One Week To Live Read Free

the female FBI agent who opened the door allowed him to enter. “She’s in her daughter’s room down the hall on the right. The kidnapper just called. She’s pretty upset.”
    “Were you able to trace the call?” he asked.
    “We’re working on it.” From the agent’s expression, she wouldn’t be volunteering any more information to him.
    He walked down the hall and knocked. When no one answered, he quietly let himself in, shutting the door behind him. The room sat in darkness except for the pale light streaming from a small Winnie the Pooh lamp on the dresser. Susan Chapman sat in a rocking chair, clutching a worn teddy bear. As she methodically rocked, she hummed a tune while tears streamed down her face unchecked.
    “A lullaby?”
    “One of Polly’s favorites,” she choked out looking up at him through red-rimmed eyes filled with pain. “What if I can never sing it to her again? What if I can never feel her baby-soft arms around me or hear her giggles?”
    Brian said nothing. He couldn’t deny the possible truth in her words. She sobbed harder and momentarily buried her wet face in the bear’s fur.
    “He smells of baby powder,” she sniffed. “Baby powder and Polly.”
    Far different circumstances surrounded the last interview with Susan. At that time, she’d held Polly on her lap while she smiled and talked about her future plans after she graduated. Now she faced this interview without her little girl.
    “It’s all my fault. I made a mistake when I left her alone.” She mopped at tears with a rumpled tissue. “Dear God, what will I do without my precious baby?”
    “Tell me about the call,” he said, attempting to redirect her focus. He’d interviewed many trauma victims and knew they found it difficult to concentrate.
    “The police warned me he’d call.”
    “In the last case he contacted the victim’s mother within the first twelve hours. Go on.” He was anxious to find out what the kidnapper said, but knew he couldn’t force the words out of Susan. No matter how comfortable she might feel with him, she’d close up if he pushed too hard.
    “It was awful to talk to the bastard.”
    “I can imagine it was.” He wanted her to see that he understood what she was going through. He understood more than she realized.
    “When he called me by name, I nearly dropped the phone. How does he know my name?”
    He didn’t reply. Had the man known the mother’s name in the previous case? Brian wasn’t sure.
    “His voice sounded odd, garbled.”
    “He’s using something over the phone’s mouthpiece to disguise his voice.”
    “I asked him where my daughter was. He responded with the most evil, diabolical laugh. Then he asked if I’d enjoyed the nursery rhyme book he’d left.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I was so frightened, I couldn’t say anything. The man chuckled, obviously enjoying my momentary speechlessness.”
    “That’s his game. He loves taunting people, frightening them.”
    She took a shaky breath.
    “Susan, I admire your strength and perseverance. You need to be strong now,” he said, trying to provide encouragement.
    “He warned me to cooperate if I wanted my Polly back alive.” Her voice cracked on these last words. “Even if I do, he won’t return her alive, will he?”
    “His game just began, Susan. If he follows the same pattern as before, there’s time to find your child before he harms her.”
    “It didn’t help the last little boy, did it?”
    He couldn’t argue that. “So what did he say next?”
    “The man indicated there will be seven clues in seven days,” Susan said.
    “Yes, that’s how he operates.” She didn’t mention that the last victim was killed on the sixth day before the seventh clue appeared. He wasn’t going to remind her.
    “If we can’t figure them out and find my daughter by the time the week is up, he said she’ll die.” Susan sucked in another breath. “How can he discuss killing someone in such cold, impersonal terms?