Little Girl Gone (21 page)

A
FTON
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.”

“It was a man,” Darden said. “And fairly well spoken at that. I sure as hell didn't talk to any dumb kid.”

“When's the kidnapper supposed to call back?” Jasper asked.

“He just said he'd call today.” Darden cast a panicked glance at the cell phone that sat on the table in front of him.

Thacker gazed at him. “Did you get the money together yet?”

“We'll be doing that in two shakes,” Jasper said. “Going over to First Federal. Talk to . . .” He looked at Darden.

“Bruce Billiard,” Darden said. “VP of their Private Client Group.”

“And you can get the full two million?” Thacker asked.

“Yes,” Darden said.

Max glanced at Afton and wiggled his eyebrows.

“And please tell me we have Mr. Darden's cell phone carrier on full alert?” Thacker said.

“All that's been taken care of,” said Dick Boyce, one of the techs.

“I don't care what anybody says,” Bagin said. “I still think we need to track him.”

“What if the kidnapper wants to make the exchange in the middle of a cornfield out in East Bumbleburg?” Thacker asked.

“Tracking is still tracking,” Bagin argued.

The debates and arguments raged on, with Afton sitting next to Max, both of them following along as if they were watching a tennis match at Wimbledon.

Finally, tasked with technical, financial, and legal responsibilities, people began filtering out of the room until only a handful remained.

Thacker took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and glanced at Afton and Max. “You two still here?”

“What do you need from us, boss?” Max asked.

“Don't call me ‘boss,'” Thacker said. “I thought you were going to pay a visit to that mystery lady over at Novamed.”

“Just say the word,” Max said. “But she's not a mystery anymore. Darden spilled everything.”

“Okay,” Thacker said. “Go now. It probably won't amount to much, but do it anyway. And keep in touch, okay?”

“Will do,” Afton said. Though the stakes were high, she was tingling with excitement. The hunt was shaping up; the dogs were snapping their jaws.

*   *   *

THE
reception area at Novamed was just as stark and antiseptic as Afton remembered it. Andrew and his same cookie cutter buddy were still officiously manning the front desk, though they seemed somewhat less cordial this time around.

Max, however, was enjoying himself. He dangled a piece of paper in front of their noses and said, “This piece of paper is a subpoena signed by District Court Judge Marsha Folbridge. It gives us complete and total access to Richard Darden's personnel records as well as to Eleanor Winters, the heretofore unnamed woman in the sexual harassment arbitration that took place here on corporate premises this past October.”

Andrew sighed and punched a button. When his party answered, he
said, “We have two detectives here who want to inspect Richard Darden's personnel records.” He listened for a few moments, and then said, “Yes, they do. It seems to be in order.” He hung up and said, “Sign in, take a badge, and please take a seat. Someone will be down to fetch you.”

“Thank you,” Max said.

Max signed his name, and then passed the pen to Afton.

They waited five minutes, then ten minutes. Afton sensed this might be carefully calculated. To give the Novamed folks a chance to collect their thoughts. Or worst-case scenario, shred their documents.

Finally, a door opened and Betty Randle came bustling out. She was dressed in black once again, a severely tailored skirt suit, and had her blond hair done up in what Afton thought might be an old-fashioned French roll. Or maybe the style had swung back into fashion again as a hip, retro look.

“We meet again,” Randle said. Then, “May I see the subpoena, please?”

Max handed it over and let Randle study it for a moment. Then he plucked it back from her and slid it into his leather folder. “Satisfied?”

“Follow me,” Randle said. She led them through the door she'd emerged from, down a long white corridor carpeted in industrial gray fabric, and into a small conference room with a table and six chairs. A manila file folder sat in the center of the table.

Afton and Max sat down, and then Max pulled the file across the table and flipped it open. He took his time, going through the various papers, turning them over carefully. From the look on his face, Afton knew there wasn't much there. Maybe some shredding had gone on. Or at least some sanitizing.

“Miss Randle,” Max said. “We also put in a request to talk to the employee involved in the Darden harassment issue.”

“I'm not sure that's possible,” Randle said.

Max glanced at Afton, who dutifully pulled out her cell phone. “Miss Randle, I'm going to dial the number of the state attorney general and let you speak with him directly.”

Randle shrank back. And for the first time, her composure seemed to slip. “That won't be necessary,” she said. “I'll bring Ms. Winters in.”

“Thank you,” Max said.

They heard Eleanor Winters's protestations even before she came through the doorway.

“This is ridiculous,” Winters sputtered as she followed Randle into the conference room. She glared at them and reluctantly sat down at the table. “I had assurances that this absurd misunderstanding was over and done with.”

Afton studied the outraged Eleanor Winters. She was pencil-thin and raven-haired with an almost unnaturally narrow face. The type of woman who might get labeled “high strung” by the men she worked with.

“Miss Winters,” Max said. He extended a hand, but Winters chose not to respond. She crossed her arms and fixed him with a steely gaze. Unfazed, he went ahead with cursory introductions.

Randle glanced at her watch and said, “Time is at a premium, Detectives. If you could please ask your questions?”

“You realize, Miss Winters, that Richard Darden's baby daughter has been kidnapped?” Max said.

“I read the newspapers,” Winters said.

“Since you had a tertiary involvement with him, we'd like to ask you a few questions.”

Winters's lip curled. “Then ask.”

Afton and Max had rehearsed their questions on the way over. They started with gentle lobs, asking Winters how long she'd worked at Novamed, what her job entailed, like that. Then they moved on to the more hardball issues. That is, had she sexually harassed Richard Darden?

“Those allegations are utterly preposterous,” Winters spit at them. “The whole episode was something his overachieving, macho male ego dreamed up.”

“Yet your company took it seriously enough,” Afton said, “that both parties were afforded arbitration. What was the technical term they used? Oh yes, a grievance committee.”

“People file grievances around here when the water bubbler doesn't work,” Winters snapped.

“But there
was
a grievance,” Max said. “Between you and Richard Darden. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Winters said.

“Yet you say it was baseless,” Afton said.

“Asked and answered,” Randle said.

Max held up a hand. “You seem quite upset, Miss Winters.”

“I am upset,” she said. “You have no right to come in here and question my ethics or morality.” She started to stand up. “In fact, I'm not about to—”

“Sit down!” Max shouted. “Sit down and listen to me.”

Reluctantly, Winters sat back down in her chair.

“We can go over these questions in the comfort of this office . . .” He glanced around at the sterile white walls. “Well, relative comfort. Or we can go down to police headquarters and find a nice cozy interview room.”

Winters stared at him, her eyes hard as obsidian. Then she turned to Randle and said, “Will you please call Security?”

That was enough for Max. He slammed his hand down on the table, causing it to tremble and papers to scatter.

“Enough,” he shouted. “There's been a kidnapping, a murder, and an extortion attempt, so everyone better start cooperating right now!”

“What is it you want to know?” Winters asked through tightly clenched teeth.

Afton and Max resumed their good cop, bad cop routine. They asked questions about Winters's relationship with Darden, and about the grievance he'd filed against her. Winters barely gave them one- and two-word answers.

Until they asked for her side of the story.

Then Eleanor Winters opened the spigot. Darden had come on to her, she claimed. Subtly at first, and then escalating his interest in her until it was no longer possible for her to comfortably get her work done. The grievance had been filed, arbitration ensued, and Novamed had resolved things by assigning her to a different department. She made it clear how unfair the resolution had been and how unhappy she was.

“But things are on an even keel now,” Max said.

“Somewhat,” Winters said. Then, “Yes, I suppose they are.”

Max smiled evenly. “Thank you for your cooperation. We really appreciate it.”

“Am I finished?” Winters asked. “I have work to do.”

Max held up a hand. “We just need to tie up a few loose ends.”

Afton looked up from studying Winters's file. “You live in Woodbury?”

“Yes,” she said.

“With your son.”

“Leave him out of this!”

“He's a junior in high school?” Afton said. “And the two of you live fairly close to Hudson, Wisconsin.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The Max, speaking in a pleasant tone, said, “Tell us about the dolls.”

Winters's head snapped in his direction, a puzzled expression on her face. “Dolls?” she said. She looked at Randle. “What does he mean by ‘dolls'?”

Randle shook her head.

“I'm sorry,” Afton said. “We were under the impression you had a doll collection.”

Randle leaned forward in her chair, fairly seething. “Wait a minute, you think
I'm
the crazy doll lady they've been talking about on TV? Are you insane?”

“You don't collect dolls?” Afton asked.

“No!”

“Ever owned a doll?”

“Not for a long, long time,” Winters said. She curled a lip. “What about you?” she fired back. “Do
you
collect anything? Stamps, postcards . . . teddy bears?”

“I think,” Afton said, “that a collection is just a shopping addiction in drag.”

Winters turned to Randle. “This conversation is beyond insulting. I'm not answering one more ridiculous question unless I have an attorney present.”

Randle tipped her head. “You heard the lady.”

Max held up both hands. “Hey, we're just trying to cover all the bases.” He turned toward Afton. “Do you have any more questions?”

Afton shifted her attention to Randle. “How about you, Miss Randle? Do you have any connection with dolls? Any dolls lying around your house?”

Randle actually smirked. “I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“Actually,” Afton said, “you've both been a big help.” She pulled out her cell phone and, as Winters seemed to relax, sensing the interview was about over, snapped a quick shot of her.

Winters went ballistic all over again. “Wha— You can't
do
that!”

“I just did,” Afton told her.

*   *   *

THOSE
broads are a couple of cold fish,” Max said once they were back outside, crossing the parking lot.

“Don't call them ‘broads,'” Afton said. “I don't like them any more than you do, but there's no reason to be disrespectful.”

“You have an interesting way of phrasing things.”

“Thank you.”

They ducked into Max's car, grateful to be out of the wind and cold. He turned on the engine and flipped the heater on high. “You got Susan Darden's number?” he asked.