“Well,” Betty said. “Mr. Binger is no longer employed by our company, so we don’t exactly keep tabs on him.”
Max, meanwhile, had hung up his phone and pulled the paper across the table so he could read it. “This is it?”
The woman pursed her lips. “I’m afraid so.”
“We’d appreciate it you could scrape together a few more details,” Afton said.
Max pulled out a business card and handed it to Betty. “E-mail the poop to me when you get it done, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Betty said. “But I’ll have to clear it first.”
“Do that,” Afton said.
“I’ll send Andrew to get you.” Betty was clearly anxious to make her getaway.
When Andrew showed up, he was even less chatty than before. “This way,” he said, giving a cool, perfunctory smile.
As they backtracked their way past the labs, Afton caught up to him and matched him stride for stride. “Do you like working here?” she asked.
“The benefits are excellent,” Andrew said.
“But do you like it?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
Five minutes later they were out the door and back into the cold. For some reason, it suddenly felt refreshing to Afton.
“What a creepy place,” she said.
“Bunch of tight-asses,” Max said.
“It’s like they all have a great big secret they don’t dare let out.”
“Maybe they do,” Max said.
“Or maybe they’re all just terrified of losing their jobs. Or their excellent benefits.”
Max checked his watch as they crossed the parking lot. “What we should do if we have time is stop by Hennepin County Medical Center and talk to that babysitter.”
Afton nodded. “Ashley something.”
“FBI talked to her yesterday, but it wouldn’t hurt to check in again.”
“I heard she was strong-armed pretty hard,” Afton said.
Max’s phone hummed and he hitched up his parka to unhook it. “She sustained some cracked ribs, a broken nose. She’s supposed to undergo surgery tomorrow.” He held the phone up to his face. “Montgomery here.”
“Maybe I should drive on the way back,” Afton mused to herself, then saw that Max had suddenly stiffened and hunched forward, as if he was trying to concentrate more fully. Something was cooking. And it probably wasn’t a pepperoni pizza for his kids.
“Just now?” Max asked, and then fell silent again. He was starting to nod and his eyes fluttered nervously. “Okay, I’m maybe twenty minutes out.” He listened some more. “Yeah,” he said, his voice terse. “Will do.” He clicked the Off button on his phone and turned toward Afton, looking grim.
“What?” she asked.
“That was Thacker. He just got a call from the Goodhue County Sheriff’s Department. Two hunters reported finding the body of an infant in a stand of woods just east of Cannon Falls.”
Afton felt her heart lurch into her throat. Oh no.
“Thacker wants me to jump on it immediately,” he continued. “There’s a helicopter waiting at Holman Field.”
Afton made a split-second decision. “Can I ride along?”
Max jabbed a finger at her. “You think you’re up to it?”
“Of course I am.” Afton felt a trickle of excitement mingled with dread. A dead infant. Was it Elizabeth Ann?
Max popped the doors on his car and they tumbled in.
“I guess Portia Bourgoyne’s hysterics shook something loose after all,” Max said as he cranked the engine over hard and rocketed out of the parking lot.
“God help us,” Afton said.
12
HOLMAN Field, also known as the Saint Paul Downtown Airport, lay in a low area, bordered on the north and the east by the Mississippi River, which flowed through downtown Saint Paul and then hooked south. Prone to flooding, the airport had only three small asphalt runways, which were used mainly for private aircraft. But the Minnesota National Guard did training runs there and a few government craft were stored in its hangars, since the airfield was barely two miles from the state capital and its surrounding legislative buildings.
Afton stepped out of Max’s car onto the frozen tarmac and was immediately greeted by a man in a brown snowsuit emblazoned with a yellow Minnesota State Patrol patch. He gestured for her and Max to follow him and hastily ushered them around the side of a squat green building and out to a waiting helicopter, which looked like a big flying bubble. Two people of unknown gender, dressed in insulated suits, facemasks, and white helmets, were busy prepping the helicopter for its journey south to Cannon Falls. As Afton and Max approached, the copter’s rotors began turning, churning up swirls of snow devils and creating a deafening racket.
Afton felt a tug at her sleeve and turned to face a nervous-looking Max.
“What?” she yelled over the noise.
“I’m not the best flyer in the world,” he shouted back. A hand crept across his stomach. “Sometimes I get air sick.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“In case you want to sit on the other side of the cab, so I don’t throw up on you,” Max said.