“Will that help at all?” King said.
“It usually does. Tire patterns are pretty easy to run down. Headquarters has an up-to-date file on tire patterns, and once we get a good casting, half the battle is won. It’s been our experience that a car will usually carry the same make of tire on all four wheels—especially a new car. And, as funny as this may sound at first, when a tire wears out, the owner will usually replace it with a tire of the same make. So we can generally figure the make of car from the tire pattern. In this case, we think we’ve got something else to go on, too.”
“What’s that?” King asked.
“There are two boulders on the ground near where we found the tire track. The guy driving that car was probably in a big hurry. He sideswiped one of the boulders. We got ourselves a pretty decent paint scraping from the rock. Kronig’s already on the way to the lab with it. With a little luck, we may be able to come up with both the year and the make of the car. With a little luck. That’s why I’m anxious to get that stolen-car list.”
“I see,” King said.
“I don’t suppose Mr. Reynolds is around, is he? I’d like to keep him abreast of what we’re doing. The worst part of any kidnaping case is that the parents never feel we’re doing enough.”
“He’s in the kitchen, Pete,” Carella said. “Want me to get him for you?”
“No, I’ll go out to him in a few minutes.”
The doorbell chimed. Carella went to the door and threw it open. A uniformed policeman stood there. “I want Detective Carella,” he said.
“That’s me.”
“You called the Auto Squad a little while ago?”
“Yes.”
“They sent me up with this.” He extended a manila envelope. “A stolen-car list.”
“Thanks,” Carella said.
“What’s the latest on the kid?” the patrolman asked.
“Nothing new, so far,” Carella said.
“Yeah.” The patrolman shook his head. “Well, there’s the list.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay.”
Carella closed the door behind him.
“Let me see that, Steve,” Byrnes said. He opened the manila envelope and studied the typewritten sheet. “Not too bad. Couple of dozen cars, all told. Let’s hope the lab boys turn up something that matches something on this list.”
“And where will that put you, Lieutenant?” King asked.
“Huh?”
“Suppose you know the car they used was a stolen one? How will that help you in finding the boy?”
“It’ll give us something to look for. We’ve got roadblocks hemming in this whole city, Mr. King. It would help if we knew the shape and size and color of the needle, don’t you think?”
“If they were smart enough to use a stolen car, they were probably smart enough to get rid of it immediately.”
“Unless they have further use for it,” Byrnes said.
“In which case they probably repainted it.”
“Unless there wasn’t time. A homemade paint job is a pretty conspicuous thing, Mr. King. The last thing these kidnapers want is to be conspicuous.”
“I see,” King said.
“I know it sounds slim, Mr. King, but we haven’t got a hell of a lot to work with here, and every little bit counts. Once the money is delivered, we’ll have ransom bills to look for. And when we get the boy back, perhaps he’ll be able to tell us something about his abductors. Unless we reach them before that.”
“Or unless the boy is dead already,” King said flatly.
“Yes. Unless he’s dead. There wouldn’t be any sense continuing then, would there?”
“None at all,” King answered.
“I want to talk to you about the ransom, Mr. King. We can’t mark the money, and there probably won’t even be time to record all the serial numbers. They particularly specified no consecutive serial numbers, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but…”
“Only to make the recording job more difficult. But we will be able to record some of those numbers, and even a partial list is a good thing to have. Those men will have to spend that money someday.” He paused. “You haven’t called the bank yet, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Good. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to them when you do. To tell them just what would be most helpful to us. If the F.B.I, comes in on this, they’ll need—”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you, Lieutenant Byrnes,” King said.
Byrnes looked at him in puzzlement. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You don’t want me to talk to your bank?”
“No, Lieutenant, that’s not it. I won’t be talking to the bank, either.”
“Wh—”
“I’m not going to pay the ransom, Lieutenant.”
“You’re…” The room went silent. Byrnes looked at Carella. “Well, of course… Well, that’s entirely up to you. No one can force you to.”
“What are you saying, Mr. King?” Carella said, frowning. “You—you have to pay that ransom! That boy—”
“Knock it off, Steve,” Byrnes said.
“But he has to! That kid hasn’t got a chance unless he—”
“I don’t have to do anything!” King said tightly. “Let’s get this straight, gentlemen. I’m telling it to you, and I’ll tell it to the kidnapers if they call again, and I’ll tell it to anyone who cares to listen. I am not paying the ransom.” He paused. “I am not paying the ransom.”
* * * *
8
There was only one light burning in the parlor of the Sands Spit farmhouse, a standing floor lamp that stood close to the open sofa bed, casting a circle of light on the exposed wooden flooring. Jeff Reynolds was asleep in the center of the bed. He turned and mumbled, and the blanket fell free of his shoulder. Kathy Folsom went to the bed and covered him again. Eddie Folsom lighted a cigarette and shook out the match.
“He asleep?”
“Yes.”
In the bathroom, Sy Barnard was singing at the top of his lungs. His shirt, tie, and gun holster were draped over the back of one of the parlor chairs. The police radio, part of the complicated equipment which stood against the wall, monotonously bleated its calls.
“… proceed to intersection of Cambria and Newbridge. We want a block there to cover the whole intersection. You’ll have 311 to assist. You got that, 307?”
“We got it.”
“Car 311, Car 311, proceed to intersection of Cambria and Newbridge to assist 307 in road block.”
“This is 311, okay. Any make on the car yet?”
“Nothing, 311.”
“Right.”