Read Online 10th Anniversary by James Patterson - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson
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that she wasn’t really listening to Conklin, that her mind was on the far side of the moon.
Paul Richardson paused in his pacing around the Oriental carpet to say, “Avis, try, for God’s sake. Give Inspector Conklin something to work with. This is life and death. Do you understand me? Do you?”
Room service rang the doorbell.
Sonja Richardson brought her daughter a mug of hot chocolate, then pulled me aside to say, “Avis is not herself. Normally, she’s quick. She’s funny. I tell you, she’s having a nervous breakdown. Oh my God, I can’t believe we listened to her. She begged us to let her stay here when Paul was transferred. She had friends, and the staff at Brighton… We felt she was safe at that school.”
I went back to the sitting room and sat a few feet from Avis. Her eyes were vacant. She’d been physically hurt. Her baby was gone. And I was guessing that she blamed herself.
Still, why didn’t Avis ask about her son? She should have had a lot of questions: What were we doing to find him? Was there any chance he was alive? But she didn’t ask a thing.
Did she know that he was dead?
Had she buried him herself?
Was the baby’s father involved in this horror story?
Conklin took a new tack. He said, “Avis, were you threatened? Is that it? Did someone tell you that if you spoke to the police they’d hurt the baby?”
I could almost see the lightbulb go on over her head. Avis turned her eyes up and to the right and said, “Yeah. The Frenchman said he’d kill my baby if I talked to the police.”
My bull-crap alarm went off, a three-alarm clamor.
Avis had just lied.
I stood up from the chubby armchair, cast my five-foot-tenshadow across the girl on the couch, and said, “I have to talk to Avis alone.”
There was silence for a full three seconds and then Conklin said, “Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, let’s go into the other room. I need to get some contact information and so forth.”
The girl looked up at me as the room cleared, and I saw fear in her eyes. She was afraid of me. Maybe she figured that Conklin was the good cop and I was the other one.
She got that right.
I said, “It’s time, Avis. I want to find your baby and I’m staying in your face, here or at the police station, until you tell me the
truth.
Do you understand?”
“I’m the victim,” she whined. “I was kidnapped. You can’t hold me responsible.”
“I can damn well hold you responsible. I can hold you as a material witness for forty-eight hours. During that time, I won’t be bringing you hot cocoa. I will make you as miserable as possible, and when I get tired, I’ll send in a fresh team of bullies.”
“No.”
“Yes. Right now, cops are getting a warrant for your phone records,” I said, picking up the armchair and setting it down hard, closer to the couch. “We’re going to know the names of everyone you’ve spoken to in the past year. We
will
find something.”
No comment.
Her silence was infuriating.
“Dammit, little girl. Your baby is missing. Maybe he’s
dead.
You’re his
mother.
You’re all he
has.
And you’re all
I
have. The bullshit stops now. Do you read me?”
Avis Richardson shot a furtive look at the door. “They’ll kill me,” she said.
I crossed the floor, locked the door to the adjoining room, threw the bolt, and sat back down. My heart was pumping like it was about to explode.
Tears gathered in Avis Richardson’s eyes. Then she started to talk.
Chapter 27
“I DIDN’T WANT my parents to know that I was… pregnant,” Avis Richardson said.
She sat scrunched against the back of the couch, her knees tucked up to her chin, her black-painted toenails peeking out from under a blanket. “I saw an ad on Prattslist a couple of months back,” she said.
Prattslist. It was a message board for virtual tag sales and personal ads, and it also functioned as the yellow pages for prostitutes and sex offenders and predators of all types and stripes prowling for
Paul Richardson paused in his pacing around the Oriental carpet to say, “Avis, try, for God’s sake. Give Inspector Conklin something to work with. This is life and death. Do you understand me? Do you?”
Room service rang the doorbell.
Sonja Richardson brought her daughter a mug of hot chocolate, then pulled me aside to say, “Avis is not herself. Normally, she’s quick. She’s funny. I tell you, she’s having a nervous breakdown. Oh my God, I can’t believe we listened to her. She begged us to let her stay here when Paul was transferred. She had friends, and the staff at Brighton… We felt she was safe at that school.”
I went back to the sitting room and sat a few feet from Avis. Her eyes were vacant. She’d been physically hurt. Her baby was gone. And I was guessing that she blamed herself.
Still, why didn’t Avis ask about her son? She should have had a lot of questions: What were we doing to find him? Was there any chance he was alive? But she didn’t ask a thing.
Did she know that he was dead?
Had she buried him herself?
Was the baby’s father involved in this horror story?
Conklin took a new tack. He said, “Avis, were you threatened? Is that it? Did someone tell you that if you spoke to the police they’d hurt the baby?”
I could almost see the lightbulb go on over her head. Avis turned her eyes up and to the right and said, “Yeah. The Frenchman said he’d kill my baby if I talked to the police.”
My bull-crap alarm went off, a three-alarm clamor.
Avis had just lied.
I stood up from the chubby armchair, cast my five-foot-tenshadow across the girl on the couch, and said, “I have to talk to Avis alone.”
There was silence for a full three seconds and then Conklin said, “Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, let’s go into the other room. I need to get some contact information and so forth.”
The girl looked up at me as the room cleared, and I saw fear in her eyes. She was afraid of me. Maybe she figured that Conklin was the good cop and I was the other one.
She got that right.
I said, “It’s time, Avis. I want to find your baby and I’m staying in your face, here or at the police station, until you tell me the
truth.
Do you understand?”
“I’m the victim,” she whined. “I was kidnapped. You can’t hold me responsible.”
“I can damn well hold you responsible. I can hold you as a material witness for forty-eight hours. During that time, I won’t be bringing you hot cocoa. I will make you as miserable as possible, and when I get tired, I’ll send in a fresh team of bullies.”
“No.”
“Yes. Right now, cops are getting a warrant for your phone records,” I said, picking up the armchair and setting it down hard, closer to the couch. “We’re going to know the names of everyone you’ve spoken to in the past year. We
will
find something.”
No comment.
Her silence was infuriating.
“Dammit, little girl. Your baby is missing. Maybe he’s
dead.
You’re his
mother.
You’re all he
has.
And you’re all
I
have. The bullshit stops now. Do you read me?”
Avis Richardson shot a furtive look at the door. “They’ll kill me,” she said.
I crossed the floor, locked the door to the adjoining room, threw the bolt, and sat back down. My heart was pumping like it was about to explode.
Tears gathered in Avis Richardson’s eyes. Then she started to talk.
Chapter 27
“I DIDN’T WANT my parents to know that I was… pregnant,” Avis Richardson said.
She sat scrunched against the back of the couch, her knees tucked up to her chin, her black-painted toenails peeking out from under a blanket. “I saw an ad on Prattslist a couple of months back,” she said.
Prattslist. It was a message board for virtual tag sales and personal ads, and it also functioned as the yellow pages for prostitutes and sex offenders and predators of all types and stripes prowling for
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