Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(41)

“You were there,” Afton said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. “Maybe you could kind of fill us in on what you remember.”

Ashley let loose a heavy sigh. Afton and Max waited. Hoped.

Finally she said, “The pizza guy.”

“Yes,” Afton said. “The one who came knocking at the door that night.” And probably tried to attack you again. Only he ended up attacking me.

“That guy was bat-shit crazy,” Ashley said. “He came crashing in and smashed my face with his fist. I fell down and started bleeding really bad. It hurt like hell. I’ve never been in so much pain in my entire life!”

Afton nodded.

Tears filled Ashley’s eyes. “I could hardly breathe, but he still climbed on top of me and tied me up. Stuck a gag in my mouth.” She lowered her voice. “I think he wanted to, you know, have sex with me, ’cause he started to pull down my pants. But thank God he didn’t.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Max asked.

“Not really,” Ashley said. “At least I don’t remember anything.” She frowned. “Not actual words anyway.”

“But there was something,” Afton prompted.

“Kind of,” Ashley said. “The whole time he was tying me up, he was making this weird low-level sound. Like he was humming or something.”

“You mean like a song?” Max asked.

Ashley shook her head. “No, no. More like an angry . . . insect. It was weird. Scary.”

“Do you think you could identify him if we showed you a picture?” Afton asked.

Ashley shook her head. “No.”

“You did an Identi-Kit, right?”

“That stupid computer drawing thing? Yeah, I did it. But I couldn’t remember much about the guy. He was, like, this generic dude.”

“But you were face-to-face with him,” Afton said. “So you must have gotten a fleeting impression. What do you remember most?”

“Maybe his eyes,” Ashley said. “They were blue, but they looked kind of vacant. Like . . . blue marbles. Just rattling around inside his head.”

“Anything else?” Afton asked.

“I think he had a tat.”

“A tattoo?” Max asked. “Where was it?”

“Like, on his neck.”

“Could you make out what it was?”

Ashley shook her head and her hair swished back and forth like a golden curtain. “Not really.”

“Part of it maybe?” Afton asked.

“I’d be guessing, but maybe an angel’s wing? Or a cloud?”

“What about the other person who came in behind him?” Afton said. “Can you recall anything about her?”

“Not really,” Ashley said. “I was pretty out of it by then.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about that night?” Max asked.

“Yeah,” Ashley said. “Mr. Darden was a creeper.”

“How so?” Afton asked.

“You know, like a lech,” Ashley said. “Like he wanted to do me.”

There was a sudden hubbub outside in the hallway, voices raised in excitement and a scramble of footsteps. Afton got up to see what was going on. She came back into Ashley’s room a moment later and looked pointedly at Max. “Channel 7 just showed up.”

“Oh my God!” Ashley said. “Are those the TV people? Do they want to talk to me?”

“I suppose,” Max said. He didn’t sound happy.

“I can’t go on TV looking like this,” Ashley squealed. “It’s impossible. Wait a minute.” She reached over and grabbed a hand mirror off her nightstand. Then she held it up in front of her face and carefully peeled back the bandages that held her nose splint in place. She pulled off the splint in one smooth move.

“Do you think you should be doing that?” Afton asked.

“Whatever,” Ashley said, frantically combing her hair and arranging her coverlet. “Okay. Now they can come in.”

Portia Bourgoyne and her camera crew brushed past Afton and Max as they came into the room.

“Try not to screw this up, too,” Max said. He was in a snarly mood.

Portia blew him off royally. “Are you kidding? This kidnapping story is the best thing that ever happened to me. You think I want to work in a mid-market, jerkwater town doing fluff pieces on food shelf volunteers and polar bear plunges? This is my ticket to a network job where I can do hard news.”

“Like Ebola and suicide bombers?” Afton asked. “Good luck with that.”

“If you think this kid’s gonna make you a network star,” Max said, “you’re sorely mistaken. She can barely remember her own name.”

Portia just smirked. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. I’ve got more than one trick up my sleeve.”





19


JUST as they popped out of the parking ramp, ready to head back to the department, Don Jasper, the Chicago FBI agent, called. And he sounded frantic.

“I’m over here in Woodbury,” Jasper said, his voice high-pitched and strangled amid all the static. “At Synthotech. I need you to run something down for me.”

“What’s that?” Max asked.