Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(53)

Afton held up a hand. “It’s okay.” Max seemed more upset than she was. Or maybe she was just getting used to having close calls. “Really, I’m just fine.”

Sponger was whimpering and straining to pull himself into a tight little ball.

“Don’t hurt me,” he cried. “I didn’t do nothin’. I didn’t hurt nobody.” His eyes rolled pitifully in his head and his chin quivered as if he were about to cry. Blood streamed from his nose, his lips were scuffed and bleeding.

“Then why’d you run away from us?” Max asked.

“Why’d you pull the damn knife?” Afton barked at him. She had to restrain herself from smacking him upside the head. “All we wanted to do was ask you some questions.”

“You’re from the military?” Sponger blubbered. He tried to press his hands against his head. “You’ll put metal clamps on my head to read my thoughts.”

Max snapped his fingers in front of Sponger’s face. “Hey. Dude. Pay attention. We’re Minneapolis Police.”

“What?” Sponger shook his head, still looking mistrustful. “Why?”

“Why?” Max said. “He wants to know why.”

“It’s not him,” Afton said to Max in a low voice.

Max frowned at her. “What?”

“It’s not the guy from last night.”

“You’re sure?”

“That guy was a maniac,” Afton said. “Sponger just seems . . . deficient.”

“Damn.”

Sponger looked miserable. “Don’t hurt me,” he whimpered again.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” Afton said. She kicked a hunk of ice and sent it flying. “We just want to ask a few questions.”

“We want to know about the doll,” Max said.

“Doll?” Sponger said. He glanced around, blinking like mad, working his mouth soundlessly. He seemed to be hoping that the SWAT team guys would jump in and lend a hand. They didn’t.

“We caught you on a security camera dumping a doll in the trash outside Rush Street Pizza,” Max said.

“The doll?” Sponger’s eyes seemed to focus a little better. “That’s what this is about?”

“Now you’re catching on,” Max said.

“Where’d you get it?” Afton asked.

Sponger ducked his head. “I bought it. I got money.”

“Where?” Max said.

Sponger sniffled, then said, “This guy I know over on Chicago Avenue. I knew him from before, when I lived in a different place.”

“And this guy sells dolls?” Max asked.

“He sells secondhand stuff.”

“You mean stuff that’s hot?” Max asked. “Stolen?”

Sponger’s eyes shifted away from him. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” Afton said. “You bought the doll because . . .”

“I got a little girl,” Sponger said. His face softened until he looked almost normal. “I haven’t seen her in . . . hell, I don’t know how long. Her mom and I had problems.” He bit his lower lip and then said, “Okay, the problems were mostly me.” He tapped an index finger against the side of his head. “You know?”

“Keep talking,” Afton said.

“Anyway, I bought the doll as a present for my kid . . . her name is Jennifer. Jennie. I got all cleaned up and went over there to see her.”

“Then what happened?” Max asked.

“I get to the door and Holly, that’s my ex-wife, she says I should have called first. She gets all pissed off and says that I can’t see Jennie right now. I told her I brought my little girl a nice present and couldn’t I just see her for a couple of minutes.” He shivered. “But Holly laughed in my face.” Sponger dropped his head and his eyes welled up with tears. “Same old shit, same old Holly. Nothing’s ever good enough.” Fat tears coursed down his cheeks.

Afton sighed deeply. Sponger wasn’t making up his story. This had really happened. She gazed at the western sky, which had darkened into a palette of purple and gray-blue.

“So why’d you pitch the doll?” Max asked.

“What the hell was I supposed to do? I don’t know, I just tossed it away. Pitched it in the Dumpster. Just like my life. Just . . . garbage. It’s all freaking garbage, man.”

“Why do you have pictures of cherubs on your wall?” Afton asked.

“Cherubs?”

“Angels,” Afton said.

Sponger gazed at her with red, puffy eyes. “Because they’re pretty. I found ’em in an art book somebody threw out.”

“Take him downtown,” Max said. He sounded profoundly disappointed. “Book him.”

“What’s the charge?” one of the SWAT team officers asked.

“I don’t know,” Max said. “Figure something out.”





23


HE’S definitely not the guy from last night,” Afton said on the drive back downtown. “That guy was stronger and more aggressive, always on the attack. Sponger was angry but pathetic.”

“Another lost soul,” Max said. “Or *, depending on which side of the fence you’re on.”