Little Girl Gone (15 page)

R
ICHARD
Darden looked considerably different from the last time Afton had seen him. For one thing, the man had aged. Worry lines etched his face, undermining his chiseled features. And his cocksure, aloof attitude seemed washed away under the harsh, fluorescent lights of the interview room. Dressed in a pair of khakis and a wrinkled Macalester sweatshirt, Darden looked positively bedraggled, a far cry from the primped and polished business executive that he'd been a few days earlier.

Afton suspected that Darden's wardrobe malnutrition was a result of Susan Darden not allowing her husband back into the house for the rest of his clothes. Then again, the woman could hardly be blamed for drawing such a hard line. Less than a week ago, Susan had been blissfully unaware of her husband's affair with the nanny. Now his pitiful weakness had been exposed.

It was hard to fathom how Darden could possibly think of anything other than his missing child. But in Afton's limited experience, she'd noticed that high-powered, testosterone-fueled Type-A's weren't typically tethered by the same empathic constraints that were felt by the rest of the world.

Afton sipped her coffee slowly as she stared through the one-way glass. Darden and his snake-eyed lawyer, Steve Slocum, sat on one side of a
wooden table; Max was on the opposite side. Slocum had launched a pro forma protest at being kept waiting for forty-five minutes, but Max had brushed it off, remaining cool and relaxed. Still, Slocum didn't bother to mask his disdain and contempt for every question his client was asked.

Admiration swelled within Afton. She didn't think she could maintain the same confidence that Max did when faced with constant scrutiny from Slocum. Every single question Max asked was met with a curled lip and a barrage of lawyerly protests. Some of them were even in Latin.

Even now, while Max scribbled notes on his yellow legal pad, Slocum was leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone messages, trying to look bored, probably hoping to gain a cool upper hand.

Max reached into a file folder and pulled out a black-and-white photo. Afton recognized it as one of the stills the techies downstairs had hastily pulled from the security camera DVD they'd gotten from the dry cleaner.

“Do you know this guy?” Max asked. He held up the photo for both of them to see.

Darden barely glanced at the photo. “No, I've never seen him before in my life.”

“Take another look,” Max said. “Take a good look.”

“My client already gave you his answer,” Slocum said. “He said he doesn't know the man.”

“Indulge me,” Max said. “Trust me when I say this is important.”

Darden glanced up and studied the photo for a few moments. “No, I . . .” Then his brows pinched together as he scanned the entire photo. “Wait a minute . . . what's that man carrying in his arms?”

“This is quite enough,” Slocum said.

Max lifted a hand. “Just give your client a minute.”

Darden shook his head as if he were processing the information. “Is that Al? It
can't
be Al!”

“You know him?” Max asked with some urgency.

“You
know
him?” Slocum said, surprised.

Darden shot Max a fearful glance. “Did Al take Elizabeth Ann? Is this
bundle he's carrying supposed to be her?” He tapped the photo hard with an index finger. “That son of a bitch. I can't believe it.” Darden clenched his fists as his face flushed pink with rage.

“Who's Al?” Slocum asked, clearly confused.

“He's our handyman,” Darden said. “Well . . . really a gardener that Susan hired last fall. He raked and bundled leaves, that sort of thing.” He sat back in his chair, looking shaken. “Where did you get this photo? My God, is he the one who kidnapped Elizabeth Ann?”

“We don't know that yet,” Max said. “We're still pursuing a number of leads. Do you know this man's last name? Or have his address?”

“No, I don't have any of that information. But Susan probably does. Damn it! I told her never to hire scum like that. I told her. She was always so trusting and naïve, never met a stray dog she didn't want to drag home.” He pounded the table with his fist. “If this is the guy, you've got to get out there and find him!”

“We will,” Max said. “I promise.”

“This could be
something
,” Darden said, turning toward Slocum.

“Did this Al person work for you on a regular basis?” Max asked. “It would help if we had dates. If we could pinpoint exactly when he might have been at your home.”

“I don't know,” Darden said. “It was just that one time, I think. A couple of months ago.”

“How was he referred to you?” Max asked.

Darden rubbed his eyes and said, “You can thank Susan for that. I think the guy was part of a charity that Susan was connected to. You know, like hiring ex-vets or something.”

“And you don't know where he lives?” Max asked.

“I told you, no. If I did, I'd be on my way over there right now to wring his neck,” Darden cried. He paused. “But if you call Susan, I'm positive she'll remember the name of the organization. It's called Graceful Nation or something like that.”

“We'll do that.” Max glanced at the one-way mirror.

*   *   *

AFTON
got the message immediately. She pulled out her cell phone and called Susan Darden.

Susan Darden answered on the second ring. “Hello?” she gasped. Her breathless voice broadcast her obvious distress.

“Mrs. Darden?” Afton said. “Something's come up.”

“You found her?” Susan said.

“No, I'm afraid not. But we do have a lead.”

“Oh, please let this be something.”

“You had a handyman, a gardener, working at your home a few months ago. A person named Al?”

“Oooh!” She let out a hoarse moan. “Al Sponger. Is he the one who took Elizabeth Ann?”

“We don't know that. But we do want to locate this person for questioning. We were hoping you might provide an address for the organization Al worked for.”

“Of course!” Susan said. “Just a minute. Let me grab my . . . address book.”

Afton could hear a frantic pawing of pages. Then Susan came back on the line.

“Yes, I have it right here. It's called Grateful Nation. Their address is twenty-eight fourteen Girard and . . .”

Afton carefully wrote down the name—Grateful Nation, not Graceful Nation—as well as their address and phone number. “Thank you, Mrs. Darden. We'll contact them immediately.”

“And you'll let me know?” She sniffled. “As soon as you can?”

“Absolutely.”

Afton thanked Susan Darden again and hung up. Then she walked out of the small room and handed the slip of paper to the uniformed officer who was stationed outside the door of the interview room. She would have loved to follow up on the lead right away, but knew Thacker would skin her alive if she did.

When Afton returned to her spot on the other side of the glass, Max was just pocketing the note and about to switch gears.

“Okay,” Max said. “Tell me about Jilly Hudson.”

“Detective,” Slocum sighed. “I hardly think this is relevant. Unless my client is a suspect, this line of questioning is completely inappropriate. Mr. Darden is a victim here and you're attempting to compound his misery with a foolhardy line of questioning.”

“Not at all,” Max said. “But I've been sitting here, listening to you scrutinize every question I've asked. We have a missing child and time is running out. So unless you want to prolong this session, I suggest the two of you start answering my questions.”

“No,” Slocum said. “We simply can't go there.”

Max shuffled a stack of papers. “It would be unfortunate if some of the local TV stations sniffed out this information on their own. This kind of shit happens, you know? They've got that relentless twenty-four-hour news monster to feed.”

“Don't you threaten us!” Slocum said.

Max kept right on going. “The six o'clock news might even lead off with a picture of the lovely Jilly Hudson with a juicy story about how your poor, innocent client happened to be banging the nanny.”

“Stop it,” Darden said. He looked miserable.

“And how long do you think Synthotech will keep your client on staff when that shit storm starts to fly?” Max leaned back. “No, I think Richard better start explaining himself.” He stared stolidly at Slocum and then at Darden.

“He's bluffing, Richard. I advise you not to answer,” Slocum said.

Max flipped a hand. “Up to you, Richard. Ball's in your court.”

Darden broke. “It was just a thing, okay? It didn't mean anything. It was just . . . convenient.”

“Richard,” Slocum said. “I have to insist—”

“Shut up!” Darden hollered. “I've lost my child, I'm losing my marriage, do you want me to lose my job, too?”

Slocum sighed and set his mouth in a grim line.

“What?” Darden said, staring at Max. He sensed there was more to come.

He was right.

“Did you ever hear of new baby syndrome?” Max asked. “The baby
arrives and suddenly Daddy isn't getting his REM sleep anymore. He gets tired and cranky, starts to resent all the bottle feedings and diaper duty. Then you've got people dropping in all the time to see the new baby, so it's no longer all about you. Finally, the house smells like poop from all the diapers, wifey is chronically exhausted and doesn't have time for her husband anymore, and the alpha male in the house has been permanently dethroned. Hell, it's almost justifiable when you think about it . . .”

Richard hung his head. “It wasn't like that. I love Elizabeth Ann. And Susan, too.”

“Sure you do,” Max said. “That's why you found yourself a new squeeze who was younger, cuter, and—”

“Where exactly are you going with this?” Darden demanded.

“That maybe you got rid of the kid yourself,” Max said.

“What?” Darden's face drained of all color and he practically choked on his own tongue. “Are you serious?”

“It wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened,” Max said.

“I wouldn't do that!” Darden blustered. “I
couldn't
do that. My wife and I were at the Edina Country Club with two hundred other people eating rubber chicken and drinking wine that probably came in a cardboard box on the night Elizabeth Ann was kidnapped. Why, I could give you the names of fifty people I talked to that night.”

“I have no doubt you can,” Max said. “You're a very smart man, Mr. Darden. And your bank account has more commas than a James Joyce novel.”

“So then . . .” Darden began.

“You could have hired kidnappers,” Max said.

“What do you think?” Darden said. “That I went on Craigslist so I could steal my own child? Be serious!”

Max lifted a shoulder. “You could have hired this guy Al.”

Darden placed both hands flat on the table and stared earnestly into Max's eyes. “No,” he said. “I didn't mastermind this kidnapping. You have to believe me.”

“I want to,” Max said. “I really do.”

*   *   *

AFTON
watched Max with open admiration. He was doing a masterful job. Drawing Darden out, cutting off Slocum, asking the tough questions. She was actually taking notes, writing down his sly techniques that . . .

The door to her darkened room suddenly flew open. Thacker and three of the FBI guys, Keith Sunder, Harvey Bagin, and Don Jasper, walked in. Silently, like shadows, they took their places along the window.

“How's he doing?” Jasper whispered.

Afton wasn't sure whether he meant Max or Darden, so she said, “They identified the handyman and just finished a discussion regarding the girlfriend.”

“How'd all that go?” Thacker asked.

“Not very well for Darden,” Afton said.

Jasper nudged Keith Sunder. “You want to go in there and make a move? Like we talked about?”

Sunder nodded. “Sure.”

“What move?” Afton asked after Sunder had left.

“Just watch,” Jasper said.

*   *   *

THE
door to the interview room opened, and Keith Sunder casually strolled in.

“Excuse me, Detective,” Sunder said. “I hope you don't mind if I sit in for a few minutes.”

“Be my guest,” Max said. If he was surprised that the FBI agent was joining them, he didn't show it. “You all know Special Agent Keith Sunder, don't you? From our local FBI office?”

Darden and Slocum grudgingly bobbed their heads.

“Good,” Max said. “We were just about to move on to Mr. Darden's job status.”

“Past or present?” Sunder asked.

“Let's focus on the past,” Max said. “Novamed. You had a nice salary there with plenty of fancy benefits and stock options. A pretty sweet deal.” He paused. “Why'd you leave?”

Sunder leaned forward in his chair. “And why is your ex-employer so closemouthed about your departure?”

Darden didn't answer. He just stared at the floor and unconsciously jiggled a foot. Afton recognized it as a classic stall pose.

“We're waiting, Mr. Darden,” Max said.

The silence in the room was palpable. Even Afton could feel it through the glass. She wondered if there'd been mismanagement of funds or too many golf junkets on company time.

Finally Darden said, “It was time to move on.”

“And it's blatantly obvious that you did,” Max said. “The question remains,
why
you chose to move on.”

“What happened over there?” Sunder asked. “Were you caught stealing proprietary information?”

Darden gave a disdainful snort. “I wouldn't do that.”