TRACKSTAR VANISHES: KIDNAP THEORY
NEW YORK, Aug. 1. — Goldine Serafin, 19, blond star of the recent U.S. Olympic Track and Field Trials, was today reported missing by her father, Dr. William Serafin. Early Wednesday morning she left Cleveland Hopkins Airport, Ohio, to travel by air taxi to New York, where the U.S. Olympic team had been asked to report for a pre-Games medical check. She did not arrive. This came to light yesterday afternoon, when Dr. Serafin contacted Murray Randal, of the U.S. Olympic Committee. Police are now investigating Goldine’s disappearance. A spokesman confirmed they were working on the theory she was kidnaped.
Goldine made headlines last month, when she raced to U.S. records for 100 and 200 metres in qualifying for the U.S. Olympic team. She also qualified in a third event, the 400 metres, which makes her the first U.S. girl to attempt this triple in the Olympics. Prior to the Trials, she was almost unknown as a runner.
Dr. Serafin today described how he escorted Goldine to the airport from the house in Cleveland where they have been staying with friends. ‘I saw her into the plane, a light aircraft, red and white in colour,’ he said. ‘I actually lifted her baggage aboard.’
When Goldine failed to return to Cleveland Wednesday night, Dr. Serafin assumed she had been delayed in New York and made arrangements to stop overnight in a hotel. It was late Thursday afternoon, when she had still not contacted him, that he thought of phoning the U.S. Olympic Committee, and heard from Murray Randal that she had not reported for the medical. Dr. Serafin then informed Cleveland Police of her disappearance.
Heading the inquiry in Cleveland is Police Captain Sam Mortenson. ‘It’s too early to be definite, but we’re working on the possibility that she has been kidnaped,’ he said this morning. ‘This girl is big news, with the Olympics coming up in ten days. Her abductors could believe they have a strong bargaining position. People with a big interest in the Olympics might be persuaded to put up a ransom so that Goldine can compete.’
Dryden didn’t read any more. He crossed the hall to the telephones, found the Cleveland book, looked up the Thomas Jefferson College, and stabbed out the number. In seconds he was speaking to Serafin: ‘Look, I just saw a paper. Is this true? She really is missing?’
‘Unhappily, yes,’ said Serafin. His voice was strained. ‘There’s no news of her. The police are waiting for a ransom demand. When I picked up the phone we thought perhaps...’
It was a clear warning to watch what he said. The police had a tap on the phone.
‘I’ve just arrived at Kennedy Airport,’ said Dryden. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help...’
‘Not at this stage,’ said Serafin. ‘It’s in the hands of the police.’
‘I understand. Do they think she got to New York?’
‘Probably not. They’re proceeding on the supposition that the pilot of the air taxi was implicated. I gave them a detailed description, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone like that known to the other pilots.’
‘You walked into a trap?’
‘It seems so. Listen, if I should get any news, can I contact you?’
‘Through my New York office,’ said Dryden. He gave him the number. ‘It looks as though I’ll be here till August sixteenth, or thereabouts. When does the team fly out?’
‘August ninth.’
‘Christ, I hope you hear something soon. This can’t be helping her preparation for the Games.’
‘Leave me to worry about that,’ said Serafin tersely. ‘There’s nothing you or any of my friends can do. It’s a police matter. Don’t let it interfere with your visit to New York. I’m confident we shall hear something soon. I must ring off now. I don’t want to miss the call if it comes.’
As his taxi headed up the Van Wyck Expressway, Dryden sorted through the theories his reeling brain supplied. A kidnaping might appeal to the police, but it seemed likelier Goldine had arranged her own disappearance. At the first opportunity, she had slipped Serafin’s leash and hidden herself in New York like any teenager on the run. She had talked about doing it that evening in La Jolla, hooking off to join a commune somewhere. At that time she had rejected the idea, but the pressures had mounted since. The urge to escape, go into hiding until the Olympics were over, could have overwhelmed her.
A more devious, but possibly more credible explanation was that this was a try-on. The next round in her power game. She was getting back at Serafin and the consortium, making them suffer a little. She would lie low for a few days to make them aware how much they depended on her. When she reappeared, she would have the gratification of seeing how relieved they were, knowing they dared not antagonize her. It was perverse, but so were some of the things she had said in her room in Eugene.
Then he remembered Sternberg and Valenti. They had wanted to pull stunts, stir up press interest in Goldine. When it had come up, he thought he had squashed the suggestion with Cobb’s help, but they could have decided later to stage something of their own. He could imagine Valenti crowing over the idea of a kidnaping.
There remained the theory the police were working on. If they were right, and it was a kidnaping, a genuine one, disturbing possibilities were raised. Professional crooks didn’t kidnap amateur athletes on the off chance that some sports-loving millionaire would put up. The chances were high that somebody had got wind of the money involved in Project Goldengirl. They knew the consortium would pay heavily — perhaps up to a million — to get Goldine back. Some ugly questions had to be faced. Not only did the kidnapers know about the stake in Goldine; they must have learned she had transferred from California to Cleveland. In the consortium, only Serafin and Dryden knew about Cleveland. The only others who could have leaked the information were Klugman, Lee or Melody.
By the time the taxi dropped him at the Roosevelt on Madison Avenue he had dismissed the kidnap theory. This had to be Goldine playing games of her own. A porter carried his cases inside. The desk clerk recognised him from previous visits.
‘Mr. Dryden, sir. How nice to see you. We have a message for you to call your office. Urgent, they said.’
‘My office here?’
‘That’s right, sir. The booth over there is free, if you’d care to use it.’
This signified some kind of emergency. The New York office knew his time of arrival, of course, but they weren’t expecting to see him before tomorrow. After the flight from L.A. he always spent the evening relaxing.
The switchboard operator stammered her apologies. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do when I took the call, Mr. Dryden, so I asked Mr. Helpern, and he said as it was personal, I should leave a message for you at the hotel.’
‘Fair enough. Who was the caller?’
‘That’s why I was doubtful, sir. The lady wouldn’t give her name. Just said she wanted to contact you urgently, and it was personal. She asked if you were in New York, and I said you were expected late this afternoon. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong, but she was very insistent.’
‘A young lady? I suppose you couldn’t tell.’
The pause at the other end of the line was palpable with embarrassment. ‘She sounded like she was my generation, sir. I’m twenty-two.’
‘Lucky for you. Did you tell her where I’m staying?’
‘Most certainly not, sir! I wouldn’t do that. Not to a caller that wouldn’t give her name.’
‘So what did she do — ring off?’
‘She gave me a number you can call.’ Another diffident pause. ‘Would you care to take it down, sir?’
He noted it, and assured the girl she still had a job. In return he got an unsolicited promise that nobody else in the agency would hear about it.