The woman slapped the table so hard that everyone in the room went silent.
“Tell me where my daughter is!”
The detective didn't answer.
He simply stared at her.
“Mrs. Williams,” he finally said, “your daughter wasn't kidnapped.”
The woman froze.
“What?”
“She left willingly.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
The detective pushed a photograph across the table.
It showed her daughter standing outside a train station.
Alone.
Carrying a small black suitcase.
The mother stared at the photograph, her hands trembling.
“When was this taken?”
“Yesterday.”
She shook her head.
“No. My daughter disappeared three days ago.”
“I know.”
“Then how can this picture be from yesterday?”
The detective leaned back.
“That’s the problem.”
Silence.
The woman looked at him.
“What aren't you telling me?”
He reached into a folder and pulled out another photograph.
Then another.
Then another.
Her daughter's face appeared in all of them.
Different locations.
Different clothes.
Different days.
But there was something strange.
In every photograph...
She was looking directly at the camera.
The mother swallowed hard.
“Who's taking these pictures?”
The detective lowered his voice.
“We don't know.”
“Then find out!”
“We're trying.”
“No!” she shouted. “You're not trying hard enough!”
She stood up.
“You're sitting here showing me photographs while my daughter is somewhere out there!”
The detective stood too.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes!”
“Your daughter may not want to be found.”
The woman's face changed.
“What did you say?”
The detective opened the final file.
Inside was a handwritten note.
He slid it across the table.
The mother read it.
Her eyes widened.
The note contained only seven words:
“Mom, please don't let them find me.”
Her hands began to shake.
“Who are ‘they’?”
The detective didn't answer.
“Who are they?” she demanded again.
“We don't know.”
“Then what do you know?”
He stared at her for several seconds.
“We know your daughter bought a one-way ticket.”
“To where?”
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
“And the people following her?”
“We found no evidence that anyone was following her.”
The mother stared at the note.
“Then why would she write this?”
The detective leaned forward.
“That's exactly what I want to know.”
Suddenly, the detective's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Hello?”
He listened.
His face slowly went pale.
The mother watched him.
“What happened?”
He didn't respond.
“Detective?”
He slowly lowered the phone.
“Your daughter just called.”
The mother jumped to her feet.
“Where is she?”
“She wouldn't tell us.”
“Give me the phone!”
“She hung up.”
“What did she say?”
The detective looked at her.
“She said something strange.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“She said, ‘Tell my mother I'm sorry.’”
The woman's eyes filled with tears.
“That's it?”
“No.”
“What else did she say?”
The detective looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“She said we're already too late.”
STAY TUNED...
105
