“Detective Willis. Can I help you, lady?”
“My name issa Miz Abruzzi,” the woman said. “I’ma see the li’la boy.”
“The kidnap victim?”
“Yas, yas. He wass inna diner with two men. Both needa shaves, you unnerstan’? He’s a li’la blond boy, no?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Willis paused. “When did you see him, lady?”
“When you tink?”
“Well, I don’t know. You tell me.”
“This morn’.”
“Yeah, well the boy wasn’t missing until this afternoon.”
“I see,” Mrs. Abruzzi said, and then, unperturbed, she said, “I wassa sit in the boot’, an’ these two men they come in wit’ the boy. So right away, I’ma tink this is the li’la boy he was a kidnap. So I watch what they—”
“Yes, Mrs. Abruzzi, thank you very much,” Willis said, and he hung up. Holy God,” he shouted to Arthur Brown, I never saw anything like this in my life. You’d think we were giving away gold dollars to anybody who called Frederick 7-8024.”
“Everybody wants to help,” Brown said. “The trouble is—” The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up quickly. “Eighty-seventh, Detective Brown speaking.”
“I’d like the lieutenant, Detective Brown.”
“He’s not here. Who’s this, please?”
“Where is he?”
“Who’m I talking to?” Brown asked.
“This is Cliff Savage. I’m a reporter. The lieutenant knows me.”
“Well, he’s still not here, Mr. Savage. What can I do for you?”
“On this kidnaping.”
“Yes?”
“Is it true that the kidnapers have asked King for the ransom? Even though they know they’ve got the wrong boy?”
“I don’t know what’s going on out there, Mr. Savage. I’m sorry.”
“Well, look, how can I find out?”
“Call me back later.”
“Where’s the lieutenant? At the King house?”
“I wouldn’t call there, Mr. Savage. They probably want to keep those lines free for possible contact from the—”
“The public has a right to know what’s going on!” Savage said.
“Listen, you want to argue with me?”
“No, but…”
“Then don’t. I feel like I’ve been working in the telephone room of the Automobile Club on the night a truck spilled a full load of tacks all over the highway. I’m getting a cauliflower ear from this goddamn phone, Mr. Savage, and you sure as hell aren’t helping it any.”
“Do you have the number out at the King house?”
“No.”
“I can find it, you know.”
“You may find trouble, too, Mr. Savage. I’d keep off that phone if I were you. You may find yourself impeding the progress of an investigation.”
“Thanks, Brown. I’ll do you a favor someday.”
“I can hardly wait,” Brown said, and he hung up. “The son of a bitch,” Brown said. “Wasn’t he involved that time Reardon and Foster were killed? And Bush? Didn’t he almost get Steve’s wife in hot water?”
“Almost ain’t the word,” Willis said. “If he ever sets foot in this squadroom, the lieutenant’ll drown him in the water cooler. Where’s Miscolo? I want some coffee. Miscolo? Hey, Miscolo!”
“Yo?” a voice from the clerical office shouted.
“Make some joe.”
“What the hell you think this is?” Miscolo called. “Howard Johnson’s?”
“The coffee here is better,” Willis said flatteringly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Miscolo mumbled, but they could hear him opening the file drawer to take out the can of coffee.
The telephone on Willis’ desk rang.
“Come on,” he said to the phone, “cut it out, willya?”
The phone kept ringing.
“Stop, stop, stop ringing.”
The phone shrieked into the room.
“All right, all right, all right,” he said, lifting the receiver. “Eighty-seventh Squad, Willis. What? You saw the boy?… Yes, he’s a blond boy… Yes, he’s about eight… Yes, he was wearing a red sweater… Yes, sir. Yes, that certainly does sound like him… Yes, sir, where did you see him, sir?… Where, sir?… In a movie, sir? Which movie, sir?… I see. And he was sitting in the audience, is that right?… He wasn’t? Well, then…” Willis paused, and an amazed look crossed his face. “He was in the picture?” he said. “You mean he was acting in the picture. On the screen? Mister, you mean this kid you saw—In the picture? Oh, mister, please, I got enough headaches.” He hung up abruptly. “He calls me about a movie star. Says it’s a remarkable coincidence. For the love of—”
The phone rang again.
“I’m gonna get a record made,” Willis said. “It’s gonna say, ‘Eighty-seventh Squad, Detective Willis. You saw the kid, right? Where? When? Thank you.’ Save my voice for the opera.” He picked up the receiver. “Eighty-seventh Squad, Willis… Yes, ma’am, this is the Detective Division… Yes, ma’am, we are handling the Jeff Reynolds kidnaping… Yes, ma’am, we…”
The phone on Brown’s desk rang.
“Eighty-seventh Squad, Detective Brown speaking…”
“Eighty-seventh Squad, Di Maeo…”
“Eighty-seventh Squad, Detective Willis…”
“Eighty-seventh Squad, Hernandez…”
“Eighty-seventh Precinct, Sergeant Murchison…”
“Eighty-seventh Precinct, Captain Frick…”
“Headquarters, Lieutenant Vinnick…”
“Arson Squad, Detective Hopkins…”
“You saw the boy, sir?”
“The boy was with three men, ma’am?”
‘You saw the boy…”
“When, sir?”
“What street was that, sir?”
“Where, sir?”
“Where, ma’am?”
Where?
Where?
Where?
* * * *
Lieutenant Byrnes walked into the Douglas King living room and blew on his hands.
“Hello, Steve,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“All right, sir,” Carella answered. “Mr. King, this is Lieutenant Byrnes.”
“How do you do, sir?” Byrnes said, and he took King’s hand.
“How does it look, Lieutenant?” King asked.
“So-so. Has the Auto Squad delivered that list yet, Steve?”
“No.”
“Damnit. I understand they’re asking you for the money, Mr. King. That’s a tough break.” He sighed. “But maybe we’ve got something good outside.”
“What happened, Pete?”
“We’re getting a good cast of a tire track and—“