Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(31)
“Does she know?” Max asked.
“No,” Afton said. “Amazingly, she slept through the entire thing. Even when the nurses moved her bed to a different room so crime scene could get in there, she never woke up once.”
“Sleeping pill,” Max said.
“Where do I get one of those?” Afton asked.
*
FINALLY, thankfully, when all the talking was done, when all the gentle reprimands had been doled out, Afton went home. Max had insisted on following her in his car and offered to park a cruiser at the curb to keep watch for the night.
Afton had declined his offer. She just wanted this day to be over and done with. Now she was at home, snuggled in her own bed under a pile of warm blankets. Poppy and Tess were asleep in their rooms; Bonaparte snored loudly from where he was curled up at the end of her bed. The TV was on, but it was just flickering images, something to occupy her wonked-out brain.
Afton was mentally reviewing her day, which had seemed to unfold like some kind of weird time warp. Chastisement followed by the trip to Novamed, followed by a nail-biter helo ride, followed by the discovery of the dead infant, and then the attack at the hospital.
Had it been one of the kidnappers that she’d tangled with tonight? Had the boy come back for Ashley Copeland? To do what? See her again? Kill her?
Afton had read the transcript of Ashley’s interview with the FBI. And the girl really hadn’t told them anything of value about her attacker.
Hell, she had been face-to-face with a crazy person who was probably the very same guy and she didn’t have much of a takeaway. Barely a description, really more an impression.
They would have to talk to Ashley tomorrow. Push the girl a little harder, try to ascertain if the girl knew more than she’d let on.
Afton fumbled with her pillow, struggling to get comfortable. She was having trouble trying to erase the image of the poor baby who’d been stuffed inside the log. Was that baby lying on a cold metal laboratory table right now? She knew the answer was yes. Max had even told Don Jasper that he planned to attend the preliminary autopsy tomorrow morning. The notion didn’t thrill Afton, but she supposed it was part of the case. And if she wanted to stay on this case, then an autopsy was part of the package deal.
Shivering, Afton picked up the remote control and flipped along until she hit Channel 7. It was eleven o’clock and she was curious—and a little fearful—to see what kind of footage the TV station had actually shot down in Cannon Falls. She drew a deep breath, amped up the sound, and watched as the somber face of the Channel 7 news anchor appeared. His blow-dried hair was camera ready, his diction was precise, even his demeanor was appropriately solemn as he said, “Good evening. Tragedy struck in Cannon Falls today when the body of a dead infant was discovered in a hollow log. And only Newswatch 7 was live on the scene to bring you this exclusive footage . . .”
Afton watched, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as the film footage played out just as she remembered it. The fields, the clearing in the woods, the tracks spray-painted blue. And there, in the middle of their little law enforcement huddle, she saw her own pale face staring quizzically up at the camera as everyone around her waved and shouted.
The anchorman blathered on. “. . . calls placed from our newsroom to the Sheriff’s Department in Goodhue County, as well as to our local FBI office, were not returned. A spokesperson for Susan and Richard Darden had no comment. So now we wait with bated breath to find out if this missing baby turns out to be the recently kidnapped Elizabeth Ann Darden—or if this is the body of yet another missing child.”
“Oh my God,” Afton whispered. She couldn’t believe they could be so callous as to speculate on the dead infant’s identity. She wondered if poor Susan Darden was watching this. She hoped not.
15
SUSAN Darden scrunched her knees up to her chin and stared disbelieving at the TV screen. There she was, that dog woman again. Right in the center of the screen, staring up at the helicopter. Lady cop or liaison or whatever she claimed to be—she would never forget that face.
But as the Channel 7 News continued, her horror was suddenly compounded. A baby had been discovered in a desolate woods near Cannon Falls? Out in the cold with animals roaming around? Was it her baby? Was it Elizabeth Ann?
Panic gripped her. Why hadn’t the police called? Should she call them?
But still Susan didn’t throw back her blanket and jump off the couch. Her eyes were riveted on the TV screen as the camera panned from the stupid woman over to two people who were huddled together, obviously trying to shield something. Oh no, it was a body bag! She felt a rip inside her, a flash of pain that felt like she was on fire. Bitter tears welled up and she began to scream. Loud, pained howls, like a wild animal with its leg caught in a trap. She wanted to tear and claw and draw blood. In fact, if that dog woman were here right now, she’d rip out her eyeballs.
Deep within her rational mind, Susan knew she should try to pull herself together, call the police, and find out what had happened. Demand to know what had happened. But still she screamed, a bloodcurdling scream that trailed off into a raspy hiss. As the pain welled up like a balloon that would burst inside her, she grabbed a pink pillow and held it to her mouth.
Make it stop, she told herself. Make it all go away.
“Susan! Susan!”
She heard a familiar voice as she gasped and whimpered into her pillow. She felt as though she was being pulled into a deep morass, a nightmare from which she would never wake up. Now there were hands on her shoulders. Was someone trying to hurt her? She struggled, dropping the pillow, flailing her arms and throwing punches without bothering to open her eyes.