“Oh, pretty late,” Schroeder said. “Maybe ten o’clock?” Schroeder was thin and mousy looking, wearing baggy slacks and a sweatshirt that said, WORLD’S GREATEST GRANDMA. “But I don’t think the person I saw was your killer.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he was carrying a pizza box,” Schroeder said.
Inside her chest, Afton’s heart did a slow-motion flip-flop.
Schroeder went on. “I just assumed it was Mr. Foster from down the block.” She leaned in and squinted at Afton. “He’s a divorced dad, and when his kids stay over, he usually buys pizza.” She said it disapprovingly, as if Mr. Foster should be grilling a medley of organic carrots and broccoli instead.
“Mrs. Schroeder, wait a minute, will you?” Afton was excited. This was the same MO the kidnappers had used when they’d strong-armed the Dardens’ babysitter. She ran across the street, grabbed Max, and pulled him back to Mrs. Schroeder’s house.
“Tell him,” Afton said to Mrs. Schroeder. “Tell Detective Montgomery exactly what you saw.”
Max listened to her carefully, asked a couple of questions, and then said, “Could you identify this man again?”
“It was pretty dark.”
“But if we sent a police sketch artist over, you’d give it a try?”
“Absolutely,” Schroeder said.
“And which house does Mr. Foster live in?”
“That one.” Schroeder pointed to a nondescript two-story home that was two doors down.
“I knocked on the door there,” Afton said. “Nobody’s home.”
“Do you know where Mr. Foster works?” Max asked.
Schroeder gave a tight nod. “Certainly. He works at the Heartland Insurance Agency right down on Main Street. Next to the ice cream parlor.”
Max threw his cell phone at Afton. “Get him. Get Foster on the line ASAP.”
Afton did a fast Google search, located the number, and got Foster on the line. When she told him why she was calling, he sounded stunned.
“Mrs. Pink?” he said. “Dead?”
“Let me give you to Detective Montgomery,” Afton said, passing the phone to Max.
Max did a little more explaining to the somewhat excited Foster, then said, “This may sound like an odd question, but did you order a pizza last night around ten o’clock? Did you pick one up and carry it home? Or have one delivered?”
Max’s brows pinched together, and he shot a look at Afton. The answer must have been no. He thanked Foster, and then asked him to call either the FBI or the Hudson Police if he suddenly remembered anything that might be of help.
Max thumbed the Off button on his phone. “No pizza last night.”
Schroeder’s face went white and she touched a hand to her throat. “So that was the killer I saw?” She looked stunned.
“Could have been, ma’am,” Max said.
* * *
IT had to be the same guy,” Max told Jasper. “The same guy who cold-cocked the babysitter.” Max and Afton had done a quick dog-and-pony explanation to a grim-looking Don Jasper.
That was the spark that lit the flame. Suddenly Jasper was snapping his fingers, gathering his posse. Radios crackled to life and backup was called for. More FBI, state police, and uniformed officers. Jasper was demanding backup for his backup.
As the furor boiled up around them, Max pulled Afton aside. “We gotta go talk to Susan Darden again. Now she’s the only one we know who really got a decent look at this doll lady.”
Afton was all for it.
“But who the hell is this doll lady?” Max chewed on this problem as they hurried to his car. “Do you think she knows Susan or Richard Darden?”
“Maybe she worked with Darden,” Afton said.
“At Novamed? That thought never occurred to me.”
Afton shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
“So how does she relate to the pizza guy?”
“I don’t know,” Afton said. “Could be . . . his girlfriend? Or maybe, I don’t know, his mother?”
27
IT was a subdued Susan Darden who opened the door for Afton and Max that evening. Dressed in a pale peach cashmere hoodie and matching pants, she looked the perfect picture of a young upscale mommy. Except, of course, for the swollen red eyes, missing husband, and kidnapped child.
“Come in,” Susan urged as Afton and Max stomped snow off their boots and stepped from darkness into the flood of warm light that bathed her front hallway. “It’s still so cold out.” She closed the enormous door as a hiss of freezing air blew in.
Afton and Max shrugged off their heavy coats and hung them on a brass coatrack. Max did a little extra clumping to extricate the snow from the waffle weave soles of his boots.
“This way, please,” Susan said.
She led them into her living room, a fairly grand space in Afton’s estimation. Two enormous white tufted sofas faced each other across a red-lacquered Chinese-style coffee table. Drapery hung in artful swags on the windows. Oil paintings and framed prints hung on the walls and above the white marble fireplace. Afton recognized one, a contemporary graphic of pill bottles that she thought might have been done by the artist Damien Hirst.
“You have a lovely home,” Afton said.
“Thank you,” Susan said almost absently. “I suppose it is.”
“Nice Oriental carpet,” Max said. “Real springy.”
“Silk, I believe,” Susan said. “Persian. A kilim pattern.”
They were standing in a semicircle, everyone a little on edge, until Susan finally said, “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Please come and sit down.”
That made things a little better.
Once Max and Afton were settled on one sofa and Susan on the other, Max didn’t bother to mince words. “You know about the woman in Hudson? That she was killed?”
Susan nodded ever so slightly. “The woman who was in charge of organizing the doll show, yes. Chief Thacker called me late this afternoon.” She crossed her arms in front of her and hugged herself tightly. “I’m afraid I might be next.”
“We’re going to send some personnel over here to stay with you,” Max said. “Since you don’t have your . . . Since you’re here by yourself.”
“My sister is flying in tonight,” Susan said. “From Denver.”
“That’s good,” Afton said. “But we’ll still have a female officer inside your home and park a cruiser on the street. Twenty-four/seven if that makes you feel any better.”
“The officer and the police car,” Susan said. “That would be excellent.” She gave a little shiver and then said, “Are you going to tell me what happened? Chief Thacker didn’t reveal much of anything when he called. Just that the doll show organizer had been killed and that you were going to drop by.”
“We believe Muriel Pink was murdered sometime last night,” Max said.
Susan wedged herself into the corner of her couch and pulled up her knees. “How?” she asked in a small voice.
“Stabbed,” Afton said. “Someone broke into her home and stabbed her while she was fixing a cup of hot chocolate.”
“We believe,” Max said, “that Muriel Pink’s murder was the direct result of a TV interview she did with Portia Bourgoyne from Channel 7. Going on really just a raw hunch, Bourgoyne linked Pink with the doll lady suspect in your daughter’s kidnapping. The interview aired on Channel 7’s News at Six last night.”
“I didn’t see it. But I’m guessing that you believe the kidnappers saw Mrs. Pink being interviewed?” Susan asked. “And they got worried?”
“That’s exactly what we think,” Afton said. “Mrs. Pink seemed to be . . . recalling a few more details.”
Susan’s face crumpled, and her hand crept up to her mouth. “So the kidnappers are also killers?”
“It’s beginning to look that wa
y,” Afton said.
“And you believe it’s the same two people who broke in here that night,” Susan said slowly. She seemed to be trying to orient herself. “The man who knocked Ashley down and tied her up, and the woman who stole Elizabeth Ann.”
“That’s right,” Afton said.
“So the man is the killer?” Susan asked.
“We don’t know anything for sure,” Afton said. “It’s all speculation so far. But we think that might be the case. There were some, um, elements to the Pink murder that looked amateurish.”
“And it wasn’t Al Sponger,” Susan said.
“Highly doubtful,” Afton said. “Unless he’s got a doppelgänger twin running around out there.”
“Sponger is under surveillance right now,” Max said. “But we don’t believe he’s competent enough to mastermind a high-profile kidnapping. Or to commit murder.”
“I never thought he was the kidnapper,” Susan said. “Even when the FBI came over yesterday and asked me a whole bunch of questions about Sponger, I never really thought it was him.”
“Sponger’s not entirely off the hook,” Max said. “After all, we’re looking for two suspects.”
“And he did toss out a toy doll,” Afton said. The FBI had briefed Susan Darden on that as well.
“When Sponger was working here, did he ever come into the house?” Max asked.
Susan lifted a hand to her forehead. “Let me see . . . Yes, I believe so. I think he might have asked for a glass of water or something.”
“Did he ever see the baby?” Afton asked.
“I think so. Seems like I was always in the kitchen warming a bottle. I’m sure I had the baby with me in her little bassinette.”
Afton and Max exchanged glances.
“But Sponger’s not in custody?” Susan asked.
“He was,” Max said. “But we didn’t have enough to hold him.”
“But we’re watching him,” Afton said.
“In case he might . . . lead you to . . .” Susan broke off her sentence.
“That’s right,” Afton said. “But let’s not fixate on Sponger right now. We’ve got him covered, and if he even itches his big toe, we’re going to know about it.”
“Okay.” Susan’s voice was thick but controlled.
“We’d like to ask you about the woman at Novamed,” Max said.
Susan dropped her head and then peered up at them through a fringe of blond bangs. “You know about that?”
“It came up yesterday when we were talking to Richard,” Afton said.
“I don’t know who she is,” Susan said. “Because I didn’t want to know. All I know is that it happened.”
“And you believed your husband,” Afton said. “Believed him when he said there was no impropriety on his part.”
Susan considered this. “I believed him at the time.”
“We’re wondering,” Max said, “if there’s a remote possibility that Molly, the doll lady, could be the same woman who harassed Richard at Novamed?”
“That would be an awfully big coincidence, wouldn’t it?” Susan asked.
“Yes, it would,” Max said. “But like I said, we’re looking at all the angles. Trying to tear everything apart.”
“Okay.” Susan shifted on the couch and bounced her knees nervously.
“If the doll lady works or once worked at Novamed,” Afton said, “then that could be where she first came into contact with Richard.”
“Maybe she developed a thing for him,” Max said. “Or saw you at one of their social functions—you did attend corporate functions, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Susan wrinkled her nose. “A few. You’re saying this doll lady might have become obsessed with Richard?”
“It’s a possibility,” Max said. “And if she’s seen you in the past—and then she saw you that day at the Skylark Mall . . .” Max grimaced. “Maybe seeing you triggered something in her brain and she took advantage of the situation.”
“Oh my God,” Susan said. “But I . . . I don’t know who the woman was that supposedly harassed him. Um, did you ask Richard?”
“His attorney advised him not to reveal her name.”
“Slocum,” she spit out. “What a weasel. I suppose he’ll represent Richard in the divorce, too.”
“We’re in the process of obtaining a court order and will pay another visit to Novamed’s headquarters tomorrow,” Afton said. “So we can put a name to a face.”
“If I saw her, then I could identify her,” Susan said.
“That’s right. So we’ll interview her and snap a picture,” Max said.
“This is like an endless nightmare,” Susan said.
“I know it is,” Afton said. “But you’re doing well, you’re holding up remarkably well. And we will get your baby back, I know we will.”
“Bless you,” Susan said, just as there was a muffled ring. She fumbled in the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out her cell phone. “Excuse me, this is probably my sister,” she told them. She punched a button, said “Hello?” and listened. Susan’s face, which two seconds earlier had been filled with concern, suddenly clouded over with anger. “Richard,” she spit out. “What do you want? If you’re calling to . . . What?” Susan suddenly stiffened and her eyes filled with fear. “What are you saying? Uh, uh, uh . . .” She dropped the phone to her chest, trembling, looking as if she was about to have a seizure.
Sensing a disaster in the making, Max lunged to Susan’s aid. But all she did was thrust her phone into his outstretched hand.
“Listen to this,” she moaned. “Talk to him!”
“Richard?” Max said into the phone. “This is Detective Montgomery. What’s the problem? What’s going on?”
“Did she get the call?” Richard screamed. “Did she get the same call that I did?”
“Slow down, slow down,” Max said. “What are you talking about?”
But Richard was in full-blown hysterics. “The ransom call! Did the kidnappers call Susan, too?”
“Ransom call?” Max said, which caused Afton to spring up off the sofa.
“Yes,” Richard said. “Just now! Like, fifteen seconds ago.”
“Who called you?” Max asked. He was making urgent motions for Afton to take notes. “Was is a woman?”
“It was a man,” Richard said. “He asked for two million dollars in exchange for Elizabeth Ann.”
“Two million dollars,” Max repeated, more for Afton’s benefit than Susan’s.
“Oh my God,” Susan breathed. “She’s alive.” She made a grab for the phone. “That means she’s alive?”
But Max shrugged Susan away, trying to remain completely focused on what Richard Darden was telling him. “When are you supposed to deliver the money, did he say?”
“He said he’d call back tomorrow with explicit instructions as to time and place,” Richard said. He gave a bitter snort. “He said he wanted to give me enough time to get the money together.”
“Where are you now?” Max asked. He listened carefully, and then said, “Okay, you stay right where you are. I’m going to call Don Jasper and some of the other FBI guys to come over and get you. Don’t make any more calls with that phone. In fact, just hang up and sit tight. Somebody’s going to be there in about five minutes.”
“Okay, okay,” Richard said. “Tell Susan about this, will you?”
“Yes. Just hang up now,” Max said. “And I’ll see you shortly.”
Max pressed the Off button and stood there, holding the phone.
Susan crawled across the sofa toward him. “There’s a ransom demand?” she asked, even though she’d heard everything Max had said. “That means she’s alive, right? That my baby’s still alive?”
“Yes,” Max said. “It’s probably a good sign.” He handed Susan’s phone back to her, and then pulled out h
is own. I’ve got some critical calls to make. But by the time I finish, there’ll be an officer here to stay with you.”
“Thank you,” Susan whispered.
28
AFTON wiped a sleep crusty from the corner of her eye as she sat at the far end of the table in the big conference room. It was the room where the chief of police made major announcements and the mayor sometimes held press conferences.
As if things hadn’t been crazy enough last night, with hastily assembled meetings that included Don Jasper, Richard Darden, and an entire cast and crew of law enforcement, things were really popping this Thursday morning as well. All the same people were back once again and the room fairly pulsed with a mixture of excitement, officiousness, and frayed nerves.
Thacker stood at the head of the table barking orders. Everyone scrambled as Angel Graham sat at his side, serenely taking notes. Richard Darden was back from spending the night at the Spencer Hotel, just one block from police headquarters, and he looked appropriately dazed. The big debate raging now was whether Darden should attempt the ransom exchange by himself, or whether a member of the SWAT team, duded up to look like Darden, should take care of it.
“No, no,” Darden protested. “I’ve got to be the one to do it. They’ll be expecting me.”
“They may not even know what you look like,” Don Jasper reasoned. “So why take the chance?”
“Oh, please,” Darden said. “You can Google my name and get a dozen hits just from the Tribune alone.”
“Then he wears a vest and we put a wire on him,” Harvey Bagin suggested.
“And a tracking device,” Keith Sunder said.
“A camera would be even better,” Bagin said. “That way he can broadcast in real time.”
Thacker wasn’t so sure. “If the kidnapper’s a pro, he’ll spot that shit in a heartbeat.”
“What if he’s not a pro?” Jasper said. “What if it’s who we think it is? That crazy doll lady and some guy?”
“We’re still not sure who we’re dealing with,” Thacker said. “From what Mr. Darden has told us, the man he spoke to last night sounded older than the fellow who cold-cocked the babysitter. Somebody a little more slick, a lot more rehearsed.”
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