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  “Why do you think so?”

  David observed Ron open the sack and was surprised to see a fake moustache that Ron extracted out of it.

  “Because I believe you want to kill me too, okay.”

  David shook his head and asked:

  “What makes you think I want to kill you?”

  “You put something in my Pepsi while I was away. Some sleeping drug, right?” Ron spread a little glue over his upper lip and then carefully attached the moustache.

  Now David was surprised. Ron was correct: David had actually put a sedative into Ron’s bottle of Pepsi. And as a matter of fact, he was deeply puzzled at the fact that Ron had not fallen asleep yet.

  “But you’re not asleep, are you?” said David.

  “No, I’m not. When I started feeling sleepy, I took Modafinil. I use it to stay awake for several days straight. It’s a legal drug, okay. They use it in the Army, too.”

  “You’re not an angel yourself. I saw a sketch of your face on TV two hours ago.”

  “Really?” Ron frowned. “Seems like our hopes didn’t come true. That’s sad. Fortunately, I was prepared for such a twist.” He pointed at his moustache. “Now we will go out of the restroom, sit at the table, and wait for my friend Zack. Are you okay with that?”

  David cast an inquiring look at Ron and muttered:

  “Wait?”

  “Yes. And so that you won’t die of boredom I’ll tell you a riveting story about a guy who once upon a time sold auto parts in Southern California. You will like it. And we’ll also discuss how you can save yourself.” Ron zipped the bag. “Before I forgot, here’s an incentive for you to cooperate.” Ron whipped a .22 caliber revolver out of his pants pocket. “It’s small but it works fine. Please be reasonable and don’t try and pull any tricks.”

  “All right.” David marched to the door.

  They left the restroom and, after Ron phoned his friend, occupied a table in the corner furthest from the counter.

  “So what do you think about it?” asked Ron when he was done telling his riveting story. He spoke in a low voice, even though the diner was empty and there was no one to eavesdrop on them.

  “I think that guy got a raw deal,” answered David. “By the way, you said we would discuss my future.” He peered into Ron’s eyes.

  “Yeah, we need to talk about it.” Ron nodded. “All that crap about a wife and a kid and a mother-in-law—was it true?”

  David knitted his eyebrows and answered:

  “Not really. I have a girlfriend. Her name’s Jane.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “In Glendale.”

  “Do you live there too?” asked Ron.

  “I live near Glendale, in Pasadena.”

  “You understand that I’ll verify that information, don’t you?”

  “I have no doubt you will.”

  “Okay. Here’s the deal: you give us your girlfriend and I forget I ever met you.”

  “Really?” David made sure he did not sound sarcastic. “Is there any guarantee?”

  “No. All I can say to convince you is: we prefer doing it to women, okay. I’m sure you’re not prone to self-sacrifice. You will give her to us, right?”

  After a short pause David answered: “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  “Good. One more thing: why the hell did you steal that car? It’s too dangerous. What if the car was reported stolen?”

  “They are not going to find that guy any time soon.”

  “What about his relatives? They could report him missing by tomorrow morning. Why take an unnecessary risk?”

  “I needed a car. That’s it.” David looked in Ron’s emotionless eyes. “I don’t ask you why you and your friend killed that pregnant woman, do I?”

  “Fair enough. I’m just curious. I would never drive a stolen car for several hours.”

  “I was going to dump it in Sacramento.”

  They were speaking in amiable tones and behaved so courteously that a distant spectator could mistake them for very good friends.

  “After you were done with me?” asked Ron.

  “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

  Ron flashed a soft smile.

  “I just wanted to explain why we shouldn’t use that Malibu anymore,” he said. “Do you have anything in there that can lead the police to you?”

  “Don’t worry. I never leave traces. By the way, what about that sketch of your face they’re showing on TV? You’re not cautious enough after all.”

  “That was just a ridiculous accident. A glitch. I guess she was just a very lucky girl. But her luck isn’t going to last for ever if you know what I mean.”

  #

  They heard the door open and both turned their heads to see who came in. It was the fourth customer in the thirty five minutes that had passed since Ron had called Zack. David was relieved to see the client was a deputy sheriff: a fit man, probably in his early forties, in aviator sunglasses with dark lenses. He took off his uniform hat, approached the counter, ordered a soda drink and a hamburger, and then parked himself at the nearby table. The rescuing idea exploded in David’s head as he peeked at the deputy chewing the burger. Certainly there was a hope these bastards would let him go after they had laid their hands on Jane, but he hated to gamble with his life. He realized he should hurry.

  “Listen, Ron,” he almost whispered. “I’m too tired of all that. I’ve got nothing to lose anyhow. You will kill me sooner or later, I know it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ron whispered too.

  “Now I’m going to get up and walk out of that door,” said David. “If you want to take a chance you may shoot me, but then you’ll have to shoot the deputy as well.”

  “Don’t be stupid, David. We have an agreement.” Ron’s eyes glared with agitation.

  “He is armed, and there is a probability that he’ll manage to draw his gun and kill you before you kill him. I guess you hate taking unnecessary risks. Good bye and good luck, Ron.”

  David rose from the table and headed for the exit. As he moved he strained his ears to figure out if Ron went after him or released the safety on his gun—he believed his looking back would degrade his newly acquired authority. Fortunately, David did not catch any suspicious sounds from behind his back. As he touched the door handle he heard the deputy sheriff stand up and stride towards the exit. When David put his foot down on the porch, he finally made up his mind. He stepped to the left, waited for the deputy to come out of the doorway, and grabbed him by the elbow.

  “Officer, there is a killer inside the diner,” he said in a low voice.

  “What?” replied the deputy, knitting his eyebrows.

  “He’s wearing blue jeans and a cream shirt. I saw his face on TV this morning. You’ve got to arrest him. Please be careful: he has a gun.”

  The deputy’s right hand pounced on the holster.

  “Wait here,” the deputy said, drawing his pistol. “I’ll go check on him.” He covered the gun with his hat and stepped inside the diner.

  David peered through the door, wasted a few seconds locating the table where he had left Ron, then turned around and jogged towards the Malibu. He figured it would take the deputy at least a couple of minutes to apprehend Ron, so he had time to get in the car and leave. The Malibu had not been reported stolen yet, and if anyone inquired about the car he could always claim that he had borrowed it from Kevin Conway. So he would drive it to the next town, where he would get on a bus or train after thoroughly wiping all his fingerprints from the car’s interior. Yes, the deputy had asked him to wait, but he was not obliged to do so. David fished the car keys out of his pocket. Ron should have confiscated the keys from him.

  Big mistake.

  Could Ron overpower and/or outwit the deputy? He sure could, but David did not care. All he needed was a few minutes to get the heck out of here.

  In the car, David had tried to insert the key into ignition several times before he discovered that there was something inside t
he key hole that did not let the key in. Then he realized that one detail was missing from the picture outside the diner: there was no sheriff’s office vehicle in the parking lot. Of course, that deputy could be driving his own car on the job today, David would not pay much attention to this fact under different circumstances. He just felt very uncomfortable with the idea that someone had intruded into the Malibu and tampered with the ignition, and suspicions began to rapidly build up in his brain. He lifted his face as he saw out of the corner of his eye somebody stood near the driver’s door. It was the deputy—or should he call him Zack?—who was swinging a pair of handcuffs in the air. David darted a glance to his right and saw a smiling Ron.

  He breathed a heavy sigh. Well, he tried and he lost. Such was life.

  #

  Quite an amazing coincidence, wasn’t it? What were the odds that two serial killers will meet and have a ride in a car? Okay, with any probability, even a tiny one, it was only a matter of time. A while ago he read about a woman in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, who had won one million bucks on a scratch-off ticket two times in one year. There were only five one-million-dollar tickets in that lottery game, and the lady from Bethlehem won two of them. What are the odds of that? Astronomical. He had never won ten bucks on a scratch-off, let alone a million. God works in mysterious ways, folks. Mysterious indeed. The probability existed, and today the number came up. Nothing special.

  Okay, enough talking: he and Zack had some work to do.

  THE END

  Sample chapters from

  THE GIRL WHO DIDN’T DIE

  Description

  Thirteen years ago, Melissa was abducted as a baby. Today, she was brutally murdered.

  Thirteen years after her only child, Melissa, died in the maternity ward, Alice Cannon learns that her daughter’s body has been found by a lake in San Diego with multiple stab wounds. She realizes that someone stole Melissa after birth and tricked her into believing her baby was dead.

  The records of the hospital where Alice gave birth show that she and Melissa were discharged in excellent condition the day after delivery. Did Melissa’s abductor pose as Alice? Were the doctors part of the conspiracy to steal her child?

  Alice finds out that Melissa was adopted by a childless couple, Michelle and Norman Keener, and she suspects they were behind her daughter’s abduction. When the Keeners show Alice a video of her handing Melissa over to them, she begins to question her memory—and sanity. Did she forget giving her daughter away or is she a victim of a far-reaching conspiracy?

  As Alice looks for clues, she discovers that she might be Melissa’s killer.

  Or maybe the real killer is trying to frame her.

  Buy The Girl Who Didn’t Die for $0.99 on Amazon

  Chapter 1

  “We found your daughter’s body yesterday.” The muscles in Detective Stephen Hagan’s jaw tightened. “I’m very sorry.”

  Hagan appeared to be in his late thirties. He was tall and had dark close-cropped hair and tanned skin. When he said that he was a detective with the San Diego Police Department, Alice’s heart had sunk. Mom is dead, she had thought. He came to tell me they’ve discovered her body.

  “You mean my mother’s body?” Alice swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “No, your daughter’s.”

  Alice breathed a sigh of relief.

  “She was murdered.”

  “It can’t be my daughter,” Alice said. “I don’t have children.”

  She felt sorry for the detective: the guy had driven over a hundred miles for nothing.

  Hagan took out his notebook and opened it. “Is your mother’s name Rebecca Cannon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she go missing last October?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Did you give the police a sample of your DNA?”

  Alice nodded. “Yes.”

  “We found your DNA profile when we ran this girl’s DNA through the database. You are her biological mother.”

  “That’s impossible. I’ve never given birth.”

  That wasn’t true. She had given birth once. It was a girl; her name was Melissa. Unfortunately, the baby had died an hour after she was born. Alice tried not to think about Melissa’s death, because every time she did, it felt as though a drop of concentrated caustic acid fell into her brain, burning it, eating through it.

  “I see,” Hagan said, his brow furrowed in thought.

  But DNA tests were extremely accurate, weren’t they?

  Maybe Melissa didn’t die?

  What a ridiculous idea.

  “Do you have this girl’s picture?” Alice asked.

  “I’d rather not show it to you. Her face was smashed beyond recognition.”

  A sharp pang shot through Alice’s heart. “Oh my God. Poor girl,” she muttered.

  Poor Melissa.

  “How old do you think she is?”

  “Thirteen, fourteen.”

  Melissa had been born thirteen years ago.

  It couldn’t be Melissa. Melissa was dead.

  They said she died. Maybe they lied. Doctors are not saints, they are capable of lying.

  “Do you know who killed her?”

  He might think I sold my baby.

  “No.”

  Hagan looked at Alice fixedly, probably waiting for her to admit that she had given birth to a female child.

  “When was she killed?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “How was she killed?”

  “She was stabbed and bludgeoned to death.”

  “Where did you find her body?”

  “We found it on the side of the road near Lake Miramar.”

  Alice had heard of Lake Miramar; it was located in the northern part of San Diego.

  “Was she… Was she raped?”

  “No.”

  “I…” Alice licked her lips. “I think this girl could be my daughter.”

  “Did you give her up for adoption?”

  She would be lying if she said that she had given Melissa up for adoption.

  Could you go to jail for lying to police?

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I need to know her adoptive parents’ names.”

  “I don’t remember their names.”

  “What adoption agency did you use?”

  “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s the girl’s name?”

  “Melissa. But I think they changed it.”

  Hagan adjusted his loosened tie, then pulled out his card and put it on the coffee table. “Here’s my card. If you remember your daughter’s adoptive parents’ names, please give me a call.”

  “Sure.” Alice picked up Hagan’s card. “Are you in charge of this case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Please call me when you find my daughter’s adoptive parents. Can you do that for me?”

  Hagan stood up. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  They had stolen Melissa and sold her to a childless couple. Or a child molester.

  Alice’s stomach knotted.

  Maybe Melissa had been murdered by the people who had bought her. Her pervert adoptive father might have killed her for trying to escape from his sex dungeon.

  Who had abducted Melissa?

  It might be the doctor who had delivered her. It might be another maternity-ward doctor. It might be a nurse. More than one person might have been involved.

  They must have switched Melissa with a dead baby while she was in the nursery.

  Alice went on the Internet and discovered that it cost up to fifty thousand dollars to adopt a child. She searched for articles about newborn babies abducted from the Riverside Community Medical Center, and found none.

  Should she tell Ryan that their daughter hadn’t died thirteen years ago?

  What was the point? He hadn’t cared about Melissa then, and Alice was sure
he didn’t care about their daughter now.

  While she was pregnant with Melissa, Ryan had told her many times that she should have an abortion. He had looked relieved when he learned that their daughter had died. Yes, Alice had been certain it was an expression of relief that she had seen on Ryan’s face after she had given him the news. It had lasted a few moments and then changed to a sympathetic frown, which was as fake as a three-dollar bill.

  Alice felt her throat tighten.

  Melissa had been raised by strangers, and for most of her life she had thought her real mother had abandoned her. She had probably been bitter and miserable since she learned that she had been adopted.

  Melissa had never known a mother’s love. A woman can’t love her adopted child as much as the child she bore.

  Her poor baby. Poor Melissa.

  And she died a horrible death. Died so young.

  Alice covered her face with her hands and started crying.

  She must find out what had happened to her daughter thirteen years ago. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had to try. She couldn’t just sit on her hands.

  She should talk to the doctor who had delivered Melissa. She had forgotten the doctor’s name, but she did remember the name of her ob-gyn. It was Eugenia Rivera. Eugenia might be able to find out the name of the doctor who had delivered Melissa and the names of the nurses who had worked that night.

  Alice looked up Eugenia Rivera’s phone number on the Internet and discovered that she still worked as an ob-gyn in Riverside. She called Eugenia’s office and made an appointment for tomorrow morning.

  Chapter 2

  “How can I help you?” Eugenia smiled. She was in her late forties, with short dark hair and beautiful brown eyes, not as slender as she’d been thirteen years ago.

  “My name’s Alice Cannon. I don’t think you remember me. I was your patient thirteen years ago.”

  “Alice Cannon.” Eugenia paused. “I recognize your face. How have you been?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “I have a question for you.”

  “Go ahead.”