Still, Afton plugged ahead. She wanted some nugget of information to emerge from all this drudgery. There was a missing baby out there, a set of grieving parents, a teenage girl who’d been assaulted, and a community that was nearly rabid for answers.
She wondered again how a baby could be snatched from her parents’ home. And in Kenwood yet. Was careful planning involved, or was it just a spur-of-the-moment crime? Being a parent herself, she could feel the stab of paralyzing panic that was starting to creep through the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. A predator was out there, one who was bold and crazy enough to break into a private home and steal a baby. If Elizabeth Ann hadn’t been safe in her crib, then no one’s child was safe.
Knuckles wrapped on her outer wall.
Afton turned to find Max standing outside her cubicle. Most of her coworkers simply barged in unannounced and started barking orders at her. But Max carried himself in an old-fashioned, almost dignified manner.
“May I come in?” Max asked.
“Sure,” Afton said. As he eased himself in, she noted that his khakis didn’t have the razor-sharp pleat that Thacker’s dress slacks always had, and it was obvious that his shirts were machine washed and not dry-cleaned. Max was rumpled, but comfortable.
“I’ve been working on that list we got from Muriel Pink,” Afton said.
“Whatcha come up with?” Max asked.
“There are three names that might be worth checking out.” Afton handed him her notes and the partial list with three names highlighted in yellow. “One’s a DWI conviction from back in 2012, another was busted with some of those Occupy Wall Street protesters that camped out in Loring Park a few years ago, and the third one runs a day care center.”
“Day care,” Max said.
“I thought maybe her contact with kids . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I never considered that angle. But it’s good. Okay.”
He started to leave, but Afton said, “I appreciate your trying to make me feel better. I felt like a bit of a screwup today, so thanks. You made me feel . . . well, normal again.”
“Why would you want to feel normal?” Max asked. “I’ve seen how you operate. You’re definitely not civilian-type normal. You’ve got fairly good instincts that can probably be honed a lot sharper, so you’re selling yourself short if you just want to be normal.”
Max gave an abrupt nod of his head and left. He seemed to have a knack for getting in the last word. But that last word had inspired Afton to keep working.
*
AT 3:09, Afton looked up blurry-eyed from her computer. Except for a quick trip to the break room for a granola bar and a Diet Coke, she’d been working steadily for well over six hours. And she’d still only come up with three names, the same three she’d given Max earlier today. All her fancy data mining had turned up a big fat zero. The rest of the people on her list appeared to be upstanding citizens, organ donors, and careful drivers. None had been arrested, declared bankruptcy, been foreclosed on, or landed on Homeland Security’s watch list. Heck, maybe they were all eligible for sainthood.
Afton pushed back in her chair, trying to stretch out the kinks. Her back felt knotted and sore—a result of hunching over her computer terminal since early this morning. Or maybe it was from that crappy ice booger she’d tried to skitter around yesterday.
Had it really been just yesterday that this entire scenario kicked off?
Yes, it had. Even though she felt like she’d been working this case for a week.
Groaning, she raised both arms over her head and stretched carefully. Sighing deeply, she relaxed into the stretch. And felt instantly better.
She’d just finished checking the last half dozen names on the list—again nothing—when Max once again ghosted in. Seems he was going to be her only real visitor today.
“You still hard at it?” he asked nonchalantly. He’d tugged on a bulky, army green snorkel parka over his equally bulky sweater and slacks.
“Almost finished,” Afton said.
“How about a field trip?” He twisted a pair of suede gloves, what folks in the Midwest called choppers, in his hands.
Afton’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh? Sure. What’s up?” He was clearly going somewhere. Somewhere important?
“I’m heading over to Novamed, Darden’s old employer. See if they’re in the mood to dish a little dirt on him. Anyway, long story short, Dillon’s not feeling up to snuff. I suspect it was the tamales du jour that he wolfed down for lunch at Taste of Salvador. That place is always high on the health inspector’s naughty list, but Dillon keeps hoping for the best.”
“I’d like to go,” Afton said, buoyed by the fact that he’d actually invited her along. “But I’ve been grounded by Uncle Thacker.”
“That’s old news, because I just cleared it with him,” Max said. When she started to say something, he said, “Hey, cheer up. Your sentence has been commuted. You’ve paid the price for your heinous crime.”
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