Little Girl Gone

by Gerry Schmitt

  “You should probably count ATVs, too.”

  “There you go, that’d up the number considerably.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Afton said.

  “Not much you can do. Just fish out the idiots.”

  * * *

  THEY were on the outskirts of Saint Paul, cruising past 3M. The three-lane highway had been reduced to just one icy rut when they got a call from Thacker.

  “We might have discovered something interesting,” Thacker said. “The FBI just got done tearing through that lawyer’s office. Torbert’s office.”

  “What’d they find?” Max asked.

  “They discovered a file with a number of names in it. They think it might have something to do with illegal adoptions.”

  “They found something in Torbert’s office that might pertain to illegal adoptions,” Max told Afton.

  “Holy smokes,” Afton said. “That could be the break we’ve been looking for.” She motioned with her hand. “Hurry up, put him on speaker.”

  Max hit the speaker button and Thacker’s voice crackled out. “Don’t get your undies in a twist yet, kids. All they found was paperwork on what looked like payments.”

  “Payments,” Afton said. “Why do you think they relate to illegal adoptions?”

  “Because it looks like that was Torbert’s specialty. Adoptions. Private adoptions.”

  “No shit,” Max said.

  “What else do we know about these payments?” Afton pressed.

  “There’s receivables and payables,” Thacker said. “The receivables, those may have come from adoptive parents, since they’re all in the range of one hundred to two hundred thousand dollars. The payables are in far lesser amounts, but we don’t know what those are all about. We haven’t contacted Torbert’s bank yet or tried to run down any of the names.”

  “Let us know when you do, okay?” Max said.

  “Wait a minute,” Afton said, feeling jazzed. “The payables, the smaller amounts. Do we know who those went to?”

  “Um . . . yeah,” Thacker said.

  “What are the names?” Afton dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out the list Burdick had given her. She knew it was a long shot. “We got some names from that taxidermy distributor. Let’s at least see if we can cross-reference something.”

  “We’re going to end up with a pile of names,” Max said. “Why don’t we let the computer sort it out, wait and see if we get any kind of match?”

  “I realize that’s the protocol,” Afton said. “But couldn’t we at least get a jump start?”

  “I guess it couldn’t hurt,” Max said.

  “Okay,” Thacker said. “Whatever. It’s a short list.”

  “First name?” Max asked.

  “Monahan,” Thacker said. “Harold Monahan.”

  Afton scanned the list as she drove, veering off slightly toward the center median.

  “Don’t be doing that,” Max crabbed at her. “You can’t read and drive at the same time. Here, hand over that list before you slam this car in the ditch and cripple us both for life.”

  “Sorry,” Afton said. She handed over the list.

  Max scanned the list. “Mmn, Monahan’s not here. What’s the second name?”

  “Adams,” Thacker said.

  “Nope.”

  It was the third name that sent the cherries spinning and the bells clanging like crazy.

  “Sorenson,” Thacker said.

  This time, even though Afton had both hands squarely on the steering wheel, she once again swerved toward the center median. Because she recognized the name from Thacker’s list. It was the name of the kid who’d stuffed the wolverine back at the Liberty Café.

  42

  WE have to turn around,” Afton said through gritted teeth.

  “What?” Max’s head swiveled toward her. He clicked a button, taking the phone off speaker. “Hang on a minute,” he told Thacker. Then he stared at Afton as she slowed the car to barely a crawl. “Are you crazy? In case you hadn’t noticed, lady, we’re on I-94 smack dab in the middle of the blizzard of the century. Our tire tracks are filling in behind us. We’ve already passed six cars in the ditch. If we play our cards right, we could be the seventh.”

  “Tell Thacker we have to go back. Insist on it.”

  “Why?”

  “Sorenson. It’s the same name. If this Sorenson guy has something to do with illegal adoptions and the wolverine taxidermy guy is named Sorenson, there could be a connection. No, there has to be a connection. Tell that to Thacker. Insist on it.”

  “I don’t know,” Max said. Still, he held the phone up to his mouth and related Afton’s theory back to Thacker. Then he sat there and listened, his head bobbing silently. “I see,” he finally said.

  “What?” Afton asked. She was looking ahead, trying to figure out where she could turn off and double back. There. Century Boulevard was dead ahead. “Is something wrong?”

  “Sorenson’s not a guy,” Max said. “It’s a woman. Marjorie Sorenson.”

  “That’s her then,” Afton said. “She’s the kidnapper, the doll lady who called herself Molly. She’s the one who took Elizabeth Ann.” She said it with an urgency and a solemn finality, as if she knew they’d finally arrived at the end stage of the hunt.

  “You don’t know that,” Max said. “You’re just cobbling together a few wild ideas.”

  “Is there a man living with her? A boy? Ask Thacker.”

  Max did that.

  “He doesn’t know,” Max said. “Thacker says we’ll have to contact Wisconsin State Revenue, see if she claimed any dependents.”

  “There’s no time for that. We have to turn around and find that Sorenson woman right now. If we wait any longer, we risk not finding that baby. Ever again.”

  “We can’t just go cowboying in there,” Max warned. “We have to have a warrant. At the very least we need to get Thacker’s approval.”

  “Then talk to him,” Afton yelped. “Convince him.”

  * * *

  IT wasn’t easy. Thacker hemmed and hawed. He worried about jurisdictions and fretted about blowback for stepping on the toes of neighboring law enforcement agencies. He worried about bureaucratic issues. Like shouldn’t they inform Don Jasper and his FBI team and give them an opportunity to investigate as well?

  Finally, Afton grabbed the phone. “Please,” she begged. “We think there’s a strong possibility that this woman, Marjorie Sorenson, is the one who kidnapped the Darden baby. Her and the taxidermy kid. It all fits, the names, the animal hair, the bad odor. Give us the address so we can at least check her out.”

  “This is so not a good idea,” Thacker said.

  “She’s in Wisconsin, right? We’re already halfway there.”

  “Max said you were headed back here.”

  Afton set her jaw. “We just turned around. We’ve already passed the cutoff for 694. Her place probably isn’t that much farther on. What? Maybe ten or twenty miles?”

  “In a raging storm.”

  “Aw, it’s not so bad,” Afton said as she struggled to keep the Navigator on the road.

  Thacker still resisted. “I’ve given you two way too much leeway already.”

  “After what went down last night,” Afton argued, “this has the possibility of a home run.”

  “Afton . . .”

  “Please, Chief. You have kids, don’t you? If they were missing, wouldn’t you want everyone to pull out all the stops no matter what? No matter if they stepped on a few toes or ruffled some feathers? No matter if they played their hunch and took a risk?”

  There were a few seconds of dead air, and then Thacker finally said, “Okay, I’m going to let you do it. But for Christ’s sake, be careful!”

  * * *

  EASIER said than done, of course. Because once they were back across
the Saint Croix River, the roads were in even worse driving condition. The snow had compacted and frozen on the roadways, forcing semi trucks and trailers to pull into truck stops and rest stops all along the route.

  “Your Navigator’s a beast,” Max said, “but it ain’t no match for this storm.”

  “We’re not turning around,” Afton said. She checked the navigation screen for about the hundredth time. They’d plugged in the address Thacker had given them and had turned off onto County Road F. It was a narrow lane that snaked south, paralleling the Saint Croix River, yet set on top of a high glacial ridge. A ridge that seemed to be getting pounded by the full brunt of the storm.

  “Shit,” Max said. He was nervous about Afton’s hunch, uneasy about the weather. “This lousy two-lane road hasn’t even seen a plow. Plus we’re on this stupid high ridge so there’s nothing to stop all this snow from drifting like crazy.”

  Afton refused to agree with him even though she knew he was right. For the last ten miles she’d been powering her vehicle through five, maybe six, inches of snow. Up ahead, drifts and a curling wall of snow blocked their way. It looked like an impasse.

  “We won’t make it through,” Max said. “Gotta turn around. I know it’s a bitter pill to—”

  Afton jammed on the brakes and slewed heavily to one side, barely avoiding a skid into the ditch. Then she carefully K-turned the Navigator back and forth, finally turning it completely around.

  “Good girl.”

  She drove another half mile or so. Then, without warning, she hung a sharp left and dropped down a road that carried them down a steep incline.

  “Whoa. Wait!” Max shouted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This isn’t the way home.” His eyes were wild, and he was thrashing around, held only in place by his seat belt. “This isn’t part of the program.”

  “Detour. According to the nav system, this road should take us right past the Sorenson farm.”

  “Do you not realize we’re headed down a murderously steep grade?” Max said, grasping the dashboard for support. “It’s gonna take us below the Sorenson farm. You better turn around right now.”

  “Can’t.” Afton stared straight ahead. “Road’s too narrow.”

  “Then pull into the next driveway.”

  “No can do.”

  They passed two small farms that were hunkered into the hillside as the road continued to descend in a steep spiral. The snow was coming down so fast and heavy, they could barely see a hundred feet ahead of them.

  “That’s it for me,” Max said, throwing his hands up. “Zero visibility and a lost cause. I’m calling Thacker and telling him to order you to turn around.” He grabbed his cell phone and punched in numbers. “Shit!”

  “Now what’s wrong?” Afton asked.

  “I can’t get a connection.” Max punched in the numbers again. “My calls keep getting dropped. This stupid storm must’ve knocked something out. The towers or the satellites or whatever these stupid phone carriers use now. Moonbeams.”

  Afton jammed her foot on the brake and they slid to a stop.

  “What?” Max said. “You’ve finally come to your senses?”

  “We’re here.”

  Max leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “Here? There’s nothing here but a cliff.”

  “That’s right,” Afton said. “And the Sorenson farm should be right at the top of this cliff.”

  “I don’t exactly see an elevator or a flight of stairs, so how do you propose getting up there?”

  “We’ll climb up the rocks.”

  Max gaped at her. “Have you lost your freaking mind? This is, like, a ridiculously vertical mountain. It’s a steep, badass mountain like in that movie The Eiger Sanction. You remember that? Because I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

  Afton was shaking her head. “This is your basic sandstone cliff. Not that big a deal. Come on, the Sorenson house is directly above us. If you squidge your head to one side, you can see smoke curling up from its chimney.”

  “You’re crazy,” Max said. “You know that? Certifiably.” But he climbed out of the car with Afton and stomped through the snow to take a look. “Madness,” he muttered.

  Afton walked to the base of the cliff and stared up. Max wasn’t sure if she was bluffing or if she seriously intended to scale the cliff.

  Afton hoisted herself up onto a boulder. “I don’t think it’s going to be that difficult. This is basic bouldering. You use handholds and footholds and just proceed up one step at a time.” She looked at him. “You give it a shot.”

  Max put a leg up and tried to gain a foothold. Just when he thought he’d gained a solid perch, his foot slipped off and he went down, banging his shin against a rock.

  “I’m wearing desert boots,” Max said. “With slippery rubber soles.”

  “Try again.”

  Max tried to climb again, but every time he kept slipping back.

  “It can’t be done,” he said. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. My feet are too clumpy and I don’t know the first thing about climbing. We have to wait for the snowplows to do their thing up top and then we’ll come back tomorrow.” He started to tromp back toward the car. “I should have known this was a terrible idea. It’s snowing like a bastard and we’re barely going to make it back across the river. Hell, we might have to ditch in Hudson for the night.”

  “Can’t you call Don Jasper and have him drop some FBI commandos in here or something?” Afton asked. “I mean, where are the guys in the black helicopters when you need them?” She was only half serious. Decided she had to do something to cajole Max out of his angry funk.

  “That only happens in the movies,” Max said. “Besides, I already tried calling and couldn’t get a connection.” He shrugged. “Sorry. That’s all she wrote.”

  Afton walked to the rear of the Navigator and lifted the hatch. She dug around for a minute and pulled out a twist of rope.

  “Oh no,” Max said. “You’re not going to try to scale that hill by yourself.”

  She pulled out a set of crampons and an ice ax.

  He rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek. “On the other hand, maybe you are.”

  Afton slipped the crampons over her boots and snugged the straps tight. “I’m going up,” she told him in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’m going to take a look around and try to determine if the Darden baby is in that farmhouse. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”

  “You’re going to climb that big cliff. That’s pretty stupid right there.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s risky. There’s a difference between stupidity and risk.”

  “Now you tell me.” Max stood back and watched as she continued to gear up.

  When Afton was ready, she mustered a small smile. “Okay. Ready.”

  “I’m gonna drive back to that last farm we passed and call the cops in Hudson,” Max told her. “They’re the closest, so they can get here the fastest.”

  “If that farm even has a land line.”

  Max ignored her. “I’ll have Hudson PD contact WisDOT and try to get the road up top plowed as soon as possible. Then we’ll come in full force with the cavalry.”

  “Okay,” Afton said. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “And I have to call Thacker and Jasper, too.”

  “Oops.”

  “I’ll probably be forty or fifty minutes behind you, an hour at most,” Max said. He gazed at her and turned even more serious. “Listen, you go in, grab that little baby if you find her, and then get the hell out of there. Wrap her up like a burrito in a dozen blankets and head out the front road. You got that? That’s where we’ll be coming in.”

  Afton nodded. “Got it.” She was suddenly scared. And she knew that Max knew she was scared. “You think the baby’s there, too, don’t you?”

  “I do, yeah. I
hate to admit it, but you’ve got me convinced.”

  “Good,” Afton said. “Anything else?”

  “Ah, just one more thing.”

  “What?” Was he going to tell her to be careful?

  Max handed her his Glock. “Try not to shoot yourself.”

  43

  WE can’t leave,” Ronnie said.

  Shake sat up in bed, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?” Oh no, had Ronnie chickened out? Had he changed his mind? Had Marjorie gotten to him? Had she bickered and harassed and browbeat him to death?

  “We’re in the middle of a real badass snowstorm,” Ronnie said. “Our driveway’s completely drifted and the Interstate’s closed.”

  “Oh.” Shake glanced out the window at the snow and then relaxed against her pillows. Ronnie hadn’t changed his mind after all. He was just being cautious about their safety. For some reason, this small gesture made her heart swell. Ronnie being thoughtful and mature. It was a whole new side to him. “So when do you think we can get out of here?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes bounced down to where the baby lay sleeping in her crib. “Maybe tomorrow. It depends on when our snowplow guy shows up.”

  Shake gave a little shudder. “It scares me to spend one more night under this roof.”

  “We’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Your mother wants to get rid of our baby. Give it away or maybe even sell it.”

  “There’s no way I’m gonna let that happen,” Ronnie said. He gazed at Shake and offered her an encouraging smile. He thought how funny it was that Shake had never played into his rape fantasies. Of course, that first time at Club Paradise, she’d pretty much attacked him. Pulled him into the dancers’ dressing room and whispered into his ear how hunky he was. Said she wanted to be his girlfriend. He’d never forgotten that. Those might have been the kindest words that were ever spoken to him. Now something inside him made him want to protect Shake and the baby. Create a little bubble of safety for them. This feeling was new to him and he decided to proceed cautiously.

  “I’m still worried,” Shake said. “Your mother is getting freakier and freakier.” She didn’t want to bring up the subject of this past Tuesday night, when Ronnie had slipped out with his mother. Didn’t want to pry too much. She might lift a rock and find something ugly and dirty wiggling around underneath it.