Little Girl Gone (26 page)

Afton shook her head. “I take a lot more precautions than I used to. I can't seem to rationalize hanging off a frozen waterfall a hundred feet in the air when I have two daughters waiting for me at home.”

A chill wind suddenly blew across their ankles and Afton shivered, as if someone had just walked across her grave.

Over by the door Richie shouted, “Shut that door, asshole. Don't you know there's a blizzard on the way? We supposed to get thirteen inches by morning.”

*   *   *

THE
weather really had gone to shit. Steam curled from sidewalk vents; a bank's time and temperature sign flashed an icy white as it registered a chill 10 degrees. A woman in a down coat that made her look like an overblown Michelin man was walking a little schnauzer in a yellow coat and boots. Afton thought the dog looked embarrassed.

They were almost back at police headquarters when Max got the call. He listened on his cell phone for a minute, then said, “Send a squad, lights and sirens. We'll hoof it over there right now. We're three, maybe four, blocks away at best.”

He dropped his phone in his jacket pocket, turned, and said, “C'mon, we gotta go.”

Afton spun with him. “Where?”

“Call just came in about some guy taking photos of babies over at HCMC.”

“What?” Afton shrilled. “At the hospital?”

“Yeah.” Max coughed as he jogged along. “He's apparently taking pictures of newborns.”

“Holy crap. That guy . . . maybe he came back!”

Max skidded out into traffic, trying to get a jump on the green light. “Come on, we gotta
move.
”

*   *   *

THE
Maternity Center was located on the second floor at Hennepin County Medical Center. Max and Afton ran down Seventh Street, ducked in a side door, and caught an elevator.

“Come on, come on,” Max whispered urgently as the elevator started moving.

“Is hospital security going to grab this guy?” Afton asked.

“No, they're just going to watch him. Busting him is our job.”

The elevator doors slid open and Max burst out so fast, he practically collided with a rolling cart stacked with sheets and towels. “Shit,” he cried, trying to sidestep it.

The female employee who was trying to hump the cart onto the elevator frowned her disapproval at him. “Hey,” she said.

Max dodged past the cart and ran lightly down the hallway, Afton following in his footsteps.

Skidding up to a nurses' station, Max held up his ID and said, “Maternity?”

“Straight ahead,” one of the nurses said. “You can't miss it.”

They didn't miss it. And the man was still there. His face was pressed up against the glass, staring in at all the newborn babies in the nursery. A camera dangled in his right hand.

Max deliberately slowed his pace and crept up behind the guy. He clomped a hand down hard on the man's shoulder and said, “Stop whatever you're doing. Right now. Put your hands in the air. If you yell or make any sort of scene, I will for sure shoot you.”

The man's mouth dropped open and he managed a startled, “What?” He tried to spin around, but was held firmly in Max's viselike grip.

“You heard him,” Afton said. She reached down and, slick as you please, snatched the camera out of the man's hand.

“What the . . . You can't do that!” the man protested. He was thirtyish and wore a brown plaid parka over a pair of gray cargo pants. His dark hair was slicked back, he wore heavy horn-rimmed glasses, and had a distinctly pointed chin. Afton was immediately disappointed. This was clearly a different guy.

Max spun the guy around hard, placed one hand on his shoulder, and twisted his arm behind his back. Then he duck-walked the guy stiffly down the hallway. When Max spotted a small waiting room, he steered him into it. He frisked the man and, when he was satisfied that he wasn't carrying a weapon, pushed him down into a gray plastic chair. “You want to explain yourself?”

“Who do you think you are?” the guy demanded. “The photo police?”

“Minneapolis Police,” Max said.

“So what do you want with me?” the guy asked.

Afton held up the camera. “You care to explain this?”

“It's a camera,” the man snarled.

“Still or video?” Max asked.

Afton examined it. “Still.”

“Delete everything he's got,” Max said to Afton.

“Whoa!” the man cried. “Don't be doin' that!”

“Then maybe you really do want to explain yourself?”

The man sighed. “I'm gonna reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet, okay?”

“Sure,” Max said. “Go ahead.”

The guy pulled out his wallet, dug around in it, and pulled out a business card. Handed it to Max. “My name is Danny Kinghorn.”

“So what?”

“I run a website called Bloody Blue Murder dot com. We're international.”

“No shit,” Max said.

“We do articles on true crime. You know, Jack the Ripper, Son of Sam,
that kind of thing. The newer guys, too, like BTK. Plus we post book reviews on all the new thrillers and crime flicks.”

“Why were you taking pictures?” Max asked. But he said it in a bored, tired manner, as if he already had an inkling of what might be going on.

“Because I'm working on a story about the Darden kidnapping,” Kinghorn said. “And I needed some snaps to go with it.”

“Of babies,” Afton said. She was basically repulsed.

“Yeah,” Kinghorn said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Sure.”

“No,” Max said. “That's not going to happen.”

“You want me to delete everything?” Afton asked.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Max said.

“No!” Kinghorn cried. “Don't do that.
Please
don't do that.”

Max grabbed the camera from Afton and shoved it roughly into Kinghorn's hands. “You know what? You can have your stupid camera back. But I'm going to have our tech people watch your website like a hawk. If I find out that you've used even one of the shots you took, I swear I will have my guys deliberately burn your site. Then I will personally hunt you down and rip you a new asshole. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Kinghorn said, cradling his camera. “You're a tough guy. I got that.”

“Now get out of here.”

A cagey look spread across Kinghorn's face. “You know, if you had a couple of minutes, we could do a quick interview. You're clearly part of the Darden investigation, so maybe you could give me your perspective on it. That'd make a great article. My readers would love it.”

“Get out,” Max said. “
Get out
.”

S
HAKE
stretched out her legs and very gingerly pulled the white chenille coverlet up to her chin. She'd been shocked to wake up and find that she was back home, lying in the double bed she shared with Ronnie. It had seemed too much like a fuzzy, weird dream. But when she opened her eyes again and the cobwebs cleared, it was indeed where she was. Tucked in bed, propped up on a bunch of pillows like some kind of cripple or sick person. She guessed that Ronnie must have driven them all home early this morning and then carried her upstairs.

Was it only last night that she'd gone into labor? Was this Friday night? Shake guessed that it was. But it felt like an eternity had passed. Hell, her labor and the unrelenting pain had stretched on like all of eternity. Everyone said that once it was over, you'd forget all about the pain. But she could recall every single torturous moment. The sweating, the muscle cramps, the torment of her body heaving and fighting to push that baby out. And just when she'd hit her breaking point, just when she'd thought she couldn't endure another second, a miracle had happened. Her baby had slipped out and the pain had slowly receded.

Not all the pain had gone away, of course. She still felt like she'd been run over by a two-ton truck. And she still felt cramping in her back
muscles and a dull ache in her gut. But it was a different kind of pain now. A pain that said,
You've been through the worst, girl, and you've finally had your baby. Now you're going to slowly get better.

Her baby. Shake turned her head to look at her baby. Ronnie had miraculously produced an old wooden crib and Marjorie had found a tiny baby mattress and some sheets and blankets. Now her baby—goodness, she was going to have to figure out a name for this sweet little girl—was lying there asleep. Looking pink and perfect with tiny little eyelashes that brushed her chubby cheeks just like the softest snowflakes. Just like a tiny angel.

As Shake had been lying there, sipping water through a straw, she'd been rethinking things, trying to explore where her emotions were taking her. And she was pretty sure that maybe she'd experienced a change of heart. For one thing, she'd decided that she definitely did have feelings for her little baby. In fact, she might actually
love
her.

That realization had been shocking. Had come tumbling at her pretty much out of the blue and freaked her out. Humbled her even. But over the last couple of hours, she'd begun to embrace these new and conflicting emotions. And Shake had decided that she might have to formulate a whole new plan for her life.

Like dancing in Florida maybe wasn't such a great idea after all?

No. Not with a baby to take care of.

If she could get herself to a bigger city, maybe a place like Chicago, there would be a lot more opportunities. Then she could get herself a decent job, maybe as a waitress or even some type of office worker. She could almost picture herself, dressed in a nice skirt and sweater, taking notes, filing pieces of paper, maybe even sitting in a meeting. If she made enough money, she could even afford a little apartment.

It would be a struggle, of course, just the two of them. And she'd have to find some kind of babysitter for the days on which she worked. But it was a germ of an idea that had taken hold deep inside her heart. An idea that suddenly felt very right.

“Knock, knock,” came Ronnie's voice. He was standing outside her
door holding a tray. “I brought you some food.” He came in and set the tray on the nightstand. “You hungry?”

Shake looked at the fried egg and toast and her stomach lurched. She shook her head. “Not really.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” She rubbed her belly. “Really sore.” She looked out the window and saw that it was dark. “What time is it?”

“Mmn . . . about seven o'clock.”

“What do you think?” Shake asked him. She needed to feel him out, needed to give him a chance.

Ronnie cocked his head. “About what?” He was looking thoughtful, more so than Shake had ever seen him look before.

Shake lifted a hand to indicate their baby. “Our baby girl.”

Ronnie sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. “She's really something.” His voice sounded like it was tinged with real emotion.

“You really think so?” Shake thought she was the most precious thing in the entire world.

“She kind of changes things, doesn't she?”

Shake's heart rose about half an inch. “That's what I've been thinking, too.”

Ronnie picked up Shake's hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across the back of it. He'd never done that before. Never displayed that kind of tenderness toward her. Up until tonight, he either tended to joke with her, ignore her completely, or treat her as a sex toy.

“You know the other day? When you were trying to get away?” he asked.

Shake nodded.

“Maybe you had the right idea.”

Shake held her breath. “Really?”

Ronnie nodded. “I've been thinking . . . maybe we do deserve a better life. All of us.”

“All three of us?” Shake asked. She wanted to make sure they were talking about the same thing.

“Yeah,” he said. “Mom's not . . . she's not that good for us.”

Shake gave a little shiver of disgust. “She hates me.”

“She doesn't hate you,” Ronnie said. “She doesn't much think about you.” He made a face, as if he knew he was being disloyal, but couldn't help it. “She only thinks about what's good for her. What makes her happy.”

“You wouldn't miss her?” Shake asked. This was a big step, a huge step for Ronnie. She wanted to be sure.

“Naw.” Then he reconsidered. “Well, maybe. At first anyway. But once we figured stuff out on our own, I think we'd be okay.”

“I know we'd be okay,” Shake said. Her voice dropped to practically a whisper and she asked, “When?”

“When you feel better,” Ronnie said. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”

“I feel good now,” Shake said, snuggling closer to him.

“You have to rest,” Ronnie told her. “Eat a little something, then sleep some more. You need to get your strength back.”

But Shake didn't want Ronnie to go. “I was scared you didn't want us,” she said. “That you didn't want to be a dad.” She was having trouble wrapping her head around this new improved Ronnie, this seemingly more
responsible
Ronnie.

“We're a family,” Ronnie said. “We'll do whatever we have to do.” He stood up and smiled at her. “We'll run away. Live by our wits like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I like that.” Shake had watched the movie on TV a few weeks ago and the notion that she could be a modern-day Bonnie Parker appealed to her.

“The three of us,” Ronnie murmured, looking almost dreamy now.

“What about that other baby?” Shake asked. “What's going to happen to her?”

Ronnie's smile slipped a notch. “I think . . . Mom has plans for her.”

*   *   *

MARJORIE
was standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting for Ronnie.

“What the hell were you doing up there all this time?” she asked. She was wearing her pseudo-nun's outfit, but she was chugging a Budweiser straight from the can.

Ronnie shrugged. “I took her the food.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“We were just talking.”

“Just talking,” Marjorie mimicked. “Talking about what?” She was afraid the baby might have given Shake a slight hold over Ronnie. Couldn't let that happen.

“Nothing important.” Ronnie started to turn away. He'd felt good talking to Shake about the baby. He'd felt more grown up, more like a man than he ever had before. Just talking about a new life together helped pull him out of his dark, scary places.

Marjorie leered at him. “You better get your head in the game, kid. There's gonna be some big changes around here.”

Ronnie stopped in his tracks and swung around to stare at his mother. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“Forget about that girl upstairs,” Marjorie hissed. “Forget about the baby. Your baby . . . and that other kid. They're going to be out of here first thing next week.”

“Don't you dare . . .
do
anything,” Ronnie growled. His mother thought there were going to be changes? Well, there certainly might be. Little did she know that
he'd
be the one making those changes.

“I do whatever I damn well please,” Marjorie said. “Not that it's any of your business.” She spun away from him and walked into her studio.

Ronnie stood in the hallway waiting patiently. Waiting for his mother to scream. It didn't take long.

There was an ear-piercing shriek followed by Marjorie's plaintive wail. “What have you
done
to my Glynnis doll? How could you? How
dare
you!”

Marjorie rushed back out into the hallway, her face white as a sheet, her jaw working frantically, teeth practically gnashing the air. In her hands she carried an eighteen-inch baby doll. The doll was dressed in a pale peach organza dress with a white Peter Pan collar and puffy sleeves. Where its little head used to be, a bloody fox head had been impaled.

“Have you gone completely loony!” Marjorie screamed. The fox eyes stared at her hard and beady, the whiskers fairly twitched.

“Like it?” Ronnie asked.

“You fool. You imbecile,” she raged. “I'll show you who's . . .” Her arm shot up and her hand clenched into a fist, ready to slug him.

Quick as a striking cobra, Ronnie grabbed Marjorie's wrist and pinched it tight.

“Let me go!” Her dark eyes, sunk into her putty face like raisins, blazed fiercely at him.

“What did you call me?” Ronnie glowered back at Marjorie, gripping her wrist tight, really digging in his fingernails. Then he hoisted her up slowly until she was standing on tiptoes, practically dangling. He decided she looked like a helpless old cow about to be slaughtered.

“Stop it, stop it!” Marjorie screamed, twisting in his grip, eyes rolling back in her head. “Put me down!”

Ronnie fixed her with a crooked, half-glazed smile. “Shut up, bitch,” he whispered. “You shut up before I take you outside and lop your head off with an ax.”

Marjorie snapped her mouth shut as a jolt of fear ripped through her. And for the first time in her life, Marjorie did exactly what her son told her to do.