Susan’s fingers stopped working, but she didn’t answer him. She wouldn’t answer him.
Sitting on the floor, gently pressed against her left hip, was her phone. It was her lifeline to the police. And she was expecting a call anytime now. Maybe any minute. She would answer calmly, and the police, with joy barely masked in their voices, would tell her that Elizabeth Ann was safe. That she’d been found.
Then Susan would drive to the police station and, once her baby was put back in her arms, would never let her out of her sight again. She would fulfill her destiny of being the perfect, nurturing, loving mother. There would be Mommy and Me classes, Montessori school, Disney movies, and princess birthday parties with real live purple ponies. She had it all planned out. There was no way this was not going to happen.
“Susan, where are you?” Richard called again. He sounded shaken and angry, and had been storming around the house, doling out threats she knew he couldn’t make good on.
A fresh wave of despair swept over Susan like a swift, incoming tide. She was vaguely aware of more tears and her own mutterings.
“Sweetheart?” Richard stepped into the nursery and saw her huddled in the corner. “Sweetheart, what are you doing down there? Who are you talking to?”
Susan buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to talk to Richard right now. She only wanted to think about the bright future. Music lessons and family vacations and little pink dresses with ruffles.
Just the other night she had read a book to Elizabeth Ann—Oh, the Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss.
Of course, she had no idea of the places Elizabeth Ann would go. Or where she was right now. She choked hard, tasting pain and bitterness, feeling that her heart was about to shatter.
And then the phone rang . . .
9
WEST River Road was a winding, tree-lined boulevard that snaked along the Saint Paul side of the Mississippi River. The University of Minnesota stood at its northernmost point, the Ford Bridge and Lock and Dam No. 1 at its southern tip. Strung out like elegant pieces in a Monopoly game were large mansions, a slew of contemporary-looking homes, and one exclusive high-rise condo.
A perennial favorite of bikers, hikers, and dog walkers, River Road and its accompanying pathway veered precipitously close to the edge of the four-hundred-foot-tall sandstone bluffs that hunkered above the turgid, half-frozen Mississippi River.
Hidden Falls, usually a trickle of spring water that oozed from a cut in a limestone deposit, was located in a steep gorge that sliced directly down to the river. It was frozen now, iced over completely. Across from the falls, on mocha-colored bluffs crusted with snow, stood historic Fort Snelling.
When Afton arrived on the scene, an ambulance, a half dozen police cruisers with light bars flashing, and a Newswatch 7 truck were already convened. A cluster of bright vapor lights, running off a sputtering generator, lit the chill night. Exhaust fumes from the multitude of vehicles created a noxious cloud that hovered above the frozen ground and wafted through the crowd of onlookers, creating a near-psychedelic atmosphere of strobes and haze.
High above, a jetliner arced its way toward the airport just off to the southeast. The deafening engine noise overwhelmed the shouted orders from law enforcement superiors as the Tactical Rescue Squad busied themselves with more ropes and cables in case they had to lower a second team over the steep cliff.
Afton’s feet crunched across the snow. Giant yellow snowplows had chopped and spit the most recent snowfall into hard little chips, then the bitter wind had swept it onto the boulevard and turned it into hardpack. Weeks of exhaust fumes spewed from passing cars had painted it a dirty gray. Now it was snirt, Minnesota’s dreary combination of snow and dirt.
So cold, Afton thought as she pushed her way through the crowd of police officers, FBI agents, Fire and Rescue people, and neighborhood folks who’d donned their North Face parkas to come out and watch the spectacle. They whispered and wondered among themselves. If it was the Darden baby, how long had it been down there? And what shape was the poor thing in? Faces were grim and stretched tight, knowing the baby might have suffered terrible frostbite after only a few minutes of exposure.
Afton spotted Max, bundled up in a dark green parka, standing right at the edge of the steep, wooded cliff. She jogged down to meet him.
“The Tactical Squad is already down there,” Max said. They both leaned forward and gazed down into the deep chasm, though it was so dark, there was nothing to see.