“I think you'd better go back tomorrow.” Winters was thinking as he spoke, and they were both drinking a cerveza back at their hotel. “I think you ought to tell him that you've got the money.” Winters' eyes narrowed, formulating a plan, but Bernie didn't like it.
“Five hundred thousand dollars? And what do I do when I'm supposed to give it to him? Tell him it was all a joke?”
“Just arrange a meeting place with him. We'll worry about it after that. It'll tell us a lot if he wants to meet us somewhere down here. You can explain that it will take you a day or two to get down here, and by then, with luck, we'll have him.”
Winters was thinking all the time. But so was Bernie. “You don't think they're back in the States by now?”
“Not a chance of it.” Winters was sure of that. “He's too scared of the cops, if he has any brains. They won't do much to him for this, but with his record, that stolen car is going to wind him right back in jail, on a parole violation, if nothing else.”
“Amazing, isn't it?” Bernie looked at him bitterly. “He steals a child, threatens her, maybe causes her untold emotional damage for the rest of her life, and they worry about a beat-up old car. Nice, our system, isn't it? It's enough to make you a goddamn Communist. I'd like to see the bastard hanged for this!”
“You won't.” Winters was philosophical. He had seen a lot of this kind of thing, and worse. Enough to make him never want a kid, and his wife agreed with him. They didn't even have a dog anymore, after their last one was stolen and poisoned and dropped on their doorstep by someone they'd once gotten arrested.
They discovered nothing more the next day, and he left on Saturday night for San Francisco. He was home in San Francisco by nine o'clock that night, and he hurried back to the house, suddenly desperately anxious to see the baby. Now he was all he had left. Not only was Liz gone, but Jane was too, and what he wondered was if he'd ever hear her voice again, echoing down the hall as she came running to him, shouting “Hi, Daddy!” The thought of it was too much for him, and after he set down the bags in Nanny's room, he walked out quietly and went to sit in the living room, his face in his hands as he cried silently. It was too much to lose both of them, and Jane like this. He felt as though he had failed Liz in the only way that had ever mattered to her.
“Mr. Fine?” Nanny had seen the look on his face, and she had left Alexander asleep in his crib to find his father. She walked quietly into the darkened living room, knowing what a terrible two weeks it had been for him … a terrible fourteen months in fact…. He was such a decent man, and she was so sorry for him. Only her faith in God kept her certain that they would find Jane and bring her home again and she tried to tell him that from the doorway, but at first he didn't answer. “She'll be home again. God will give us the wisdom we need to find her.” But instead, he found himself thinking of the Lindbergh kidnapping years before, and the heartbreak those people must have gone through.
“What if we never find them?” He sounded like a child, convinced that all was lost, but she refused to believe that. And slowly he raised his head to look at her, with the light shining behind her in the doorway. “Nanny, I couldn't face that.”
“With the grace of God, you won't have to.” She came over and patted his shoulder and turned on the light. And a few minutes later she brought him a mug of steaming tea and a sandwich. “You should go to bed early tonight. You'll think better in the morning, Mr. Fine.” But what was there to think about? How to pretend he had half a million dollars he didn't? He was very, very frightened, and he hardly slept at all that night, tossing and turning, and thinking.
And in the morning Bill Grossman came to see him. They talked endlessly about where they'd been and what they'd found and how the trail went cold in Guadalajara. Winters called them that morning to report in and there was nothing new since the day before except a suggestion Gertie had made.
“She thinks we ought to try Puerto Vallarta.” They had talked about it before, but decided he'd be too visible there, and would be more likely to go inland. “Maybe she's right. Maybe he's cocky enough to try something like that. And we know he likes the good life. Maybe he's trying on a yacht for size.” But Bernie didn't think it very likely.
“Give it a shot.” He was staying home all day, in case Scott called earlier than he said he would. He was terrified to miss him. And Grossman sat keeping him company till the late afternoon. He had already told him that morning that the court had proclaimed themselves “distressed” over Mr. Scott's “poor judgment.” “Distressed?” Bernie had shouted. “Distressed? Are they out of their goddamn minds? My kid is God knows where right now, thanks to their stupidity, and they're distressed? How touching.” Grossman knew how upset he was, and he had a right to be. He didn't tell him that the social worker assigned to the case had said it was probably because Mr. Scott was anxious to make up for lost time and get to know his daughter. There was a good chance that if Grossman had told Bernie that, he would have gone to City Hall and killed her. Not quite, but close. And his nerves were badly frayed when the phone rang at five o'clock. Bernie was sure that it was Scott, and he took a breath before he picked up the phone. “Yes?”
It wasn't Scott. It was Winters. “We've got something for you. Did he call yet?” It was just like playing cops and robbers, except what they'd stolen was his heart … his baby …
“No. I'm still waiting. What's up?”
“I'm not sure yet…but we may have found him. Gertie was right. He's been all over Puerto Vallarta.”
“Is Jane with him?” Oh God …please God …don't let them have killed her…. He had been thinking more and more of the parents in cases like this who never saw their children again. Thousands of them every year …the figures were something terrible like a hundred thousand….
“I'm not sure. He's been spending a lot of time at a place called Carlos O'Brien's.” And so did everyone in Vallarta. It was the most popular bar in town, and Scott was a fool to have gone there. But no one seemed to remember the child or the woman. He had probably left them at a hotel. “See if you can get something out of him when he calls. Maybe you can chat for a while…. Play it friendly.” Bernie felt his palm sweat on the phone at the thought.
“I'll try.”
“And make a date with him. Pretend you've got the money.”
“Yeah.”
Bernie was a nervous wreck when he hung up, and explained to Grossman. And the phone rang again less than five minutes later. This time it was Scott, with a very poor long-distance connection.
“How you doing, pal?” He sounded happy and relaxed and Bernie wished that he could get his hands on him and throttle him till he choked.
“Fine. I've got good news for you.” He tried to sound relaxed and in control and unconcerned as he shouted over the static.
“What kind of news?”
“Half a million dollars' worth.” Bernie played his part well. “How's Jane?”
“That's great news!” Scott sounded delighted, but not as much as Bernie would have liked.
“I said, 'How's Jane?' “His hand clenched on the phone as he waited and Grossman watched him.
“She's fine. But I've got bad news for you.” Bernie's heart stopped. “The price has gone up. She's such a cute little thing, I just figure she's worth a lot more than I originally thought.”
“Oh really?”
“Yep. I think she's worth a million now, don't you?” Jesus Christ.
“That's not going to be easy.” He scribbled the amount down on a piece of paper for Grossman. But it might give them more time. “I'll have to go back to my sources again.”