max said.
“Are there security tapes from the mall?” Afton asked.
“We’re working on that,” Dillon said.
“Obviously, this doll lady is the first angle we have to work,” Thacker said. “But there are a few other wrinkles, too. The husband, Richard Darden, recently resigned his post as VP of Marketing at Novamed. Now he’s over at Synthotech with a big-shot job in their new products division. But the powers that be at Novamed have accused him of breaking his confidentiality agreement and taking trade secrets, certain proprietary information, out the door with him.”
“Has Novamed filed suit against him?” Farmer asked.
Thacker sorted through his hastily gathered file. “Ah . . . yes, they have,” he responded.
“You think this kidnapping could be some sort of retaliation?” Afton asked. The idea sounded off the charts to her, but she had to ask.
“I don’t know what to think,” Thacker said. He reached a hand up and scrubbed distractedly at his mop of curly gray hair. “It doesn’t feel like it. Corporate execs don’t usually get their hands dirty by hiring someone to nick a baby out of its bassinette. But . . . we gotta look at them anyway.”
“This could be a straight-out kidnapping for ransom,” Max said.
“Maybe the Dardens will get a phone call demanding money,” Afton said.
“Maybe they already got the phone call,” Max said. He moved around the table and took his same seat across from Afton.
“No, no, we’ve already pulled their phone records,” Thacker said. “There’s nothing unusual. And we’re currently monitoring all their lines. No calls like that have come in.”
“Did you put out an APB to area hospitals?” Afton asked.
This time Max answered. “That’s the first thing we did. Alerted area clinics, hospitals, and doctors’ offices. Advised them to be on the alert for any newborns that are brought in under what might be suspicious circumstances. And we strongly advised them to ask for positive ID from any new parents
whose children aren’t current patients.”
“Has an Amber Alert been sent out?” Afton asked. “Is the FBI involved?”
Max rolled his eyes. “Yes, and we’ve met with our local federal agents once already.”
“I just hope those techno-turds have the decency to stay out of our way,” Dillon said.
“Listen up,” Thacker said. “Even if you feel their hot doggy breath on the backs of your necks, I don’t want to see any territorial shit. Job one is to retrieve that poor little baby and put her back in her crib or jolly jumper or whatever the hell. Okay? Is that understood?”
“Sure,” Dillon said, looking unhappy.
Andy Farmer tapped the end of his pencil against the table. “If there’s a nanny cam,” he asked, “is there also a nanny?”
“There was,” Max said. “A woman by the name of Jilly Hudson. She worked for the Dardens for about two months, starting the week before the baby arrived. Now Hudson is currently studying for her master’s degree in early childhood development at the University of Minnesota.” He pressed his hands together and steepled his fingers. “Hudson says she was staying at her parents’ home last night and her story checks out.”
“So there you have it,” Thacker said. “I want you people to get out there, rip these twin towns apart if you have to, and find that kid.”
“Yes, sir,” Dillon said.
“What I want from you,” Thacker said, turning toward Afton, “is to do what you do best. Function as a liaison between the Dardens and MPD. Work as closely as you can with Max, since he’s going to be lead detective.” Thacker paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Just remember, you’re not doing any detecting. You’re community liaison officer.”
“Right,” Afton said. Now she was the one who looked unhappy. The liaison thing hadn’t really been her ultimate career choice. She’d much rather be an integral part of Max’s team, sniffing around for clues, cowboying after the bad guys. But her master’s in social work had made her a natural candidate for her current job, and she was lucky to get that at the time. Now she seemed stuck in limbo. But hope springs eternal and Afton harbored a secret plan. Do a superb job, continue taking classes in law enforcement, wow everyone with her investigating prowess, and sneak in the back door. If there even was such a thing.
“Everybody listen up,” Thacker said, pulling himself to his full height and addressing the entire table now. “Any dealings with the Dardens, try to have Afton present. She’s been specially trained for this. This is sensitive stuff and—”
“Women are sensitive by nature,” Afton finished. Her voice carried a slightly acerbic tone. She was about to say something else, then stopped. Thacker had always been fair with her and she didn’t want to piss him off too badly. He had, after all, taken a chance on her. Plucked her from the ranks of data entry clerks and elevated her to the liaison role.
“You got that right,” Thacker said, looking annoyed. “So everyone make sure you’re damn sensitive!”
* * *
SUSAN and Richard Darden were hunkered down in Thacker’s office. They’d already spent hours with the FBI and the Minneapolis PD; now they were waiting for a visit with Afton before they headed home.
In the locker room, Afton shucked out of her fleece top and grabbed a navy blue blazer from her locker. It was a conservatively cut Talbots blazer that she kept for just such meetings. She struggled into it, and then, feeling a little breathless and unsettled, headed for her meeting.
“How are they doing?” Afton asked Angel Graham as she breezed into the deputy chief’s outer office. Angel was Thacker’s secretary and had been his right-hand counsel, confessor, and provider of homemade coffee cake for at least a dozen years.
“Not so good,” Angel replied. She was seven months pregnant and looking fretful. “I feel so bad for them,” she said, nodding at the closed door and absently massaging her stomach through a fuzzy pink sweater. “Guilty even.”
“Don’t be,” Afton told her.
* * *
HELLO,” Afton said. She tried to keep her voice sympathetic but calm as she eased into Thacker’s office to meet Susan and Richard Darden. “I’m Afton Tangler, community liaison officer for the Minneapolis Police Department.” They shook hands, Richard looking stoic and somber, Susan leaking tears like crazy.
“This is our attorney, Steven Slocum,” Richard said, indicating a tall, hawk-nosed man who hadn’t bothered to stand up.
“Nice to meet you,” Afton said, shaking hands with Slocum, wishing he wasn’t here.
Afton sat on a straight-backed chair directly across from the Dardens and tried to focus every inch of her being on them. “I want to offer you my deepest concern and assure you that the department is doing everything possible to solve this case,” she said.
“So is the FBI,” Slocum said stiffly. “They already have a team in place at the Dardens’ Kenwood home.” He snapped open the latch on his briefcase as if to punctuate his sentence. “Have for the last ten hours.”
“Obviously they’re taking the lead in this,” Afton continued. “But the MPD is working with them in complete concert, doing everything necessary to assist. I know our crime scene team is there as well. I want you to know, however, that if there is anything, anything at all, that you need, any question you want answered, any issue that needs to be resolved, I’m here to run interference for you. So please feel free to contact me.” Afton handed each of the distraught parents one of her business cards. “Twenty-four/seven, day or night. Don’t hesitate to call.”
Richard Darden rubbed her business card with his thumb, then put it in his inside jacket pocket and nodded.
“The media,” Afton said, “is going to hound you relentlessly. Your first instinct may be to shy away from them but just remember . . . if we use them to our advantage, they can reach millions of viewers and listeners.”
“Got it,” Richard Darden said. He looked like he was ready to get the hell out of there.
Susan Darden continued to leak tears. “Our baby,” she began in a halting voice. “Elizabeth Ann. She . . . she took her own sweet time to arrive.”
“You don’t have to talk about this,” Richard said, but Susan shook her head defiantly.
“Please,” she said, “I want to, it’s important to me.”
Afton leaned forward, gently placed a hand on top of Susan’s clasped hands. “Tell me.”
“We tried for three years,” Susan said. “Endured two miscarriages, had to go through three rounds of IVF. But I finally got pregnant with Elizabeth Ann. She was our own little miracle. When she was born, I never knew such happiness could exist.” Her voice cracked and she sobbed quietly, defeatedly, for a few moments. “Please, she’s everything to us.”
“The FBI and MPD are pulling out all the stops on this,” Afton said. “They’re good people, smart people. They’ll find her, I know they will.”
“Bless you,” Susan sobbed.
5
AFTON cracked open the door to the conference room and peered in. Max was sitting by himself at the table, looking somber and a little tired. “Hey, Max,” she said. “Got a second?”
Max glanced up. “Sure.” Manila folders and pages of notes were spread out around him. Max was old school, not always in sync with technology. Case in point: He had a perfectly good HP laptop sitting on his desk, but claimed to prefer actual paper and handwritten notes.
Afton slipped into the chair across from Max. She was feeling edgy after her meeting with the Dardens. She figured that talking to him might help alleviate some of the pent-up anxiety and fear that had spilled over into her psyche.
Max seemed to read her mind. “You talked to the Dardens?” he asked.
Afton nodded. “And their lawyer.”
“Yeah,” Max breathed. “I heard they brought their lawyer along. Slocum.” He said the man’s name like he was referring to a ste
aming heap of manure. “The one who got that crazy football player off on the rape charge.”
“I remember that,” Afton said. “The so-called Love Boat Incident.” She hesitated. “So you’ve huddled with the FBI?”
“I talked to Keith Sunder and Harvey Bagin from the local field office late last night. And Don Jasper, one of their top guys, a couple of hours ago. Jasper flew in from Chicago. Apparently he has a shit load of experience when it comes to child abductions.”
“Sad,” Afton said. “That he’s garnered so much experience, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Max agreed. “It’s a tough deal.”
Afton gazed at Max. She liked him and had worked briefly with him six months ago. When two young Hispanic boys had been shot to death in a gang-related incident, she’d been brought in to help break the news to their mother. That had been a rough one. Martina Alvarez, a single parent working two jobs, had been devastated by her sons’ deaths. Afton had stuck close to Mrs. Alvarez for several weeks, helping her notify family back in Juarez, making funeral arrangements, and always lending a sympathetic ear. In the end, she’d even managed to convince Mrs. Alvarez to join an advocacy group consisting of parents of murdered children.
Of course, what Afton had secretly wanted to do was track down the miserable bastard who shot Mrs. Alvarez’s boys and put a bullet though his worthless skull.
But no, she had to be content to sit on the sidelines and make nice like a social worker.
“What’s your next move?” she asked Max. He had been making jottings when she came into the room. Little scratches on a yellow legal pad.
“The FBI are the big dogs,” Max said. “They’re going to interview the Dardens some more, follow up on pizza places, run through their database of known and suspected kidnappers, and canvas the Kenwood neighborhood. I’ve been reviewing my notes from a phone conversation I had with the lady who organized the doll show. Muriel Pink. I’m probably gonna go pay her a visit.”
“When?”
Max glanced at his watch. “Now.”
“Can I come along?”
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