“Yes, yes,” Byrnes said, a look of puzzlement on his face. “Yes, please tell him.”
“I shall tell him. Come along, Bobby, we’re going to meet a handsome policeman.” She walked him toward the front door. At the door, Bobby turned.
“Aren’t you getting him back, Dad?” he asked, and Liz pulled him through the open doorway and shouted, “Yoo-hoo! Detective Hawes! Yoo-hoo!”
The door closed behind them.
“I feel I should make my position clear to you gentlemen,” King said clearing his throat. “I know that on the surface my refusal…”
The telephone rang.
King stopped speaking. Byrnes looked at Carella, and Carella rushed to the wiretap equipment.
“You’d better get on the trunk line, Pete!” he said, and Byrnes ran to the other phone and picked up the receiver, ready to speak.
“Go ahead, Mr. King,” Carella said, “answer it. If it’s our man, keep him on the line.”
Over the ringing of the telephone, King said, “What…what shall I tell him?”
“Just keep him talking. About anything. Keep him on the line.”
“And… the money?”
“Tell him you’ve got it,” Byrnes said.
“Pete…”
“It’s our only chance, Steve. They’ve got to think we’re playing ball with them.”
“Answer it, answer it!”
King hesitated a moment and then lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Mr. King?”
The voice was not the one King had heard before. A frown crossed his forehead. “Yes, this is Mr. King,” he said, “Who’s calling, please?”
“You know who’s calling,” the voice said. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice,” King said, and he nodded to Byrnes, who instantly said into the trunk line phone. “He’s on the other wire now. Get moving.”
Sitting at the wiretap equipment with the headphones over his ears, Carella watched the spools of tape revolving as they recorded the conversation. Scarcely daring to breathe, he listened to the voice on the other end.
“Have you got the money, Mr. King?”
“Well…”
“Yes or no? Have you got it?”
“Keep him talking,” Byrnes whispered.
“Yes, I have it. That is, I have most of it.”
“What do you mean, most of it? We told you…”
“Well, the rest should be here momentarily. You specified small bills, didn’t you?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“And no consecutive serial numbers. Five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, you know. And there wasn’t much time. The remainder is being counted out at the bank now. It should be here within the half hour.”
“All right, fine. Now here’s what you’re to do. Do you have a wrist watch, Mr. King?”
“Yes. Yes, I have one.”
“I want you to set it so that it’s synchronized with mine. Take it off your wrist now.”
“All right. Just a moment.”
“Keep him talking,” Carella said. “Keep him talking.”
“You got it, King?”
“Yes, I’m getting it.”
Into the trunk line phone, Byrnes said, “What’s happening there? For God’s sake, I told you he was on the line!”
“How about it, King?” the voice asked impatiently.
“All right.”
“My watch says exactly eight-thirty-one. Set yours for the same time.
“All right.”
“Did you set it?”
“Yes. I set it.”
“Fine. Now the rest I’m going to say fast and only once, so get it all the first time. You are to leave the house at ten o’clock sharp, and you are to be carrying the money in a plain carton. You will go straight to the garage, and you will get into the black Cadillac with the license tag DK-74. That is the car you will use, Mr. King. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” King said.
“Hurry, hurry!” Byrnes whispered into his receiver.
“You will drive away from the house and away from Smoke Rise. You will be watched, Mr. King, so don’t attempt to take anyone in the car with you, and don’t allow the police to follow you. If you are followed, we will kill the boy right away. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I do. I have it.”
“Have they got it yet?” Carella whispered to Byrnes.
“The damn fools are…”
“You will continue driving, Mr. King, until someone meets you with instructions. That’s all you have to know for now. Leave the house at ten sharp, alone, with the money. Goodbye, Mr.—”
“Wait!”
“Keep him talking,” Byrnes said. “They’ve got it traced to Central on Sands Spit!”
“What is it, Mr. King?”
“When do we get the boy back?”
“When we get the money, we’ll call again.”
“How… how do we know he’s still alive?”
“He’s still alive.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“No. Goodbye, Mr. King.”
“Wait! You…”
“He’s gone!” Carella said, ripping off the headset.
“Son of a bitch!” Byrnes said. Into the phone, he shouted, “He just hung up. How far have you… What? Oh. Oh, I see. Okay. Okay, thanks.” He hung up. “Didn’t matter a damn. He was using a dial phone. As soon as they traced it to Central, it got lost in the automatic equipment.” He turned to Carella. “What’d he say, Steve?”
“A lot. Want me to play it back?”
“Yes, go ahead. Nice work, Mr. King.”
“Thank you,” King said dully.
“His voice sounded different,” Carella said. “Didn’t you think so?”
“Yes,” King answered.
“I think we got a different customer this time,” Carella said. “Mind if I start the playback with the previous call, Pete? Just to check the voices?”
“No, go right ahead.”
Carella looked at his watch. “Eight-thirty-five. We’ve still got time,” he said, and he flipped the switch that reversed the tape.
* * * *
It was eight-thirty-three when Eddie Folsom came out of the telephone booth. The ride to the grocery store had taken longer than Sy had estimated, but there was still nothing to worry about. It would be a long, long time before ten o’clock rolled around.
Casually, he walked to the counter.
“Let me have a package of hot chocolate,” he said, “and a bottle of milk, and a box of those cookies there.”
* * * *