“Yes,” King said. The frown on his face had given way to a slightly dazed expression now. “Yes.”
“That means we’re dealing with professionals. But why would pros pull a thing like this, asking you to pay?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Hell, if you pay them—why, your Boston deal’ll go right out the window, won’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it will.”
The doorbell chimed. King started for the door, but it opened before he reached it.
“Hi, Mr. King,” Meyer said. “Boy, it’s turned cold out there.” He took off his hat and coat and hung them in the closet.
“Detective Carella went outside to find the lieutenant,” King said. “He said—”
“I know. I ran into him on the way in. What was all the excitement about?”
“The kidnapers just called again,” King said.
“Yeah?”
“They want me to pay the ransom.”
“What do you mean? Do they know they got the wrong kid?”
“Yes.”
“And they still…?”
“Yes.”
“First time I ever heard of a dodge like that,” Meyer said, shaking his head. “This just about beats it all. This means that any crook can go out and steal any kid in the world, and then send a ransom demand to the richest guy he can think of.” He shook his head again. “Screwy, all right. But nobody says kidnapers have to be normal, huh?” He shook his head again. “Meshugah. Plain meshugah.”
“What are our chances of getting him back, Detective Meyer?”
“That’s hard to say, Mr. King. We don’t get kidnapings every day of the week, you know. What I mean is, it’s a little hard to come up with actual statistics. I can tell you that the Department is working like crazy on it. Even the Sands Spit cops and the cops in the adjoining states are going on a round-the-clock schedule.”
“What about the F.B.I.?” Cameron asked.
“They don’t come in till a week’s gone by,” Meyer said. “I think Carella explained that to you, Mr. King.”
“Yes.”
“But we’ve got them on standby.”
“Would you say the boy’s chances are good?”
“I don’t know,” Meyer said. “He may be dead already, for all we know.”
“We can’t assume that,” Cameron said quickly. “There’d be no sense paying the ransom if we assumed the boy was dead.”
“Mr. Cameron, they may have killed him five minutes after they picked him up,” Meyer said. “It’s been done before. Figure it out for yourself. The safest kidnap victim, from the standpoint of the criminals, is a dead one. We may deliver the ransom and then find the boy in a ditch someplace.”
“In your opinion,” King said slowly, “would paying the ransom help the boy at all?”
“If he’s alive, it certainly would. If he’s dead, nothing’s going to help him. But the ransom bills might help in eventually catching the kidnaper.”
“I see.”
Diane came in from the kitchen. “Doug…” she started, and the doorbell chimed. “I’ll get it,” she said changing her course.
Urgently, Cameron said, “Doug, the boy’s still alive. And your money will keep him that way, remember that!”
Diane closed the door and then came into the living room. “A telegram, Doug,” she said. “Addressed to us.”
“You’d better let me take that,” Meyer said, “before anyone else handles it.” He spread a handkerchief over his hand and took the telegram. “Got a letter opener, Mr. King?”
“Yes. On the dropleaf desk there.”
Meyer went to the desk. Pinning the telegram with his handkerchief, he slit the envelope, extricated the handkerchief, draped it over his hand again and, with all the dexterity of a puppeteer, reached into the envelope for the message. Still using the handkerchief, he unfolded it, read it, and then put the handkerchief back into his pocket. “It’s okay, Mr. King. You can have it.”
He handed the message to King. Diane walked over to him, and together they read the wire:
PLEASE ACCEPT DEEPEST SYMPATHY YOUR MISFORTUNE. WE WILL ADD $1000 CASH TO RANSOM IF KIDNAPERS WILL AGREE TO RETURN BOY AT ONCE. WIRE US 27-145 HALSEY AVENUE, CALM’S POINT.
MR. AND MRS. THEODORE SCHAEFFER
“What is it, Doug?” Cameron asked, and King handed him the wire.
“Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Schaeffer,” King said. “Nobody I know.” He paused. “But why send it to us? Our son wasn’t kidnaped.”
“Half the people out there probably still think it was Bobby,” Cameron said, putting the wire down on the desk.
“Let me have that,” Diane said. “I think Reynolds would like to see it. He… he expected them to turn Jeff loose and now… he’s… he’s just sitting at the kitchen table in a kind of shock. Let me show it to him. It’s such a wonderful, human offer.”
King picked up the wire and handed it to his wife.
“And then I’ll send a return wire,” Diane said, “thanking them for their concern.” She started out of the room, the telegram in her hand. She stopped and turned to face King. “Doug, have you called the bank yet?” she asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Don’t you think…?”
“Mommy?”
Diane turned toward the steps. Bobby King, wearing pajamas and robe, stood on the landing.
“What is it, darling?”
“Why is there a policeman outside my room?” Bobby asked.
“Just to make sure that everything is all right,” Diane said.
“Because of what happened to Jeff?”
“Yes, Bobby.”
“Daddy, are you getting Jeff back?”
“What? I’m sorry, son, I didn’t hear…”
“He’s my best friend. You are getting him back, aren’t you?”
“Your daddy’s taking care of everything,” Diane said. “Now come, I’ll put you back to bed.”
“I want Daddy to tuck me in,” Bobby said.
“Doug? Will you?”
“Sure.” Preoccupied, King walked to the steps and took his son’s hand. “Come on, Bobby.”
“Poor Bobby,” Diane said, when they were out of sight. “He still isn’t quite sure about what happened. He only knows that his friend is gone, and I think he feels responsible somehow. The way I do.”
“You’ve no reason to feel guilty, Diane,” Cameron said. “Once Doug pays the ransom…”
“Yes, I know, but I do feel guilty. I almost feel as if my own son is out there with those men.” She paused. “I’d better show Reynolds this wire.” She paused again. “Detective Meyer, I wonder if you’d come talk to him, fill him in a little on what’s being done. He’s so terribly shaken by all this.”
“Sure,” Meyer said. “Be happy to.” As they walked out of the room, he called over his shoulder, “If that phone rings, yell for me. Don’t answer it.”