Little Girl Gone (23 page)

Max appeared to consider this. Finally, he nodded his head and said, “Yeah, that works for me.”

“So what?” Portia asked, drawing closer to Max. “What's going on? What's the latest on the Darden kidnapping?”

“We have a very strong lead,” Max said. “But we're being stonewalled.”

“By who?”

“Novamed.”

Portia was watching Max like a lion might eye a zebra. “Explain, please.”

“We've obtained information concerning a possible marital indiscretion between Richard Darden and one of their company executives, an Eleanor Winters.”

“So she's a suspect?”

“Absolutely. Only problem is, Novamed is covering for her like crazy. They've got several new products coming on the market and they'd hate like hell to have any adverse publicity right now. Their stock is up and they don't want anything to upset the delicate balance.”

Portia wasn't convinced. “Are you saying this Eleanor Winters is the kidnapper or that she has information relating to the case?”

Max spread his hands apart, palms up, in what looked like an outright appeal. “We simply don't know. That's what we've been trying to find out.”

Portia eyed him carefully. “And you swear this is legit?”

“Absolutely,” Max said with a straight face.

Portia reached for her black mink coat, which was casually draped over the wall of one of the cubicles. “If this turns into something, I'm gonna owe you big time. But if you burn me, watch out.”

“I know,” Max said. “Hell hath no fury and all that.”

“You'd better believe it,” Portia said. She pulled on her coat, leaned forward, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“You're welcome,” he said as she scampered away. Then he turned and gave Afton a rueful look. “What do you think?”

“I think she's going to come back and slit your throat open with a dull letter opener is what I think.”

“Maybe so,” Max said. “But it was worth it.”

“How so?”

Max pulled his mouth into an angry snarl. “Payback.”

I
feel like we live on this damn freeway,” Max said. They were humming along, heading for Hudson again and what would probably be a not-so-nice meeting with the local medical examiner.

“You remember when all those college kids were disappearing, maybe ten years ago?” Afton asked.

Max nodded. “Yeah, I remember. There was a fellow down in La Crosse . . .”

“One in Eau Claire,” Afton said. “And one in Minneapolis and another up in Saint Cloud. I always thought of the perp as the I-94 killer.”

“Most law enforcement agencies thought the murders were isolated incidents. Local incidents.”

“I know. But I always had a feeling it was either a long haul trucker or maybe a traveling sales guy. Somebody who drove that stretch of I-94 fairly regularly. They'd stop in college towns where they knew kids would be drinking and hanging out in the local bars. Then they'd lure them away from their group and murder them.”

“Seems to me all the victims were dumped in water.”

“Rivers and swamps,” Afton said. “Yup, same MO for all of them.”

“You did research on this?”

“It was kind of my hobby for a while,” Afton said. “This case and that poor anchorwoman who disappeared down in Iowa.”

“Some hobby,” Max said. “Doing research on missing, murdered people.”

“Somebody's got to do it,” Afton said. “Somebody's got to try to take down the monsters.”

*   *   *

AFTON
and Max passed by the large blue Hudson water tower and made a quick turn into the oversized parking lot that fronted the Saint Croix County Government Center. The large brick structure housed several county government entities; few area residents realized that the morgue was located in the basement.

They badged their way in and then took a clanking elevator down to the lower level. A sign with an arrow directed them to the corridor on their right.

“Hate this smell,” Max said as their footsteps echoed in the white-tiled hallway.

The smell that wafted toward them also made Afton's stomach lurch. Chemicals mingled with harsh cleaning fluids and a touch of something foul.

Max pushed open the crash doors at the end of the hall and they suddenly found themselves in a small anteroom. More Spartan than a reception area, not quite a lobby.

A young man in green scrubs looked up from a desk. “Help you?” With his earnest look and curly hair, Afton thought he looked like he was about fourteen years old. A medical student? Mort sci student?

“We're here to see Dr. Taylor,” Max told the kid.

The young man stood up. “Got some ID?” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, squinted a careful assessment at their IDs, and then said, “Follow me, please.” He guided them down a wide, green-tiled hallway, pushed aside a large vinyl curtain, and said, “There you go.”

Afton and Max stepped inside a compact autopsy room that contained Muriel Pink's body. She was lying atop a metal table with a white sheet pulled up to her chin. With her eyes shut and her mouth closed, she looked like she was lost in peaceful slumber, so very different than the look of horror and agony that had marred her face earlier. A man they assumed was Dr.
Taylor backed away from her when he heard their footsteps and turned to face them. He was also young, maybe late twenties, and blond and blue-eyed, in keeping with the area's high concentration of Scandinavians.

“Detective Montgomery?” he asked.

Max nodded. “Dr. Taylor, how do. This is my associate Afton Tangler.”

Afton gave a short nod. Taylor was gloved and gowned and made no effort to shake their hands.

“I just got through a few preliminaries,” Taylor said. “But we'll have to wait until our director, Dr. Healy, runs a few more tests and makes a final determination. I'm sorry he couldn't be here, but his brother-in-law had a heart attack this morning.”

“Sounds like a tough deal,” Max said. “Any chance this could be kicked up to the State Crime Lab?”

“You'd have to take that up with Dr. Healy when he's available,” Taylor said.

“So is there anything you found that could be of help?” Max asked. “Even though Pink isn't technically our case, she's somewhat pivotal to the kidnapping that we're working.”

“I understand,” Taylor said. “Our police chief already briefed me.” He picked up his clipboard and read from it. “Weight: sixty-three point five kilograms. Height: one hundred fifty-seven centimeters. Based on the evidence at the scene and my examination of the body, it was determined that the victim sustained a class-four hemorrhage and lost over four liters of blood.”

No shit, Afton thought. Anyone at the scene could have determined that the victim bled out. It didn't exactly take an advanced degree in medicine.

“So what's the bottom line on all this?” Max asked. “How'd she die?” He was practically salivating for a little more information, too.

Taylor glanced at Pink's body. “Based on lateral bruising on her neck and the angle of the initial cut, we surmised that the assailant grabbed our victim from behind and stabbed downward into our victim's abdomen.”

Our
victim, Afton thought. Yes, she was ours. She became ours and we let her down. “So he grabbed her and slashed her?”

“It's a little more complicated than that,” Taylor said.

“By ‘complicated,' you mean gruesome,” Afton said.

“Yes,” Taylor said. “The entry wound only crippled her.”

“So she was still alive after the initial cut?” Max asked.

Taylor nodded. “The assailant then made a second incision into the abdomen, slicing from the waist up to the terminus of the evisceration at the victim's third rib. Both the celiac artery and abdominal aorta were cut so the victim bled out quickly.” He looked up. “And of course, her inner organs spilled out.”

“Like you'd gut a deer,” Afton said. “Just like a hunter might.”

“This guy
is
a hunter,” Max said.

“Well, yes,” Taylor said. “I suppose you could compare it to that. In fact . . .” He hesitated.

“What?” Max said.

“It's an odd thing that you should even mention hunting,” Taylor said. “Because a couple of stray hairs turned up on her.”

“Animal hairs?” Afton asked.

“Probably. I'm guessing fox or coyote perhaps? They've got that look of a canine coat, like guard hairs.”

“But Muriel Pink didn't own a dog and I doubt she was out running around in the woods,” Max said. “The woman was almost eighty years old and her neighbors said she hardly ever left town. Except for her doll shows.”

“The hairs might have come from one of her dolls,” Afton said. “Remember the reborn doll Susan Darden told us about? It supposedly had fox eyelashes that were hand-inserted.”

“So that could be it,” Max said. “It would make sense anyway.”

They all stood there for a while in the unnatural cold and fluorescent lighting, the sound of heavy-duty fans rumbling above their heads.

Finally Afton said to Dr. Taylor, “Have you ever seen anything like this before? The stab wounds? The dumping of the organs?”

Dr. Taylor slowly took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was as if he needed a minute to pull himself together. “Working here, I've seen a lot
of bad shit,” he said, in words that suddenly seemed out of character to his professional demeanor. “But nothing,
nothing,
quite like this.”

*   *   *

ON
the way back to Minneapolis, Afton put in a call to Dr. Sansevere. When she finally got the ME on the line, she asked one simple question.

“Dr. Sansevere,” Afton said. “Can you check to see if there were any stray animal hairs found on that baby you autopsied? The Cannon Falls baby?”

“I can tell you the answer to that right now,” Dr. Sansevere said. “There were. But I just chalked them up to her prolonged exposure in the woods.”

“But the baby's blanket wasn't torn or mauled?”

“No,” Dr. Sansevere said. “I found no evidence of that.”

“So how do you account for the animal hair?”

“Probably the surrounding area was just animal habitat.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” Afton ended her call and rode in silence for a while.

“What was that all about?” Max asked.

Afton drew a deep breath. “What if it was the same person?”

“What?” Max sounded shocked. “What are you talking about?” He glanced sideways at her.

“What if the sick person who stuck the baby in that log in Cannon Falls was the same person who murdered Muriel Pink?”

“Why would you say that when there's no real connection?”

“But there is,” Afton said. “Animal hair was found on both of the victims.” Even as Afton said it, it sounded weak to her. No, it sounded preposterous.

“It's too far fetched,” Max said.

“I hear you.”

Max tilted his head back, pursed his lips, and seemed to be working the notion through his mind. Finally he said, “You're grasping. You
want
there to be a connection.”

“Yes, probably.”
Go ahead and talk me out of it.

“But it doesn't make any sense. We're pretty sure it was the doll lady
who went after Muriel Pink. But how on earth would she tie in to the Cannon Falls baby?”

“I have no idea. Unless . . .” Afton stopped herself. “No, you're right. The whole thing is too preposterous.”

“What were you going to say?” Max asked.

“Well, a baby was found. And another baby has disappeared.”

“Okay,” Max said. “I think I see where you're going with this. And the whole thing scares the hail holy shit out of me.”

“Me, too.”

“That'd be one hell of a nutty twist.”

“The animal hair thing is what freaks me out,” Afton said.

“All right,” Max said. “Say we brought the animal hairs into the equation. Who would have something to do with animal hair?”

“I don't know. A hunter maybe?”

“Or a dog trainer?”

“Maybe,” Afton said. “We've got samples of both hairs. We could have our lab do a DNA analysis. To see if they're related.”

“I don't know. I'm still thinking the hair from Pink came from one of her dolls, while the animal hairs found on the baby are just that, from an animal.”

“But if they are related . . .” Afton didn't want to drop it.

“Then we're really in deep shit,” Max said. “Okay, so it's something to think about. When we get back, I'll run it past Thacker. See if it's worth doing the lab testing.”

“Thank you,” Afton said. She looked out the window as a stand of birch trees flew by. “Is Darden a hunter?”

“Not that I'm aware of. This is a guy who even gets manicures. I don't know too many guys with manicured nails who spend their weekend in a deer blind hugging a rifle and freezing their ass off.” Max tapped the brakes and slid into the right lane, the slower lane. “Animal hairs. Shit.”

“A zookeeper? A trapper?” Afton wondered.

“Hard to sift out the possible suspects from the regular Joes.”

“What would you do normally?” Afton asked.

“Probably look for sex offenders, felons in the area.”

“Should we do that?”

“Sheriff Burney is already doing that in his jurisdiction,” Max said. “And we can try it, too, up to a point. There's protocol to follow and we can't investigate everybody. We don't have the manpower.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Afton asked.

“Keep working the case and wait for the kidnapper to call back,” Max said.

“When do you think that will be?”

“Not sure. My experience tells me it's got to be fairly soon. Criminals usually like to grab their money and run.”

“I wish I could be there,” Afton said.

“You mean, to facilitate the exchange with the kidnapper?”

“No, to put a bullet in his brain.”

*   *   *

WE'RE
still missing something,” Max said.

“What?” Afton asked. It was late afternoon Thursday and they were sifting through a pile of reports that had been slowly filtering in on missing children. “We're getting decent cooperation from—”

“No, I mean like a thread . . . a connection.”

“Like the animal hair thing?”

“No,” Max said. “I mean like a personal connection.”

“Okay.” Max was worrying something, tossing it around in his brain, and Afton decided the best thing to do, the smart thing to do, was let him chew at it until he came up with something.

“We need to go over to Synthotech.”

“Darden's current employer,” Afton said. “But the FBI guys already did all that.” She shuffled some more papers. “I have their reports right here. First on their list was Gordon Conseco, the CEO of Snythotech.”

“Was he standing firmly behind his new hire?”

Afton scanned the report. “Mmn, not so much. Conseco seemed more
concerned with doing a slick PR job for Synthotech. Decrying any involvement with the kidnapping and offering law enforcement complete access to all their employees.”

“So Don Jasper and his guys talked to everyone over there?”

“They conducted interviews with at least a dozen people,” Afton said. “And there just wasn't much take-away.”

“For them. But maybe there would be for us.”

“Because you think we're smarter?” Afton knew that wasn't the case. Don Jasper and his band of merry men were scary smart. If they couldn't pry anything loose at Synthotech, how could she and Max?

“The babysitter . . .” Max said.

“Ashley Copeland,” Afton said.

“Her mother works there. That was Ashley's connection with Darden in the first place. Who talked to Mom?”