A Child Is Missing by David Stout Read Free Book Online Page A

getting him back alive?”
    There, Will thought. The bottom-line question, asked in an insensitive way by a young man with a fashionably dirty raincoat and a sneering mouth. But the essential question nonetheless.
    â€œI have no way of knowing. It is our hope, above all else.”
    â€œAnd are the boy’s parents good for the kind of money the kidnappers want?” the questioner pressed on.
    The agent looked annoyed. Will didn’t blame him. No wonder a lot of people think the press sucks, Will thought.
    â€œThe boy’s father is a man of means. He is good for that kind of money, as you put it. At this time, I would like to introduce the boy’s parents, who have something to say.”
    A startled murmur ran through the room; no one had said anything about the parents appearing.
    A man and woman came through the side door, together and yet not together, or at least not together in the way husbands and wives look together. The man’s face seemed stitched tight, so that no quiver of eyelid or lip would betray his emotions. The woman’s face was swollen and red, and she wore dark glasses.
    The man pulled out a chair for the woman, who nodded slightly, as though accepting a favor from a courteous stranger. Then the man took a seat on the other side of the microphone, so that the FBI agent was sitting between them. Had they planned it that way? Will wondered.
    The FBI man slid the microphone toward the woman.
    â€œMy name is Celeste Brokaw, and I am the mother of Jamie Brokaw, who is only five years old.…”
    The woman lapsed into choking, racking sobs. An embarrassed silence seemed to fill the room to overflowing, and Will wished he was somewhere else.
    â€œHe is only five years old,” the woman repeated. “I don’t want him to be afraid; I don’t want him to be hurt. I don’t want him to be…”
    There seemed to be no sound or movement in the entire room, save for the mother’s keening and her heaving shoulders.
    Suddenly, the father grabbed the microphone. “All we want is our son back. Can you understand that, whoever you are? You who have him, do you understand? I have the money. You can have it all. Just give me back my son.”
    The father slid the mike back to the FBI agent. Then he slumped in his chair, closed his eyes, shook his head as though he couldn’t believe such a thing was happening to him.
    Will felt soiled and guilty for having wondered fleetingly whether the kidnapping had been faked—that is, if the boy had been taken in a custody battle. Now, it seemed impossible to believe that the mother could be faking such heartbreak. And a look at the father’s eyes, red-rimmed from tears (or from blinking back tears, depending on the kind of man he was), made it seem certain that he, too, wanted his son back and didn’t know where he was.
    And yet, and yet … Will would not rule out the possibility of a staged abduction. He gave himself the same lecture he gave his reporters: He would try not to let his emotions take over.
    I wonder why they’re not married anymore, Will thought. Did it matter?
    â€œAgent Graham, are you able to tell anything significant from the notes with the newspaper lettering?”
    â€œYou mean other than where they were mailed from? Not yet. Various scientific tests are being done. I’m not sure I could give you information on that, even if I had it. Which I don’t.”
    There were a few more routine questions. Then Graham adjourned the session and said that further briefings would be scheduled as needed.
    Will lingered near the back of the pack until the room was nearly empty. He caught Graham just before he left the room.
    â€œJerry? It’s Will Shafer. Remember me?”
    â€œWill? Will!” Graham smiled broadly and shook hands, showing none of the reserve he’d displayed in the press conference. “Gosh, it’s good to see you, Will.”
    â€œSame