Snatched by Karin Slaughter Read Free Book Online Page A

he tried to imagine Abigail safe in her mother’s arms. The little girl was thin and bony. Her mother probably would be, too. They’d have the same yellow-blonde hair and blue eyes. Abigail’s mother would hold on to her and squeeze her so tight that Abigail would never get away again.
    That was what he wanted to imagine, not the truth, which was probably closer to a nightmare.
    The Levi’s Call was still in effect. Highway patrol had scrambled every cop on their payroll to scour the interstates and back roads. All the DOT bulletin boards over the highways listed Abigail’s height, weight, eye and hair color, approximate age, and the time in which she’d gone missing. Hundreds of calls had already come in, but none of them had panned out.
    Will looked at his watch, which was still ahead by fifty minutes. He kept checking on Jenner, inching the hands forward on his watch each time before he went into the room and offered a soda or a toilet break or just sat across from him and watched Jenner stare blankly at the wall.
    Will would adjust his watch up another twenty minutes before he went back in with the man. Jenner was clearly exhausted. The last two times Will had checked on him, he’d been asleep, his head on the table. He’d clearly lost track of time. Another five minutes skipped forward. Another ten. There was no telling what the magic hour was, but Will would keep leading Jenner along, moving the time ahead, until Jenner felt like he was safe.
    Their only hope was that they’d have enough time left to save the girl.
    Abigail had been missing for three hours now—at least that they knew of. There was no telling where she’d come from before that, whether or not a mother and father were looking for her. Eleanor Fielding had worked in social services. Maybe Abigail was a foster child.
    So much for the image of Abigail in her mother’s arms.
    Predators tended to pick easy targets, and the foster system was so bereft of funding that caseworkers could barely keep up anymore. Many of them didn’t have cell phones, laptops, or sometimes even offices. Seattle alone had seen dozens of child deaths in the foster system. Florida had a habit of losing their kids. Washington, D.C., had so many neglect cases on the books that they could barely adjudicate them all. There was no telling whether or not Abigail was one of the missing.
    At this late hour, she might already be one of the dead.
    The doors behind Will slid open. Faith sat down beside him on the bench. She had a radio in her hand. It was tuned to the Atlanta Police frequency, the volume turned down low. Will could hear the soft murmur of cops chattering back and forth.
    Faith said, “Nothing,” because she knew that was the first thing he’d ask. “Is that her shoe?”
    Will handed Faith the ballet slipper with its pink trim and smiling Hello Kitty.
    “It’s so small.” Faith pressed her lips tightly together. She had a daughter in diapers and a son in college. As hard as these cases hit everyone, they seemed to hit Faith doubly so.
    Will asked, “How old do you have to be before you dress yourself?”
    Faith sighed as she thought it through. “It varies from kid to kid. You’re pointing things out that you want to wear around two, two and a half, but you can’t dress yourself. Three or four, you’re putting stuff on, but sometimes it’s backward or you put the wrong shoe on the wrong foot. By five, you’re pretty much able to dress on your own. Unless you’re a boy. Then, you can’t do it until you’re at least twenty-five. Maybe thirty.”
    Will allowed a smile at the attempted levity, but all he could think about was Abigail picking out her clothes. This morning or yesterday or whenever it was, she’d taken the flowerydress, the matching tights and shoes, and put them on herself. He imagined her smiling at her reflection in the mirror, maybe twirling around.
    Faith interrupted his thoughts. “The FBI is chomping to take this over.”
    “I’m