Little Girl Gone

by Gerry Schmitt

  Max grabbed the camera from Afton and shoved it roughly into Kinghorn’s hands. “You know what? You can have your stupid camera back. But I’m going to have our tech people watch your website like a hawk. If I find out that you’ve used even one of the shots you took, I swear I will have my guys deliberately burn your site. Then I will personally hunt you down and rip you a new asshole. You got that?”

  “Yeah,” Kinghorn said, cradling his camera. “You’re a tough guy. I got that.”

  “Now get out of here.”

  A cagey look spread across Kinghorn’s face. “You know, if you had a couple of minutes, we could do a quick interview. You’re clearly part of the Darden investigation, so maybe you could give me your perspective on it. That’d make a great article. My readers would love it.”

  “Get out,” Max said. “Get out.”

  36

  SHAKE stretched out her legs and very gingerly pulled the white chenille coverlet up to her chin. She’d been shocked to wake up and find that she was back home, lying in the double bed she shared with Ronnie. It had seemed too much like a fuzzy, weird dream. But when she opened her eyes again and the cobwebs cleared, it was indeed where she was. Tucked in bed, propped up on a bunch of pillows like some kind of cripple or sick person. She guessed that Ronnie must have driven them all home early this morning and then carried her upstairs.

  Was it only last night that she’d gone into labor? Was this Friday night? Shake guessed that it was. But it felt like an eternity had passed. Hell, her labor and the unrelenting pain had stretched on like all of eternity. Everyone said that once it was over, you’d forget all about the pain. But she could recall every single torturous moment. The sweating, the muscle cramps, the torment of her body heaving and fighting to push that baby out. And just when she’d hit her breaking point, just when she’d thought she couldn’t endure another second, a miracle had happened. Her baby had slipped out and the pain had slowly receded.

  Not all the pain had gone away, of course. She still felt like she’d been run over by a two-ton truck. And she still felt cramping in her back muscles and a dull ache in her gut. But it was a different kind of pain now. A pain that said, You’ve been through the worst, girl, and you’ve finally had your baby. Now you’re going to slowly get better.

  Her baby. Shake turned her head to look at her baby. Ronnie had miraculously produced an old wooden crib and Marjorie had found a tiny baby mattress and some sheets and blankets. Now her baby—goodness, she was going to have to figure out a name for this sweet little girl—was lying there asleep. Looking pink and perfect with tiny little eyelashes that brushed her chubby cheeks just like the softest snowflakes. Just like a tiny angel.

  As Shake had been lying there, sipping water through a straw, she’d been rethinking things, trying to explore where her emotions were taking her. And she was pretty sure that maybe she’d experienced a change of heart. For one thing, she’d decided that she definitely did have feelings for her little baby. In fact, she might actually love her.

  That realization had been shocking. Had come tumbling at her pretty much out of the blue and freaked her out. Humbled her even. But over the last couple of hours, she’d begun to embrace these new and conflicting emotions. And Shake had decided that she might have to formulate a whole new plan for her life.

  Like dancing in Florida maybe wasn’t such a great idea after all?

  No. Not with a baby to take care of.

  If she could get herself to a bigger city, maybe a place like Chicago, there would be a lot more opportunities. Then she could get herself a decent job, maybe as a waitress or even some type of office worker. She could almost picture herself, dressed in a nice skirt and sweater, taking notes, filing pieces of paper, maybe even sitting in a meeting. If she made enough money, she could even afford a little apartment.

  It would be a struggle, of course, just the two of them. And she’d have to find some kind of babysitter for the days on which she worked. But it was a germ of an idea that had taken hold deep inside her heart. An idea that suddenly felt very right.

  “Knock, knock,” came Ronnie’s voice. He was standing outside her door holding a tray. “I brought you some food.” He came in and set the tray on the nightstand. “You hungry?”

  Shake looked at the fried egg and toast and her stomach lurched. She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.” She rubbed her belly. “Really sore.” She looked out the window and saw that it was dark. “What time is it?”

  “Mmn . . . about seven o’clock.”

  “What do you think?” Shake asked him. She needed to feel him out, needed to give him a chance.

  Ronnie cocked his head. “About what?” He was looking thoughtful, more so than Shake had ever seen him look before.

  Shake lifted a hand to indicate their baby. “Our baby girl.”

  Ronnie sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. “She’s really something.” His voice sounded like it was tinged with real emotion.

  “You really think so?” Shake thought she was the most precious thing in the entire world.

  “She kind of changes things, doesn’t she?”

  Shake’s heart rose about half an inch. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, too.”

  Ronnie picked up Shake’s hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across the back of it. He’d never done that before. Never displayed that kind of tenderness toward her. Up until tonight, he either tended to joke with her, ignore her completely, or treat her as a sex toy.

  “You know the other day? When you were trying to get away?” he asked.

  Shake nodded.

  “Maybe you had the right idea.”

  Shake held her breath. “Really?”

  Ronnie nodded. “I’ve been thinking . . . maybe we do deserve a better life. All of us.”

  “All three of us?” Shake asked. She wanted to make sure they were talking about the same thing.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Mom’s not . . . she’s not that good for us.”

  Shake gave a little shiver of disgust. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Ronnie said. “She doesn’t much think about you.” He made a face, as if he knew he was being disloyal, but couldn’t help it. “She only thinks about what’s good for her. What makes her happy.”

  “You wouldn’t miss her?” Shake asked. This was a big step, a huge step for Ronnie. She wanted to be sure.

  “Naw.” Then he reconsidered. “Well, maybe. At first anyway. But once we figured stuff out on our own, I think we’d be okay.”

  “I know we’d be okay,” Shake said. Her voice dropped to practically a whisper and she asked, “When?”

  “When you feel better,” Ronnie said. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”

  “I feel good now,” Shake said, snuggling closer to him.

  “You have to rest,” Ronnie told her. “Eat a little something, then sleep some more. You need to get your strength back.”

  But Shake didn’t want Ronnie to go. “I was scared you didn’t want us,” she said. “That you didn’t want to be a dad.” She was having trouble wrapping her head around this new improved Ronnie, this seemingly more responsible Ronnie.

  “We’re a family,” Ronnie said. “We’ll do whatever we have to do.” He stood up and smiled at her. “We’ll run away. Live by our wits like Bonnie and Clyde.”

  “I like that.” Shake had watched the movie on TV a few weeks ago and the notion that she could be a modern-day Bonnie Parker appealed to her.

  “The three of us,” Ronnie murmured, looking almost dreamy now.

  “What about that other baby?” Shake asked. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  Ronnie’s smile slipped a notch. “I think . . . Mom has plans for her.”

  * * *

  MARJORIE was standing at t
he bottom of the steps, waiting for Ronnie.

  “What the hell were you doing up there all this time?” she asked. She was wearing her pseudo-nun’s outfit, but she was chugging a Budweiser straight from the can.

  Ronnie shrugged. “I took her the food.”

  “Yeah? What else?”

  “We were just talking.”

  “Just talking,” Marjorie mimicked. “Talking about what?” She was afraid the baby might have given Shake a slight hold over Ronnie. Couldn’t let that happen.

  “Nothing important.” Ronnie started to turn away. He’d felt good talking to Shake about the baby. He’d felt more grown up, more like a man than he ever had before. Just talking about a new life together helped pull him out of his dark, scary places.

  Marjorie leered at him. “You better get your head in the game, kid. There’s gonna be some big changes around here.”

  Ronnie stopped in his tracks and swung around to stare at his mother. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  “Forget about that girl upstairs,” Marjorie hissed. “Forget about the baby. Your baby . . . and that other kid. They’re going to be out of here first thing next week.”

  “Don’t you dare . . . do anything,” Ronnie growled. His mother thought there were going to be changes? Well, there certainly might be. Little did she know that he’d be the one making those changes.

  “I do whatever I damn well please,” Marjorie said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She spun away from him and walked into her studio.

  Ronnie stood in the hallway waiting patiently. Waiting for his mother to scream. It didn’t take long.

  There was an ear-piercing shriek followed by Marjorie’s plaintive wail. “What have you done to my Glynnis doll? How could you? How dare you!”

  Marjorie rushed back out into the hallway, her face white as a sheet, her jaw working frantically, teeth practically gnashing the air. In her hands she carried an eighteen-inch baby doll. The doll was dressed in a pale peach organza dress with a white Peter Pan collar and puffy sleeves. Where its little head used to be, a bloody fox head had been impaled.

  “Have you gone completely loony!” Marjorie screamed. The fox eyes stared at her hard and beady, the whiskers fairly twitched.

  “Like it?” Ronnie asked.

  “You fool. You imbecile,” she raged. “I’ll show you who’s . . .” Her arm shot up and her hand clenched into a fist, ready to slug him.

  Quick as a striking cobra, Ronnie grabbed Marjorie’s wrist and pinched it tight.

  “Let me go!” Her dark eyes, sunk into her putty face like raisins, blazed fiercely at him.

  “What did you call me?” Ronnie glowered back at Marjorie, gripping her wrist tight, really digging in his fingernails. Then he hoisted her up slowly until she was standing on tiptoes, practically dangling. He decided she looked like a helpless old cow about to be slaughtered.

  “Stop it, stop it!” Marjorie screamed, twisting in his grip, eyes rolling back in her head. “Put me down!”

  Ronnie fixed her with a crooked, half-glazed smile. “Shut up, bitch,” he whispered. “You shut up before I take you outside and lop your head off with an ax.”

  Marjorie snapped her mouth shut as a jolt of fear ripped through her. And for the first time in her life, Marjorie did exactly what her son told her to do.

  37

  WHO wants the last slice of pepperoni?” Max asked.

  “Me,” Bagin said. He gazed across the conference room table at Afton, put a hand to his mouth, and stifled a burp.

  “Go ahead and take it,” Afton told him. “In fact, you’re welcome to it.”

  It was practically nine o’clock on Friday night. Afton, Max, Thacker, Jasper, Bagin, and a half dozen others had hung around police headquarters, talking nervously, waiting for Darden’s phone to ring, finally ordering out for pizza.

  Darden sat at the far end of the table, looking miserable. He didn’t eat; he didn’t talk to any of the others; he just stared at his cell phone as if willing it to ring.

  It hadn’t.

  For the second time in two days, techs had attached a microphone and miniature tracking device to Darden’s clothing. They’d debated at length about fitting him with a tiny camera, but had decided against it.

  Privately, Afton feared that the kidnappers might have abandoned their original plan to collect a ransom. She worried that the Darden baby might have died, accidentally or otherwise, so there wasn’t going to be a phone call. But here she was, just the same. Waiting, hoping to beat the odds, sweating bullets along with the rest of them.

  “You should go home to your kids,” Max said. He’d told her that twice already, as if she were the only person in the room who had kids at home.

  “They’re fine,” Afton muttered. “Why don’t you go home to yours?”

  Max shrugged. “It’s snowing outside, you know?” Four inches had filtered down this afternoon. More snow—an even larger and more dangerous weather system—was already barreling through the Dakotas and heading their way.

  “Yeah,” Afton grumbled. “It’s snowing. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Max held her eyes for a few moments, and then broke off his gaze. He knew she was just as invested in this case as he was. Just as frustrated by the lack of inertia.

  Another twenty minutes crept by. Detectives, FBI agents, and uniformed officers came and went. They made urgent, whispered phone calls, rattled candy wrappers, slurped coffee, and tried not to alarm Darden any more than they already had.

  Darden, for his part, was not holding up particularly well. No longer looking like a male catalog model for Brooks Brothers, he was dressed in blue jeans and a droopy plaid shirt. He was also chewing his fingernails ragged, muttering to himself, and taking endless trips to the men’s room.

  Privately, Afton thought Darden might be ready to crack. It had been forty-eight hours since the first phone call had come in from the kidnappers. And there’d been nothing since. She suspected his nerves were pretty much frazzled.

  Bagin tossed a half-gnawed hunk of crust into the pizza box, where it clunked loudly and bounced a few crumbs around. He flipped the lid closed, and then stood up slowly and stretched. Reached down and scratched his belly.

  Max lifted an eyebrow. “You got a personal problem?” he asked.

  Bagin slid a hand up and touched the area just below his throat. “I think that damn pizza gave me a case of heart—”

  And that’s when the phone rang. Not any sort of melodic ring tone, but a shrill, startling ring. A ring that said, Okay, boys and girls, time to pull it together and get down to serious business.

  Darden stared at his cell phone as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. As if an inanimate object had suddenly started speaking to him.

  There was a flurry of officious footsteps and then Thacker’s voice barked out, “Answer it.”

  Darden reached gingerly for his phone and pushed the On button.

  “Hello?” he croaked. He sounded like a ninety-year-old man who’d lived in a cave for the last ten years.

  Thacker snapped his fingers for everyone to shut up. He wanted Darden to answer the phone, listen carefully, and ask a few gently rehearsed questions. The cell phone had been adapted so that any conversation would be recorded. They would all hear the call in its entirety in a matter of minutes.

  Darden bowed his shoulders forward and said, “Yes, I understand.” There was more conversation on the other end of the line and he said, “Okay, but it’s going to take me a while to get there.” He listened some more, his mouth going slack. “Absolutely.”

  When he hung up, he looked like he’d been sucker punched in the gut.

  “We gotta listen to the call!” Max boomed.

  They all raced down the hall and crowded into a smaller room, which held a myriad of
audio and video equipment. Dick Boyce, the tech guy, hit a button on a piece of equipment and the conversation crackled to life.

  “Hello?” They were hearing Richard’s voice, just as they had a few moments earlier.

  “Listen carefully, Mr. Darden,” came a male voice. “If you want to get your baby back alive, you are to drive to the corner of Sims and Weide in Saint Paul. Do you understand?”

  Afton frowned. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She’d thought that the doll lady or the pizza guy would be calling. This was a man, same as the other night, with a fairly cultured voice. What was going on?

  “Yes, I understand,” came Darden’s voice.

  “Bring the two million dollars,” said the voice. “When you arrive, you will be given further instructions.”

  “Okay, but it’s going to take me a while to get there,” Darden said.

  “Come alone. No police.”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  WAS this the same guy who called the other night?” Thacker asked. Everyone was clustered around Darden, staring at him as if he were a class biology project.

  “I think so.” Darden coughed and cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure it was.”

  “This person sounds very controlled,” Jasper said. “This is a guy who’s thought things through rather carefully. He’s not going to be easy to deal with.”

  “Shouldn’t I get moving?” Darden quaked. He looked terrified, like a man about to face a firing squad. At the same time, he seemed anxious to be on his way with the ransom money. To get it over with.

  That was when the mad scramble began. Everyone started talking at once while the tech guys double-checked the tiny tracking devices and microphones attached to Darden’s clothing.

  “I still think we should put a camera on his jacket,” Thacker said. “Maybe stick it on his lapel?”

  “You sure you want to do that?” Max asked.

  “Positive,” Thacker said. “We need eyes. We can’t take any chances.”

  “We’re already taking chances,” Afton said. To her, job one was getting Elizabeth Ann back safely. After that, she didn’t care if they shot the kidnapper with a high-powered rifle or dragged him to jail behind a fleet of squad cars.