Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(77)

“The babysitter . . .” Max said.

“Ashley Copeland,” Afton said.

“Her mother works there. That was Ashley’s connection with Darden in the first place. Who talked to Mom?”

Afton looked through the papers. “She was interviewed by Keith Sunder.”

“Our friendly local FBI guy.”

“Yup.”

“Maybe we should give it a shot, too.”

Afton picked up a stack of papers and tamped them together. “Why not?”


*

MONICA Copeland wasn’t enthusiastic about talking to them. In fact, she was just putting on her coat when Afton and Max arrived. She was one of two administrative assistants recently assigned to Richard Darden and claimed not to know him all that well.

“But you work with him,” Max said.

“I started at Synthotech about the same time he did,” Monica said. “So I’m fairly new. Sasha, the other admin assistant, is the one who works most closely with him.”

“Did she train him in?” Afton asked. It was one of the dirty little secrets in corporate America. Secretaries often trained in their bosses; bank tellers often trained in loan officers and banking vice presidents.

“Well, I suppose Sasha showed him the ropes anyway,” Monica said.

“And your daughter babysat for him,” Max said.

“Yes. Unfortunately. Just that one time.”

“Which is what we’d like to talk to you about,” Max said. “Even though you’ve been over this before with the FBI.”

Monica looked like she was ready to cry. “My poor Ashley. She was viciously attacked and tied up while that little baby was stolen. Then someone came after her again in the hospital?” Now tears streamed down Monica’s cheeks. “It’s like the bad things just won’t stop happening. I feel like Ashley’s completely lost her innocence.”

Afton remembered the spoiled, petulant Ashley, who had demanded a boob job from her mother. Really not that innocent at all.

“Ashley was released from the hospital . . . when?” Max asked. “Yesterday?”

“That’s right,” Monica sniffled.

“Has she opened up to you about the night of the kidnapping? Confided in you?”

“Not at all. I think she just wants to forget the whole thing.”

“Do you think she’s remembered any more about the guy who strong-armed her?”

Monica shrugged. “She just told me that he was really strong. Said he reminded her of a wrestler.”

“How so?” Afton asked. That was the exact impression that she’d gotten from the hospital attack.

“You mean like a pro wrestler?” Max said.

“No, more like a high school wrestler,” Monica said. “Those kids with all the crazy, flailing arms and legs who try to pin their opponent. For the win, I guess.”

“We know this has all been very frightening for Ashley,” Afton said.

“She told me she’s been traumatized,” Monica said. She wrinkled her nose and made a face. “And that she felt repulsed.”

“Repulsed,” Afton repeated.

Monica lowered her voice slightly. “She said the man smelled horrible.”

Max’s brow wrinkled. “Was there anything about that in the report?”

Afton shook her head. “Not that I recall. Ashley never mentioned any sort of smell to us either.”

Monica waved a hand. “It was just something she mentioned to me in passing. A fleeting impression she had. It probably doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Mrs. Copeland,” Afton said. “It’s all important. Every tiny little detail is important.”

“What did Ashley think the boy smelled like?” Max asked. “Like . . . garlic breath or something? Bad BO?”

“No,” Monica said. “She said she thought he smelled like a dead animal.”





32


SHAKE shuffled into the kitchen in her stocking feet, opened the refrigerator, and stared with glassy eyes at their meager larder. All evening long she’d been having contractions. The pain would come in waves, first tight and twisting, and then bursting inside her as if someone had thrown an electrical switch in Hell. After a few minutes of agony, they would retreat to a dull ache. Like a bad, rotting toothache, only way deep down inside her.

Her hands shook as she reached out and grabbed a carton of milk. She hadn’t eaten a thing all day and now she was feeling nauseous. Maybe some milk would help. Or maybe, she thought, having this stupid baby would help.

She opened the carton and tipped it back, guzzling greedily from it. Wasn’t milk supposed to be nutritious for mothers-to-be? Sure it was. She thought it was.

Taking a step back, she felt something cool and wet trickle down her legs. She looked down at her chest stupidly, thinking she’d dribbled milk all over herself. But there was nothing on her T-shirt. Then what?

Shake finally noticed it. Not milk, but a clear liquid. Puddled on the gray linoleum floor right between her legs. Her eyes widened in surprise. This was what happened when you started to have a baby? Oh no, oh no, oh no.

“Help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Somebody help me!”

Shake’s piteous cries brought Marjorie pounding in from the living room. “What the hell are you—” She slid to a stop. Saw Shake standing there, looking down between her feet, with a terrified look on her face and said, “About time.”