One Week To Live

by Joan Beth Erickson

  Pulling his prize from its wrapping, he placed it in the water face down. Ripples disturbed the glassy surface and waves quietly lapped against the lighted pool’s edge. “Soon,” he whispered, smiling. “Soon.”

  Heading back toward the street, he spotted someone at the mailboxes. He slipped into the shadows and observed Rita, Angie’s neighbor, fish her mail out and lock the box. He’d surveyed the apartment complex long enough to know that Rita was a night owl. He remained in the shadows until she went by then hurried to his van. Getting in, he eased the van away from the curb. Tires squealed on the pavement.

  ****

  When she and Brian arrived back at her apartment complex, crime scene tape encircled the swimming pool. Several FBI agents surveyed the area, and Dunning and Rita stood just beyond the crime scene tape engaged in conversation.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, approaching the two of them with worry filling her words. From Dunning’s expression he didn’t appreciate her interruption, but she didn’t care.

  “I was on my way home from a date when I spotted something in the pool,” Rita said.

  “Something was in the pool?” Thinking of her drowning vision and her grandchild, a tremor coursed through her. “What?”

  “A doll.”

  A relieved breath escaped her lips.

  Rita continued. “I thought it unusual for a baby doll to be in the pool at this hour so I took a closer look. That’s when I noticed a plastic bag tied to the doll’s neck. Recalling the kidnapper’s plastic baggie that came with the vase of roses, I presumed it must be connected to him.” She looked at the FBI agent and smiled. “I figured Special Agent Dunning should know about it so I called him. After that I phoned you and left a message on your cell.”

  “My phone was turned off,” she said.

  “I knew you weren’t home.” She looked from Angie to Brian and grinned mischievously.

  Ignoring Rita’s grin, she turned her attention to the doll face down at the bottom of the pool. When an agent fished it out and turned it over, she sucked in a breath. The doll, dressed all in pink, looked like Polly with blonde hair and big brown eyes.

  “Brian.” She looked at him.

  “I know,” he replied, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “Susan told me she thought the kidnapper must have taken Polly’s favorite doll when he snatched her. The doll’s got brown eyes just like both Polly and you.”

  Making that statement, he threw her a questioning look that made her uneasy. Was Rita right? Had he figured out her secret? When they’d left the condo to return here, he’d taken a moment to shut down his computer. When he touched his mouse, the screensaver vanished and photos of her and her daughter popped up on the monitor. He quickly shut down his computer, but said nothing to her. How long would it take for him to begin asking probing questions? If he did, could she fend them off? Staring at the water-soaked doll, she dragged a shaky hand through her hair.

  “It’s just a cheap plastic doll,” he said.

  “A doll missing two arms, a doll with a message,” she replied.

  “You aren’t saying the man is going to cut the child’s arms off, are you? He’s warped, but not that warped.”

  She raked her hand through her hair again. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Dunning continued to interrogate Rita. “You said you arrived home about 4 A.M.?”

  “Yes. I was returning from a date.”

  “I see.” His tone held both censure and curiosity.

  Was the agent developing an interest in Rita? It was apparent she was interested in him. Again, she thought about opposites attracting.

  “Did you see anyone?” he asked.

  “No. I stopped at the mailboxes and picked up my mail before heading up to my apartment. As I passed the pool, I spotted the doll.”

  “So you saw no one?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you sure? Someone put that doll in the water.”

  She remained lost in thought for a minute. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember something. After I left the mailboxes, I heard faint footsteps behind me. Turning to look, I saw a man get into a van parked out front.”

  “Can you describe the man?”

  “Not really. It was dark. I just saw a glimpse of him.”

  “What color was the van?”

  “White I think. Yes, white.”

  He scribbled this fact in his notebook.

  “Does that help?” Rita asked.

  “It might, but there are hundreds of white vans in this town. Did you get a license plate number?”

  “No. The van pulled out in a big hurry.”

  He reached in his pocket and handed a business card to Rita. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”

  “I definitely will,” she said, her smile flirtatious.

  The man’s partner, wearing plastic gloves, removed the bag containing the note from the doll’s neck. “It’s another nursery rhyme,” he called out withdrawing the piece of paper from the bag. “Itsy, bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout and down came the baby before she could be caught.”

  She looked at Brian. He, too, scribbled in his notebook.

  “Don’t be putting that clue in any of your articles, Murphy,” Dunning warned.

  “I haven’t put any of the nursery rhymes in my stories. I’m dealing with human interest pieces these days, not straight news.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Once a reporter always a reporter.”

  “Yeah, and once a Fed always a Fed. Everything has to be on a need-to-know basis for you,” he spat back. “Did you ever think that the clues might help Angie connect with the bastard? Help her with visions that might be useful to you.”

  A sarcastic smirk played across Dunning’s face. “You and those damn visions. What’s she seen lately, Murphy? Pink elephants dancing the hula.”

  She gritted her teeth, but held back the words she wished to throw at him.

  “No. She saw water.” He pointed to the pool. “She saw water and felt like she was drowning. That doll could be Polly.”

  “Well it wasn’t,” the man countered. “What I need are hard facts. Things like addresses and license plate numbers. But all I get are silly nursery rhyme clues and psychic babble.”

  “So you’ve retrieved no DNA from any of the evidence gathered so far?”

  “Any of the tainted evidence,” Dunning said, glaring at Angie. “Not yet, but we know this isn’t the first time this guy’s played his silly nursery rhyme game.”

  “Of course not. He did it in San Diego, too,” Brian pointed out.

  “From what we’ve gathered, other cases in the last few years mirror these last two. Crimes committed in small towns in different parts of the country. In every case he eluded authorities. The local police in these towns didn’t realize they dealt with a serial killer. He was careful to only commit one, maybe two murders, in each place.”

  “San Diego and Las Vegas are big cities,” Brian said.

  “I know. We think the small towns were trial runs to test his skills at evading law enforcement before going big time with his game. The FBI never got involved in the small town cases. They should have, but they weren’t called in. If they had been, we’d have captured the guy before now.”

  “Are you so sure of that? You haven’t been successful in tracking him down this time.”

  Dunning ignored Brian’s accusation. “With our extensive database, we’ve been able to connect the cases. We’ll soon have the DNA we need.”

  “Tell me, why are you suddenly so forthcoming with information?” Brian asked.

  “Because I want both of you to quit playing amateur investigators. You could be his next victims. I heard about your friend Ray. I don’t want to be gathering DNA from your corpses.”

  She shivered at the picture his statement conjured.

  “I know, let the professionals handle it,” he threw back.

  “That’s right.”

&nbs
p; “The question is can the professionals find Polly before it’s too late?”

  She wanted Dunning to answer Brian’s question, but he wouldn’t. She noticed someone emerge from the small crowd of onlookers and hurry toward the back of the complex. Her heart skipped a beat. Was it her ex-husband? It looked like him except this man wore a large sunhat. She’d never known her ex to wear a hat. He said it messed up his curly, black hair and left him with a “hat line”. If it was him, he knew where she lived. Uneasiness filled her.

  ****

  When they first arrived at the apartment complex, dawn’s light filled the eastern sky and bathed the courtyard in soft gray light. That light now intensified into the golden glow of a sunrise. Temperatures began to rise. Agents’ voices echoed across the courtyard overshadowing the murmured voices of the diminishing crowd. A door slammed and someone descended the stairs. He didn’t even glance in the direction of the crime scene tape as he hurried off to work.

  She looked over at Brian. “Have you figured out the latest clue?”

  He looked up from the notebook he’d been scribbling in. “No.”

  She sighed. “This is all so pointless. I’m sick of his stupid game.”

  “Well, his game doesn’t thrill me either, but the clues aren’t all pointless. One of them led us to the Fremont Street Experience,” he said.

  “What did that achieve…another senseless clue?”

  “And a close encounter with the kidnapper,” he said. “One of these days he’s going to slip up. Then he’ll be caught.”

  “Not if the Feds aren’t around, and they weren’t last night.”

  Something bothered her, he thought. She looked frazzled.

  “What’s wrong?” he said softly, looking over at Dunning who remained nearby talking to several agents.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Is the kidnapper here? Do you sense his presence? If so we need to tell Dunning.” He studied the few people remaining behind the crime scene tape. Would the man be brazen enough to show up with the Feds here? He doubted it, but he did have a flair for the theatrical and liked to court danger.

  “No, it doesn’t involve the kidnapper.”

  “Then what is it?” He continued to keep an eye on the special agent talking on his cell phone. “Was it your ex-husband?”

  She nodded.

  He surveyed the crowd once more. When he’d researched her ex on the Internet he’d seen several photos of the man. No one here fit the description. “Where?”

  “He was leaving.”

  “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “No.”

  Dunning approached them. “Remember what I told you. Keep clear of the case. If he gives you another clue, call me. I’ll take it from there.”

  “If you stuck closer to us rather than spending your time in your ivory tower office, you might catch the guy,” Brian said.

  “And why do you say that?”

  “He’s becoming more brazen. Last night the kidnapper, disguised in a clown suit, delivered a nursery rhyme clue to Angie at the Fremont Street Experience.”

  “That’s pretty ballsy. You should have called me,” the man said.

  “We didn’t know about the note or that the clown was him until this morning. He keeps playing games with her, testing how close he can be to her without her detecting his presence.”

  “With all her so-called psychic ability, Ms. Martin didn’t realize it was him?” He shook his head in disgust. “And you want me to listen to her babble. As I said, stay away from the case. We’ll catch the guy.”

  Brian was fed up with the son-of-a-bitch. He wondered why she didn’t say anything, but she appeared preoccupied.

  “I’m telling you that if you ordered someone to watch over Angie, you might be able to catch the asshole. He’s a killer. Don’t you want to protect her?”

  “There’s not enough manpower to provide the woman with a babysitter.” He studied Brian for a minute. “When were you going to give me this note from last night?”

  She was in danger, but this guy wanted to deal with notes containing no evidence, rather than protect her. Unbelievable, Brian thought.

  “It’s at my condo. I didn’t know we’d be seeing you.”

  “An agent can pick it up,” he said.

  “No, I’ll drop it by,” Brian replied.

  “You better,” the man ordered. He started to walk away, then stopped and turned around. “And I mean it when I tell you to stay away from the case.”

  “We can’t if the kidnapper won’t let us,” Angie pointed out.

  “Be his messenger if that’s what he wants. Then get the note to me and back away. He’s not only killed children in the past. It’s believed he’s also killed a victim’s mother as well as a policewoman working one of the cases.”

  She stared at him for a minute then excused herself. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll go to my apartment and lie down.” With this she ran toward her apartment taking the stairs two at a time. Brian was right behind her.

  “Angie, wait up,” he called out. Before he could stop her, she scooted into her apartment and slammed the door. He tried the doorknob, but she’d locked it.

  “Angie, open up,” he shouted, banging on the door.

  “No,” she yelled. “Go away and leave me alone.”

  He heard the security chain slide into place. “Please let me in.”

  “No,” she cried out.

  Through the closed door he could hear the panic and hysteria in her voice.

  “What’s wrong?” Dunning asked, coming up next to him.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “All this talk about murdered mothers and cops seem to send her over the edge.”

  “I just stated the facts,” Dunning said.

  “What you consider the facts could be something far more personal to Angie.”

  Dunning said nothing for a minute. “I don’t like him hanging around her anymore than you do. It’s like he’s stalking her.”

  “He is. It’s part of his game although it wasn’t in San Diego.”

  “Then he’s changing his M.O., ramping up his game.”

  “That’s what I think, too. He threatened her in San Diego, but he kept his distance.”

  “Shit.” The man rubbed the back of his neck. “I wish I had the people to protect her, but I don’t.”

  “And what about me?” Brian asked.

  “Were you threatened, too?”

  “No.”

  He stared at him for a minute. “I hate to admit it, but I suspect you can take care of yourself. Besides from what I’ve seen lately, you’re always with her and that’s good.”

  “It’s hard to be with her when she’s on one side of the door, and I’m on the other,” he pointed out.

  “She’ll open up the door eventually. Be patient.”

  “Is that how you treat your suspects? With the right amount of patience, they’ll eventually open up.”

  “Usually works.” Flashing a brief smile, he headed down the stairs.

  That was one of the strangest conversations he’d ever had with the man, Brian thought. He knocked on her door again. She didn’t answer. He wanted to comfort her, but she wasn’t going to let him and that frustrated him.

  He’d seen her upset in the last case, but never like this. Had mentioning the dead mother set her off? For some time he’d been questioning why this case was so personal for Angie.

  His suspicions started with the family resemblance between Angie and Susan. Angie’s empathy for the woman reminded him of how a mother might feel about her daughter rather than how a stranger reacted to a woman in trouble. His research hadn’t come up with any solid proof. However, it was feasible that Angie had borne a child when she was sixteen and gave the baby up for adoption. She was now thiry-six and Susan twenty. The woman could be Angie’s daughter. Meaning Polly was her granddaughter. No wonder she was so emotionally involved. Why hadn’t she said something to him? He sensed she’d never
connected with Susan, but why not? Since she was her only offspring, she should want to. What a poignant story that could make, he thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thursday Morning

  The explosion ripped through her dream followed by a blinding flash of light. Angie opened her eyes, disoriented by her surroundings. Then she remembered collapsing on her living room couch and falling into a restless sleep. She blinked attempting to clear away sleep’s cobwebs and the aftermath of her most recent nightmare. She’d experienced a vision containing an explosion for a second time. What did the unsettling dream mean? Again she was frustrated about her inability to decipher what her brain was trying to tell her.

  Sitting up, she scrubbed at puffy eyes with a crumpled tissue. Agent Dunning’s statement that the kidnapper killed a victim’s mother was her undoing. However, she shouldn’t let her emotions overwhelm her in front of Brian.

  There was a knock at the door. It had to be him. She didn’t want to face the man. Her already scrambled thoughts turned to her growing attraction to him. Considering the circumstances, she should remain as far away from him as possible. If he started questioning her about her emotional outburst, she wasn’t sure her lies held enough truth for him to believe her. She was so tired of keeping secrets, but she needed to for her daughter’s sake. Someone knocked on her door again. She reluctantly opened it and was surprised to see Rita, not Brian.

  “You look like shit,” her friend announced, breezing past her into the living room.

  “After your late night date and the commotion at the pool, I figured you’d sleep in until noon.” She studied her watch. “It’s only 10 a.m.”

  “Brian was concerned. He asked me to look in on you.”

  “He’s not here?” She peered out the door before quickly closing it when a passing neighbor stared in. “I expected him to be hovering nearby waiting for me to let him in. Where did he go?”

  “Dunning demanded the last note you guys got,” Rita said. “So he returned to his condo to bring the note to him.”

  “You don’t need to babysit me, Rita. I’m fine,” she sniffed, balling up the tissue in her hand.