1. That the paint was a product of the Ford Motor Company.
2. That it was called Birch Gray by the firm.
3. That it was used on the company’s 1949 models.
4. That it had been dropped in 1950 in favor of a slightly different shade which the company called Dover Gray.
Sam Grossman studied the facts. He studied them with the coldly unemotional eye of a scientist. Looking over the figures, his blue eyes guileless behind their spectacles, his face bearing the craggy, homespun look of a New England farmer, he nodded his head gently. The suspect car was a gray 1949 Ford. There was nothing more to do but call the King house and present the facts. The other policemen would take it from there. Sam Grossman took off his glasses, closed his eyes, and rubbed at them with thumb and forefinger. Then he put the glasses on again and dialed the King estate.
* * * *
Meyer Meyer took the call in the living room. Douglas King, sitting in an easy chair near the fireplace, sat staring at the shifting flames while Meyer copied down the information the lab gave him. King showed no indication of listening to the call. The fire lighted the rugged planes of his face, glistened redly in the graying hair over his temples.
“I got it, Sam,” Meyer said. “That’s nice work. What?… Well, it doesn’t look so hot on this end, but now we’ve got something to look for… Yes, we’ll get it out right away. Thanks a lot, Sam.” He hung up and turned to King.
“A gray 1949 Ford. That’s what they were driving. I’d better find the lieutenant. He’ll want to check this against his list.” He studied King silently for a moment. Then he said, “Penny for your thoughts, Mr. King.”
“I’m not thinking anything worth while at the moment, Detective Meyer,” King said.
“Mmmm. Well, I’m going outside, see if I can rustle up the lieutenant. Yell if that phone rings.”
“I will,” King promised. Meyer put on his coat and left the room. King did not look up when the door eased shut. He kept staring into the flames as if his soul were there, as if he could read himself in the leaping reds and yellows. When Diane King came into the room, he still did not look up. She walked directly to him and stood before him, blocking his view of the flames.
“All right,” she said in a voice that was barely audible. “Pete told me.” She paused. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious, Diane.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not paying. Start believing it, Diane. I’m not paying.”
“You have to pay.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“They asked you for the money.”
“Yes, a bunch of crooks asked. Why should they make the rules? Why should I play the game according to their rules?”
“Rules? Game? There’s a little boy involved here.”
“There’s a whole lot more than a little boy involved,” King said.
“There’s nothing more than a little boy involved,” Diane answered. “If you don’t pay them, they’ll kill him.”
“He may be dead already.”
“You can’t even consider that possibility.”
“Why can’t I? I can consider every damn aspect of this thing. I’ve been asked to pay five hundred thousand dollars for a boy who means absolutely nothing to me. I’ve got every right to weigh the possibilities. And one possibility is that he’s already dead.”
“They told you he was still alive. You know they did. You can’t excuse yourself by…”
“And another possibility is that they’ll kill him even if I do pay. Ask the police. Go ahead. See what they—”
“And if you don’t pay, they’ll most certainly kill him.”
“Not necessarily.”
King rose from his chair. He left the fire reluctantly, walking to the bar unit at the other end of the room. “Would you like a brandy?” he asked.
“No, I would not like a brandy.” She watched him as he poured. His hand was steady on the neck of the bottle. The amber fluid filled the brandy snifter. He recapped the bottle, walked back to the easy chair and gently rolled the glass in his big hands. She continued watching him, and finally she said, “Doug, you have no right to gamble with Jeffs life.”
“No? Who has a better right? Who’d they ask for the money? What is Reynolds doing to get his son back? He’s sitting on his behind, the way he’s sat all his life. Why should I have to pay for his son?”
“Doug, I’m trying very hard to keep from screaming. I’m trying with all my might to keep from screaming.”
“Go ahead and scream if it’ll make you feel any better. Actually, there’s nothing to scream about. I shouldn’t have been asked to pay, and I’m not paying, and that’s that. It’s a closed issue as far as I’m concerned.”
“But he’s a child! A child!”
“I don’t care what he is. He’s nothing of mine.” He paused as if searching for a clincher to his argument and then said, “I don’t even like him, do you know that?”
“He’s a child, damn you!”
“All right, he’s a child. What’s that got to do with it? Am I responsible for him? How is he my responsibility, child or adult, or creature from the depths? How the hell is he my responsibility?”
“They meant to take Bobby,” Diane said. “That’s what makes Jeff your respon—”
“Yes, but they didn’t take him, did they? They goofed. They took Jeff.” King paused. “Honey, when I was in the service and the guy standing next to me got killed, I didn’t feel responsible for his death. I was simply tickled to death the bullet hadn’t clipped me. I felt no guilt and no responsibility. I hadn’t fired the rifle that discharged the bullet that killed him. My hands were clean. And they’re clean now, too.”
“This is different,” Diane said. “You’re not so stupid that you can’t see this is different.”
“I’m not stupid at all. How in the hell can I give them all that money? Don’t you think I’d give it if I had it?”
“You have got it! Don’t lie to me, Doug. For God’s sake, don’t pretend.”
“I need every cent I have for this deal. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. How can I give away two thirds of that? Don’t you understand?”
“Yes, I understand completely. A boy’s life against a business deal.”
“No! A boy’s life against my life!” King shouted.
“Doug, Doug, don’t insult my intelligence! This wouldn’t be the end for you. Don’t say your ‘life’ as if—”
“My life, my life!” King insisted. “Just that! Everything I’ve worked for since as long as I can remember. This business is a part of me, Diane, don’t you realize that?”
“The hell with the business,” she snapped. “I don’t care if you never own Granger Shoe! I simply don’t care. If you owned Granger, if you owned United States Steel and got them by letting a boy die…”