One Week To Live

by Joan Beth Erickson

  “They found a half-empty bottle of bourbon when they searched the car.”

  “But Ray stopped drinking. He bragged about the fact he’d been sober for over a year,” she said.

  “The cops think he fell off the wagon.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “No. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt. That’s why he was thrown out of the car. The man always buckled up. It doesn’t add up.”

  “So what do you think happened?” She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. Grief began to hit her hard.

  “Ray wouldn’t give up on the Tucker case. He continued to work on it in his off-duty time. Sally told me he’d become obsessed with tracking down the killer. I think Ray was close to nabbing the guy. The nursery rhyme kidnapper killed him and made it look like an accident.”

  “If that’s true, the man we’re dealing with has advanced from killing children to killing adults.” Who was this maniac?

  “Killing is killing, Angie. If the man kills innocent children, nothing would stop him from killing an adult, particularly one who was about to finger him.”

  “So you’re saying he might kill me if I get too close.” A shiver coursed through her. She could no longer ignore the danger she might be in. Ray’s death made that clear.

  “You’re going to be okay, Angie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “But—”

  He swallowed her next words with a kiss. A long, lingering one that sent slow heat curling through her. “Believe me,” he said softly, ending the kiss “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He started to lean toward her again, the intensity of his gaze filling the darkness. Facing a friend’s death, he craved the same affirmation of life that she did, but she couldn’t let it happen.

  “No,” she said softly. “Not now, Brian.” She was upset and vulnerable and yearned for what he wanted to give her, but she wouldn’t accept it.

  He sat back in his seat, put on his seatbelt, and started the engine. Putting on her own seatbelt, she looked out the window. The family from the restaurant was getting into the car next to them. When the mother took her daughter out of the stroller one of the youngster’s sandals slipped off.

  A powerful vision overtook her. She saw the shadow of a man yanking sandals from a child’s feet.

  “Angie, what’s wrong?”

  His voice came from far away, muffled as if she listened to it through cotton batting. “Pink sandals,” she mumbled.

  “What?”

  She slowly opened her eyes and spoke in a harsh whisper. “Do you know what Polly wore when she disappeared?”

  “Yeah, she was dressed all in pink.”

  “Shit.”

  “Angie?”

  “We have to find her soon.” Or it would be too late, she thought, and it wasn’t something she wanted to accept.

  Chapter Eight

  Tuesday night

  He backed out of the restaurant’s parking lot.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Wherever there’s a rub-a-dub tub,” he said.

  “Would that be a bathtub or a boat?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood. The shock of Ray’s death slowly sank in, but she still found it difficult to believe.

  “Let’s hope a boat. There are thousands of hotel rooms in this town with thousands of tubs,” he said, attempting a smile. “Tell me about the vision again.”

  She repeated what she could remember. Her visions, just brief flashes, weren’t easily remembered afterwards.

  “Angie, think hard. Can you recall any details that could help us figure out where the child is?”

  “No. I didn’t see the face, only her feet, and…” She thought for a moment. “She was on a mattress.”

  “Go on.”

  “You can wipe the eagerness from your voice, Murphy. That’s all I remember, a bare, blue-striped mattress. No sheets, blanket, or bedspread.”

  “Any other details?”

  “No.” She stared out the car window. They’d turned onto the Strip and crawled along with the other evening traffic. Bright, colorful neon signs accosted her from both sides of the street.

  He slammed on his brakes to keep from hitting several people jaywalking. “Damn idiots. Why don’t they use the pedestrian bridge?”

  “Because it’s quicker to jaywalk. They’d have to go out of their way to use the bridge.”

  “Such logic.” He smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

  He squeezed her hand briefly before shifting into first gear when the traffic light ahead turned red. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d missed him, too. Missed his easy smile and teasing ways. However, the sexual undercurrent sizzling between them right now made her uneasy. She wasn’t ready for a sexual commitment. This wasn’t the time.

  Twice before in her life, she’d fallen for men who set her heart racing. And in both cases, the relationship ended in disaster. This time it had to be different. She wouldn’t act so quickly.

  She turned her attention back to the street scene. To their left several gondoliers propelled boats through a canal in the shadow of the Venetian Hotel.

  “Rub-a-dub, dub,” she mumbled. “Three men in a tub.”

  “Do you think?” He looked at her.

  “No, I don’t. There are two couples and a gondolier in each boat. That makes five people.”

  “The clue said there could be more than three,” he pointed out.

  He might be grasping at straws, but that was Brian. His glass remained half full, hers was always half empty.

  “Why are we chasing after his clues?” she asked. “The kidnapper wants us to believe the clues will eventually lead to the child, but we know they won’t. They didn’t last time and won’t this time.”

  “It’s not the clues that helped us in San Diego. It was your visions. Visions sparked when we followed his clues.”

  “I’ve got a splitting headache,” she announced, rubbing at her forehead, “and I’m tired of his wild goose chase. We’re getting nowhere. Maybe we should let the Feds do their job. They’re trained to find kidnap victims.”

  “But will they find Polly in time?” A horn honked and he inched his way forward. He got through the intersection just as the light turned red.

  She wasn’t sure they would. The fact that she might never get to know Polly wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Why hadn’t she found the courage to contact her daughter sooner? Become acquainted with her before this tragedy struck. She knew Susan’s adoptive parents were dead. She should be there to support her daughter right now, help her through this. However, since she’d deserted Susan not long after she’d entered the world, did she deserve the right to be by her side now?

  “You’re experiencing a headache because your psychic third eye is opening,” he said.

  She sighed in exasperation. “I know all about the third eye concept, but right now I blame my headache on the damn heat.”

  “Suit yourself, but you’ve got to stop being so negative about your abilities.” He squeezed her hand again.

  She pulled free. “In San Diego, I started to believe in my psychic skills. Ray was a great cheerleader.” She fought the tears welling up. “Then along came the Tucker case and my horrible failure.”

  “I wish you’d stop blaming yourself.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? My feelings of lurking evil and visions of a child’s shoes, an explosion, and a crying youngster amount to nothing.”

  His cell phone rang. When he hung up, he looked grave.

  “What is it now?” she asked, her heart leaping into her throat.

  “They found a kid’s pink, plastic sandal floating in the water in front of the San Francisco Casino.”

  “The shoe from my vision.” Why is Polly without her shoe? she wondered. Does it mean she’s dead? She thought of the kidnapper ripping the shoe from the corpse and shivered.

  ****

  The San Francisco Casino was one of the city’s newest. Located on the Stri
p, its exterior emulated Northern California’s City by the Bay complete with the famous Transamerica Building affectionately known by San Franciscans as the “pointy building.” There were also replicas of the Coit Tower, Ferry Building, and a Golden Gate Bridge that spanned a body of water dotted with sail boats.

  Chaos now prevailed in front of the place. Cars with red flashing lights lined the curb next to a downsized version of Golden Gate Park filled with trees, grass, benches, and a Japanese-style pavilion. A crowd had gathered along the fence skirting the park.

  Dunning stood inside the fence’s perimeter supervising men fishing what looked like a child’s sandal from the water beneath the bridge. The lights trimming the bridge reflected their golden color on the water and the shoe. She sucked in a breath when she recognized the shoe from her vision. Spotting them, he and his partner walked over.

  “It figures you’d show up, Murphy,” Dunning said. “You might as well join the other newshounds. He motioned toward a host of television camera crews already on scene. “They’re interviewing the victim’s mother right now.”

  Susan was here? Angie swallowed the nervous lump in her throat.

  “The kidnapper left the poor woman a cryptic phone message about the shoe.” The man hesitated. “And no, we couldn’t trace it. He made the call from a throwaway cell phone. We found it dumped in the trash can over there.”

  “Shit,” Brian mumbled.

  She paid little attention to their conversation. Instead she focused on her daughter. Moving closer, she joined the other onlookers observing a reporter talking to the distraught woman. Seeing the pain edged in her face, Angie’s heart went out to her. Blonde-haired Susan looked like her father, but her brown, tear-filled eyes mirrored Angie’s.

  “Look directly into the camera and talk to the television audience,” the reporter instructed. “Tell them about your little girl. Show them her picture. Let them know how much you miss her and how much you want her back.”

  Susan nodded, wiping tears away with a crumpled tissue.

  “Your little girl could be watching. You need to tell her you love her and reassure her that things are going to be all right.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, staring over at the dripping shoe fished from the water.

  “Is that your daughter’s?” the reporter asked.

  “Yes,” she sobbed, her body shaking.

  The reporter motioned to the cameraman. “Get a close-up of the shoe, then focus back on the mother.”

  During the interview, roller-coaster cars packed with screaming passengers rumbled over the Golden Gate Bridge and disappeared into the building. Susan didn’t look up. Instead, she pleaded for her daughter’s life.

  With every word uttered, Angie’s pain increased. She fought the desire to rush to Susan and try to comfort her. Something she’d never been able to do when she was little. Someone else had hugged her daughter and kissed away the tears. Thoughts of the childhood she’d missed swept over her filling her with sorrow.

  How could she think of asking this stranger to accept her, when Susan’s past was linked to another woman she’d called Mom? She couldn’t. She’d surrendered the right to be Susan’s mother the day she’d given her up for adoption. After one more longing look, she pushed her way back through the crowd to Brian.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, wiping at a tear. “What that mother is going through is horrible. No one should have to endure losing a daughter.”

  A look of pain briefly flashed through his eyes then disappeared. What was he hiding?

  “Did they find another clue in the shoe?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “From where I stood, the shoe looked empty.”

  “Damn,” he mumbled.

  “The poor kid,” she said sucking in a breath. He put his arm around her shoulders. This time she didn’t shy away from his touch. Instead, she welcomed the brief embrace.

  “Looks like the television crews are done with Susan. I need to talk to her. Do you want to join me?”

  “No, thank you,” she responded much too quickly.

  “Angie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You do your job. I’ll wait here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  As he threaded his way through the throng, the Strip’s nightlife swirled around her. Car and bus tires hissed on pavement damp from an earlier shower. Headlights and tail lights reflected brightly off the road’s moist surface, and neon signs shimmered red, green, blue, and gold in curbside puddles.

  The rain hadn’t curtailed the nighttime crowds that weaved their way in and out of casinos. Brightly lit signs announcing “We Comp 25 Cent Slot Players” warred with others proclaiming “All You Can Eat Buffet.” Signs overhead advertised casino shows in a blaze of moving color and flashing lights. Boisterous laughter filled the air along with the occasional screech of tires and honking of car horns.

  Strolling the Strip at night was like attending a perpetual party. Something she didn’t like. The hyped-up energy overwhelmed her.

  “You were right,” he said, returning to her side. “The shoe didn’t contain a clue.”

  “Now what?” Dread once more filled her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s a second shoe,” she suddenly announced.

  “What?”

  She rubbed her forehead and thought about what she’d just said. “In my vision I remember seeing someone removing both of the little girl’s shoes.”

  “So there could be another shoe clue.”

  “Shoe clue, very funny.” The thought of the man touching Polly, even if he wasn’t molesting her, sickened Angie. “We don’t know where he’ll leave this shoe clue.”

  “You’re the one with the answers.”

  “What answers?” She studied him for a minute. “You can wipe that expectant look from your freckled face. I haven’t experienced more visions, nor have I felt his presence. I don’t think he’s here this time.”

  “I think he is and so do the Feds. They’ve been monitoring the crowd. They suspect he gets his jollies from watching us scramble for clues, and I think they’re right.”

  “You’re agreeing with Dunning? That’s a first.”

  “I’ve written enough about crime to know that criminals like kidnappers and serial killers take perverted pleasure in observing the results of their actions.”

  She shook her head. “I’m tired of playing his game.”

  “We can’t let Susan’s little girl die.”

  The tone of desperation filling his voice surprised her. She harbored a reason to be desperate. They were talking about her granddaughter. Was there something more than Tucker’s son’s death haunting him?

  ****

  Look at them, he chuckled. Feds, media, and the victim’s mother all clustered around a stupid shoe. What did they think they’d find? A note? A hint from him to the location of his victim? The shoe was as empty as their brains.

  Didn’t they know it wasn’t time to give them another morsel of information? He’d made the waiting game his stock and trade. From experience, he knew waiting always brought better rewards. However, he needed to curb his own impatience.

  He studied the young mother, a pathetic woman, not much more than a child herself. Collateral damage might not be avoided in the pursuit of the final prize.

  He pushed the baby carriage along the street in front of the casino walking past all of them as he did. Fools, you’re all fools, he thought, fighting not to laugh in their faces.

  Chapter Nine

  Tuesday night

  Brian wedged his sports car between a white van and a red SUV. “Tight fit,” he muttered.

  “Good thing you drive a small car. You’re lucky you found a space.”

  She unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car. He did the same. “You could drop me off. You don’t have to escort me to my front door,” she said, annoyed that he insisted upon being with her wherever s
he went. She needed space to think, and he wasn’t giving her any. He said he wanted to protect her. Her growing attraction to the man made it difficult to remember he was a newspaper reporter first, her protector second.

  They skirted the complex’s swimming pool. People who’d been enjoying an evening swim left the pool as distant thunder rumbled.

  “Looks like we’re in for another soaking.” Brian glanced up at the sky as they climbed the stairs to her apartment. “There seem to be more tropical storms from Mexico this year.”

  “Well, the saving grace is that they blow through quickly,” she said.

  He took the key from her and opened the door. As he handed the key back, her apartment phone rang. She started to rush inside, but he stopped her. “The rule is I go in first, remember?”

  “But the phone. It could be him.” Not that she wanted to hear the bastard’s creepy voice, but they needed more clues.

  By the time he reached it, the ringing stopped. The caller didn’t leave a message.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “We missed him.”

  “Angie, you don’t know it was him.”

  “I sensed it was. I’m sure he’s got my home phone number. He has all my other personal information.”

  “If he wants to get us a message, he will.”

  “But…” Her voice trailed off. She was coming unglued.

  “Shh,” he said, his breath brushing her face. He gently stroked the side of her cheek. She stepped away before he could kiss her. She wouldn’t pursue the chemistry sparking between them.

  She’d never been lucky with men. When she trusted them, they betrayed her. In a family full of boys, she’d been daddy’s little girl. She thought her father loved her beyond question until the day he’d announced the devil possessed her. When she’d become pregnant, he’d swept her out of the house like unwanted dirt.

  Then there’d been her first romantic love, Susan’s father. For him, their summer romance had been a fling, another notch in his belt before he went off to college. For her it was much more. She’d also trusted the man she eventually married, too blind to see how manipulative he was.

  Then there was Brian. He’d betrayed her when he’d written those articles.