Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(10)

“Sad,” Afton said. “That he’s garnered so much experience, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Max agreed. “It’s a tough deal.”

Afton gazed at Max. She liked him and had worked briefly with him six months ago. When two young Hispanic boys had been shot to death in a gang-related incident, she’d been brought in to help break the news to their mother. That had been a rough one. Martina Alvarez, a single parent working two jobs, had been devastated by her sons’ deaths. Afton had stuck close to Mrs. Alvarez for several weeks, helping her notify family back in Juarez, making funeral arrangements, and always lending a sympathetic ear. In the end, she’d even managed to convince Mrs. Alvarez to join an advocacy group consisting of parents of murdered children.

Of course, what Afton had secretly wanted to do was track down the miserable bastard who shot Mrs. Alvarez’s boys and put a bullet though his worthless skull.

But no, she had to be content to sit on the sidelines and make nice like a social worker.

“What’s your next move?” she asked Max. He had been making jottings when she came into the room. Little scratches on a yellow legal pad.

“The FBI are the big dogs,” Max said. “They’re going to interview the Dardens some more, follow up on pizza places, run through their database of known and suspected kidnappers, and canvas the Kenwood neighborhood. I’ve been reviewing my notes from a phone conversation I had with the lady who organized the doll show. Muriel Pink. I’m probably gonna go pay her a visit.”

“When?”

Max glanced at his watch. “Now.”

“Can I come along?”

Max shrugged. “She lives over in Wisconsin.”

“Where in Wisconsin?”

“Hudson.”

Hudson was just across the state line. Straight east on the other side of the Saint Croix River. “No problem,” Afton said. “It’s practically a suburb. I’ll even drive if you want.”

“In the Jag?” Max asked, suddenly interested.

Everybody in the department seemed to know that Afton had gotten a Jaguar XKE and a Lincoln Navigator as part of her divorce settlement. She lived in a tiny house in South Minneapolis with her two kids and her sister, but she owned two luxury cars. How was that for crazy?

Afton nodded. “Sure,” she said amiably. “We can swing by my place and pick up the Jag.”

“Okay,” Max said. “But maybe don’t tell Thacker that I let you come along, okay?”

Afton nodded as she watched Max gather up his stuff. He was a grade one detective, married and divorced twice, who now had sole custody of his two sons. The scuttlebutt around the department was that Max was probably on the lookout for a third ex–Mrs. Montgomery. And Afton could see why women found him charming. Max was in his mid-forties, easygoing, and still attractive in a roguish kind of way. Silver hair, hooded dark eyes, still in pretty good shape. The proverbial silver fox, albeit Minnesota’s version.

“Just out of curiosity,” Afton said, “have any other babies been reported missing?”

Max’s head was bent again. Studying his notes or just resting his eyes?

“Not in recent months,” he said.

“But babies have gone missing?”

“Not here in the metro.” Max touched the eraser end of a pencil to his forehead and scratched distractedly. “There was one in Rochester last year. Another one over in River Falls ten months ago.”

“River Falls is maybe fifteen miles from Hudson,” Afton said.

Max shrugged.

“Were the babies ever found?”

Max closed his notebook and focused his attention on Afton. “Rochester yes, River Falls no.”

“If that reborn lady also lives in the Hudson area, there could be a connection.”

Max cranked back his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Doesn’t appear to be. The Rochester baby was a family squabble. Kid was recovered and put into foster care. The River Falls baby never did turn up, so who knows?” He indicated a handful of pages. “That’s the faxed report from the River Falls PD and the Wisconsin DCI.”

Afton knew the Department of Criminal Investigation was Wisconsin’s equivalent to Minnesota’s own BCA, or Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, which had statewide jurisdiction.

Max pushed the pages toward her. “Have a look if you’re interested, and it sounds like you are.”

Afton took a few minutes to skim the reports. Then she tilted back in her chair and asked, “What makes somebody snatch a baby?”

The venerable detective gave her a long look. “Some reproductively challenged fruit loops can’t stand the cards they’re dealt so they take matters into their own hands. That’s one scenario. Then there are the scumbag baby brokers out there who take orders for babies, for Christ’s sake, right down to hair and eye color.” Max paused. “Then there’s the worst possible reason of all.”

“What’s that?” Afton asked, not sure she really wanted to hear what Max had to say.

“Sport.”


*

MAX was hungry so they swung into a Wendy’s to grab a late lunch.

“One Baconator,” Afton ordered into the speaker. When Max snorted, she added, “Hold the onions.” And to him, “Hold the judgment, please.”