One Week To Live Read online

  She padded barefoot into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of day-old coffee, and shoved it in the microwave.

  Telling herself she needed the day’s weather report, she switched on the small kitchen television. The smiling face of the noontime weather girl greeted her with a prediction of rain and heavy winds by nightfall.

  The microwave beeped and she grabbed her coffee mug. Taking a sip, she scalded her tongue. Swearing under her breath, she continued watching the television. She didn’t wait long for the news bulletin of the kidnapping. Brian had been right about the media circus. Interesting how bad news brought the press out in droves. They gathered like vultures to a feeding frenzy. A camera closed in on a distraught woman with countless microphones shoved in her face.

  She stared at the woman in shock. Her lips formed the name Susan, but it took a second to utter the name aloud. Dear God, it couldn’t be the daughter she’d given up for adoption! She continued to stare at the TV. It was her. The young woman Angie had tracked to San Diego a year ago. She’d gone to the woman’s house, but never knocked on the door because she feared her daughter’s rejection. The kidnap victim, the little girl she’d seen playing in the park near the house, was her granddaughter.

  The coffee cup slipped from her shaking hand and sailed to the white tile floor, shattering into jagged red shards around her bare toes.

  Chapter Two

  Saturday night/early Sunday morning

  The sun slipped lower in the sky and silvery dusk bathed the landscape in shades of gray and black as Brian climbed the stairs to Susan’s second-floor apartment. She’d agreed to an interview even though it must be difficult to face the media right now. He ignored the dirty looks from other reporters who hovered in front of her place hoping to talk with her.

  She wanted to get the story of her missing daughter out. She trusted him to do it. More than one missing child had surfaced thanks to a tip from someone paying attention to the news.

  After showing his I.D., 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? It’s my baby he’s talking about. My baby!”

  “He’s a monster, a demented soul,” Brian snapped, unable to control his disgust toward the man.

  “The kidnapper ordered me to pay close attention to his first nursery rhyme clue because he wouldn’t repeat it. Thank goodness the FBI agent listened in. I couldn’t remember the whole thing.”

  He took out his notebook and pencil. “What did he say?”

  “It wasn’t a real nursery rhyme, more like his own version of one.”

  “Go on.”

  She reached for the folded piece of paper on the dresser and began reading. “Goosey, goosey gander, where do I wander? Uphill and downhill and straight into Sin City. There I’ll see a woman who’s not what she claims to be. So I’ll bring her another child and wait for her to see.

  “It didn’t make any sense. I demanded he explain it, but he’d hung up on me.” She stared at the piece of paper for another minute and looked at him. “You covered the last case. What does his gibberish mean?”

  He glanced at his notes. “I’ll need to study it further before I can hazard a guess. The man talks in riddles, making his clues difficult to decipher. That’s part of his game.”

  “I overheard the FBI agent on the phone saying something about Vegas.”

  “Sin City is another name for Las Vegas.”

  “He’s taking my Polly to Vegas? Why?” Hysteria filled her voice.

  Angie lived in Vegas, but how did the kidnapper know that? In the previous case he’d warned her to stay out of his way or she’d be sorry. Luckily, he hadn’t carried out any of his threats. So if he didn’t want her involved, why bring the kid to her this time?

  “I’ll never see my baby again,” Susan sobbed, once more losing control.

  “You can’t think that.” Long pent-up emotions tugged at Brian. Kidnapping was every parent’s worst nightmare.

  Watching the distressed woman nervously plucking at her daughter’
s teddy bear, he again questioned how objective he could be when he wrote the piece. He’d always prided himself on his journalistic integrity and objectivity. He’d only lost that objectivity once. Writing this story while keeping his emotions in check wouldn’t be easy.

  ****

  The summer, desert storm emerged quickly. Jagged white lightning bolts speared the night’s blackness accompanied by the deafening boom of thunder. Then the rain arrived—a pounding deluge that turned desert-dry earth into deadly raging rivers of mud and debris.

  Above the din a tearful child screamed, “Mommy, Mommy!”

  Jolted awake, Angie listened but heard nothing. The noise and fury of the storm vaporized along with her grandchild’s plaintive sobs.

  She groaned. What did a storm have to do with her granddaughter in San Diego? A cloud of uneasiness settled over her. Getting up, she went to check her door and window locks. You’re being foolish, she told herself, crawling back into bed. When the unexplained apprehension continued, she suspected she wasn’t.

  ****

  God, he hated the desert. The barren brown bleakness of it depressed him. Not that he saw much beyond the range of his high beams piercing the night’s blackness, but he knew it existed. A land baked dry by a scorching relentless sun that created summer heat so intense you could fry an egg without benefit of a stove.

  That’s why he’d chosen the night to travel. Nighttime also meant less traffic and risk of detection. He also avoided the interstates, taking the less traveled two-lane roads, careful to obey the speed limits as he passed through the blink-in-the-road towns along the way. He didn’t need a small-town cop pulling him over and spotting the drugged, bound, and gagged kid he held captive in the rear of the van.

  The abduction had gone as planned. He’d been right about the old woman’s cat. Catching it in the backyard snoozing, he’d killed the animal and shoved it through the cat door. He’d been certain that when the old woman walked into her kitchen with her groceries and saw the dead cat she’d scream. The mother reacted like he’d expected her to. She’d dashed into the house to check on the old woman, leaving her daughter unattended long enough for him to snatch her.

  At first she slept with the aid of a sedative. He’d been careful to only give the toddler enough to make her sleepy. He didn’t want to kill her yet. When she woke up and started crying for her mommy, he gave her a little more. Then he taped her mouth shut to keep her quiet.

  He drove through the night, first skirting the Mexican border, and heading through El Centro to Highway 78. As he drove past the Algodones Dunes, the winds picked up sending drifting sand across the roadway at times obscuring visibility.

  He continued on, ignoring the weather and his increasing fatigue. To his left loomed the faint silhouette of the Chocolate Mountains, a place the military used for target practice. He wouldn’t care if they blew up the whole damn desert.

  Thankfully, the border inspection station at Vidal Junction was closed. Not a soul in sight. Once in Nevada, he relaxed. The long journey was nearly over.

  The wind blew more intensely now. Thunder rumbled overhead and the threatening desert storm unleashed its full fury complete with pelting rain and jagged flashes of lightning that ripped through the cloud-filled night sky.

  He needed to arrive in Las Vegas before the dry desert riverbeds filled with water, empty arroyos turned into raging torrents, and roads flooded. He couldn’t risk a washed-out road delaying him.

  He glanced at the van’s dashboard clock. He was making good time in spite of the weather. In a short while he’d hit his next target, Angela Martin’s doorstep. Wouldn’t she be surprised to learn he knew where she lived?

  ****

  After leaving Susan’s, Brian tried calling Angie several times, but she didn’t answer. Nor did she reply to the phone messages he left.

  “Damn her,” he muttered, shoving clothes into a duffel. She might be angry with him, but she needed to know the kidnapper was on his way to Vegas. Having already talked to his editor about the story, he grabbed his bag and headed out the door. Whether she liked it or not, he’d be on her doorstep by morning. Realizing that over twelve hours had transpired since Polly was taken, he rushed out of the driveway and sped toward the interstate.

  He made good time until he reached the desert east of Los Angeles. The cloud-filled skies opened up. Rain pounded incessantly on his sports car’s canvas top and winds buffeted him. Semi trucks roared past sending up a blinding spray of water. He fought the truck-induced wind wakes that pushed him to the highway’s edge then threatened to suck him into the fast lane. He cursed the weather and the water that dripped through holes in the fabric roof.

  He peered into the darkness, a sheet of driving rain reflecting back at him. Even with the car’s windshield wipers working at full speed, he couldn’t see the road ahead. Pulling off at a roadside rest stop, he hoped the storm might lessen in a few minutes. Desert storms generally came and went quickly. Shutting off the engine, he grabbed his cell phone. The screen glowed green in the darkness. Happy to see a signal, he called Angie. Again, she didn’t answer. Where the hell was she?

  He couldn’t wait out the storm. Ignoring his fatigue and the pouring rain, he turned the ignition key back on. The car cranked over but refused to start.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t you die on me now!”

  Again, he tried. Again, the old sports car sputtered but wouldn’t start. “You S.O.B. Leave me stranded here and you’re going to the junkyard.”

  Saying a silent prayer, he turned the key again. This time the engine sputtered, cranked over, and started. “Yes,” he muttered. Racing out of the parking lot, he merged onto the freeway behind a truck. His car hydroplaned on the wet pavement forcing him to slow down. Safety warred with his need to reach her before the kidnapper did. The man hadn’t harmed her last time, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t now.

  ****

  At the outskirts of Vegas, the kidnapper left the road he’d been traveling. Skirting Henderson with its many housing subdivisions and industrial complexes, he reached Boulder Highway.

  He glanced at the van’s clock. Still making good time, he drove past RV parks, condo developments, and mobile home sales lots. Apartment complexes en route advertised daily, weekly, and monthly rates, and several neon-lit casino signs featured their food and gambling specials.

  Spotting the street he wanted, he made a right turn. The quiet palm-tree-lined road lay in near darkness, the street lamps’ yellow glow barely penetrating the deep shadows. Dawn wouldn’t arrive for another hour, perfect timing for the continuation of his well-laid-out plan. Across town people played in the casinos, bright lights defying the night. However, here, exhausted workers slept soundly.

  He wanted no witnesses to his coming and going. He squeezed his van into a curbside parking space, and checked on the kid. Thankfully, she slept.

  His mission wouldn’t take long. Grabbing what he needed from the seat next to him, he exited the van. The damp streets spoke of earlier rain. Water puddled in gutters and the air smelled of warm, wet asphalt. Glancing skyward, he saw stars mixed with a dusting of clouds glowing bright white against the inky blackness of the nighttime sky. The storm he’d endured had passed.

  He compared the address on the stucco apartment building with the one on the scrap of paper in his hand. They matched. He made his way into the complex’s central courtyard. The acrid scent of swimming pool chlorine accosted his nose. Wind whipped across the lighted pool’s surface creating shimmering ripples, and dappled light bounced off neighboring walls and teal-colored doors.

  Again he glanced at the piece of paper. Apartment 212. He studied the second-floor unit and smiled. Clutching his precious package, he started up the stairs. The scuff of shoes on concrete echoed in the night’s silence, but no one stirred.

  ****

  Brian crested the last of the desert mountains and began his drive into Las Vegas. The first rays of sun peeked over the mountains to the east. Tr
affic moved at a crawl. Road construction signs explained why. Impatient, he inched his way past miles of subdivisions with sandy-colored houses sporting red tile roofs. The high-rises bordering the famous Strip loomed closer.

  Passing McCarran International Airport at the edge of the Strip, he saw a plane lift off. Sunlight bounced off the Mandalay Bay’s golden windows and glinted off the Luxor’s black glass pyramid. Near the Tropicana Road exit, he spotted the Excalibur’s castle-like blue and red turrets followed by New York, New York’s city skyline.

  Soon the bright, colorful lights heralding the casinos and hotels along the Strip would fade in the morning light. The city in daytime held little of the glitz that it did at night.

  He’d worked in Vegas as an investigative reporter for over seven years. At first the place fascinated him. Without leaving town, visitors could travel to places like Venice, Paris, Italy, New York, Monte Carlo, or Rio. They might witness medieval jousting matches, take in circus acts, and ride a multitude of roller coasters. On the surface the Strip reminded him of a posh adult Disneyland.

  However, he’d soon learned that behind the Strip’s bright veneer lurked the true purpose of the glitz—gambling. No matter what hotel a person entered, the main attractions featured the roll of the dice, the shuffle of cards, the spin of the roulette wheel, and the clank of the slot machines. Two years ago he’d left and swore he’d never return to the town that had caused him so much pain. Yet here he was. Fate could be a cruel mistress.

  He exited I-15 and headed east on Flamingo Road. Continuing to fight traffic, he cursed. He should have exited the freeway in Henderson. Now he faced cross-town traffic, countless stoplights, and increasing commuters every inch of the way.

  ****

  The sun peeped above the horizon as Angie drove along Boulder Highway returning from her early morning workout at the gym. The night sky’s blackness lightened to a pale gray, then dusty yellow. The sun soon popped up tingeing the few lingering fingers of storm clouds in rich shades of rose, pink, and purple. The wondrous colors of a desert sunrise made this her favorite time of day. She preferred the soft light of early morning before the harshness of the midday sun sent shimmering waves of heat across the landscape.