Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(7)

Like a good partner, Max Montgomery recognized his cue and stepped in with his own assessment. “The babysitter, Ashley Copeland, wasn’t a lot of help. She was pretty freaked out and was able to give only a rudimentary description of her assailant.”

“You don’t think she knew him?” Thacker asked. “That she let him in?”

“Oh, she let him in, all right, but it’s doubtful that she knew him. We talked to her in the hospital, but her nose was broken and she was on some kind of IV drip, so we didn’t get much out of her. The girl’s mom assured us we could talk to her later so she can give a formal statement.”

Montgomery, who was silver-haired and handsome in a slightly grizzled sort of way, stood up and kicked back his chair. “But there are a couple of interesting things. One of the Dardens’ neighbors was out walking his dog, a big slobbery brown malamute, around eight thirty last night. He said he saw a couple of people kind of bent over and hustling toward a junky-looking car. Said the only reason he remembered the incident at all was because the car had one of those yellow smiley face stickers pasted on the back bumper.” Max shrugged, strolled to the back of the room, and dimmed the lights. “And, of course, we got this. Footage from a nanny cam.”

“A lucky break,” Afton murmured. She knew this could be a real help.

Max flicked on a ceiling-mounted projector that was connected to a laptop computer sitting on the table. He punched a few keys and the projector hummed to life. “Those of us who have been up all night have already seen the baby cam footage. But you all need to see this, too.”

“It’s not the best quality,” Dillon put in. “Dad cheaped out on the equipment.”

“Is there sound?” Thacker asked.

“Minimal,” Max said.

On the screen, a jumpy black-and-white image of a baby nursery burst into view.

Afton leaned forward and saw that the time code in the right-hand corner read, 20:17:45.569641.

“We moved the video forward to the part just before the kidnapper enters the baby’s room,” Dillon explained.

The footage was grainy and dim, but Afton could see that the room was large by nursery room standards. The crib was frilly and elaborate and surrounded by stuffed animals. There was also a changing table, rocking chair, and of course, the sleeping baby.

The baby looked to be a few months old. A little girl. She was swaddled in a puffy quilt, her little cherub face looking peaceful and innocent in her slumber. The soft, easy breathing of the baby reminded Afton of the many nights she had stood in her own children’s rooms, gazing at them with a mixture of tenderness and awe.

There was the sound of a muffled scream and the child seemed to stir in her sleep.

“Babysitter just got jacked,” Dillon said. Then silence returned and the camera continued to roll as the baby slept on.

Two minutes later, a dark shadow fell across the crib. Afton and the others in the room held their breath. Then someone slipped directly in front of the camera. To Afton, it reminded her of a scene from that old movie Nosferatu, when the slithery, wispy figure of the vampire casts his shadow, then slowly oozes into the frame.

“Jesus,” one of the uniformed officers breathed. “That could be a woman.But it’s hard to tell.”

“Nobody said that men had a lock on kidnapping,” Afton muttered under her breath.

“So a woman? We’re looking for a woman?” the officer asked. He sounded shocked and more than a little dismayed.

“We think maybe a woman working with a male partner,” Dillon said. “That’s what the babysitter seemed to indicate.” He consulted his notes again. “And there was a dusting of snow last night, so there was a pair of tracks on the sidewalk. One large set, one a little smaller, just where the dog walker guy said they’d be.”

“Are there any other leads?” Afton asked.

“I was just getting to that,” Thacker said. “There are a few . . . interesting aspects to this case. It seems that Susan Darden, the baby’s mother, attended a doll show yesterday at the Skylark Mall. From what she’s given us so far, the only person Mrs. Darden spoke to was a woman by the name of Molly who makes what is termed reborn dolls.”

There was a cacophony of grunts and mumbles around the table.

“What’re those?” asked Andy Farmer, one of the detectives. “Retread dolls.”

“Reborn,” Thacker said, making a disparaging face. “They’re dolls that have been painted and reworked so they resemble real live babies.”

More murmurs ensued. “Sounds like real fruitcake stuff,” Max muttered.

“Is this doll lady a suspect?” Afton asked.

“We’re not ruling anything out at this point,” Thacker said. “Especially since Mrs. Darden gave this woman her phone number. The other thing is, reborn dolls are apparently some kind of cult thing. Apparently, hundreds of these dolls are sold over the Internet for big bucks.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from a manila folder and passed them around the table. “Here. I had Angel make printouts from some of the more popular websites.”

“Plastic dolls,” Afton muttered, studying the splash page of a website called Anita’s Babykins. “Painted and molded and dressed so they resemble newborns.” It was the first she’d ever heard of this kind of thing. An interesting concept, she decided, but with a slight creep factor.