Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(98)

“I realize that’s the protocol,” Afton said. “But couldn’t we at least get a jump start?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” Max said.

“Okay,” Thacker said. “Whatever. It’s a short list.”

“First name?” Max asked.

“Monahan,” Thacker said. “Harold Monahan.”

Afton scanned the list as she drove, veering off slightly toward the center median.

“Don’t be doing that,” Max crabbed at her. “You can’t read and drive at the same time. Here, hand over that list before you slam this car in the ditch and cripple us both for life.”

“Sorry,” Afton said. She handed over the list.

Max scanned the list. “Mmn, Monahan’s not here. What’s the second name?”

“Adams,” Thacker said.

“Nope.”

It was the third name that sent the cherries spinning and the bells clanging like crazy.

“Sorenson,” Thacker said.

This time, even though Afton had both hands squarely on the steering wheel, she once again swerved toward the center median. Because she recognized the name from Thacker’s list. It was the name of the kid who’d stuffed the wolverine back at the Liberty Café.





42


WE have to turn around,” Afton said through gritted teeth.

“What?” Max’s head swiveled toward her. He clicked a button, taking the phone off speaker. “Hang on a minute,” he told Thacker. Then he stared at Afton as she slowed the car to barely a crawl. “Are you crazy? In case you hadn’t noticed, lady, we’re on I-94 smack dab in the middle of the blizzard of the century. Our tire tracks are filling in behind us. We’ve already passed six cars in the ditch. If we play our cards right, we could be the seventh.”

“Tell Thacker we have to go back. Insist on it.”

“Why?”

“Sorenson. It’s the same name. If this Sorenson guy has something to do with illegal adoptions and the wolverine taxidermy guy is named Sorenson, there could be a connection. No, there has to be a connection. Tell that to Thacker. Insist on it.”

“I don’t know,” Max said. Still, he held the phone up to his mouth and related Afton’s theory back to Thacker. Then he sat there and listened, his head bobbing silently. “I see,” he finally said.

“What?” Afton asked. She was looking ahead, trying to figure out where she could turn off and double back. There. Century Boulevard was dead ahead. “Is something wrong?”

“Sorenson’s not a guy,” Max said. “It’s a woman. Marjorie Sorenson.”

“That’s her then,” Afton said. “She’s the kidnapper, the doll lady who called herself Molly. She’s the one who took Elizabeth Ann.” She said it with an urgency and a solemn finality, as if she knew they’d finally arrived at the end stage of the hunt.

“You don’t know that,” Max said. “You’re just cobbling together a few wild ideas.”

“Is there a man living with her? A boy? Ask Thacker.”

Max did that.

“He doesn’t know,” Max said. “Thacker says we’ll have to contact Wisconsin State Revenue, see if she claimed any dependents.”

“There’s no time for that. We have to turn around and find that Sorenson woman right now. If we wait any longer, we risk not finding that baby. Ever again.”

“We can’t just go cowboying in there,” Max warned. “We have to have a warrant. At the very least we need to get Thacker’s approval.”

“Then talk to him,” Afton yelped. “Convince him.”


*

IT wasn’t easy. Thacker hemmed and hawed. He worried about jurisdictions and fretted about blowback for stepping on the toes of neighboring law enforcement agencies. He worried about bureaucratic issues. Like shouldn’t they inform Don Jasper and his FBI team and give them an opportunity to investigate as well?

Finally, Afton grabbed the phone. “Please,” she begged. “We think there’s a strong possibility that this woman, Marjorie Sorenson, is the one who kidnapped the Darden baby. Her and the taxidermy kid. It all fits, the names, the animal hair, the bad odor. Give us the address so we can at least check her out.”

“This is so not a good idea,” Thacker said.

“She’s in Wisconsin, right? We’re already halfway there.”

“Max said you were headed back here.”

Afton set her jaw. “We just turned around. We’ve already passed the cutoff for 694. Her place probably isn’t that much farther on. What? Maybe ten or twenty miles?”

“In a raging storm.”

“Aw, it’s not so bad,” Afton said as she struggled to keep the Navigator on the road.

Thacker still resisted. “I’ve given you two way too much leeway already.”

“After what went down last night,” Afton argued, “this has the possibility of a home run.”

“Afton . . .”

“Please, Chief. You have kids, don’t you? If they were missing, wouldn’t you want everyone to pull out all the stops no matter what? No matter if they stepped on a few toes or ruffled some feathers? No matter if they played their hunch and took a risk?”