He lifted the receiver.
‘Yes?’ he snapped.
‘Sherry? This is Meg.’ A woman’s voice.
Jesus! Jamison thought. This bloody woman again!
Softening his voice, he said, ‘How are you, Meg?’
‘What’s this about Shannon suffering from migraine? She’s never had migraine before. What is this, Sherry? Shannon is the guest of honour at the Mozart recital tonight.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Jamison said, who didn’t. ‘I’m sorry, Meg. She won’t be able to attend. I am worried. The doctor has given her a sedation, and right now she is asleep. She developed this blinding headache while I was in New York. The doctor assures me she will be all right in a few days.’
‘Is that Doctor Macklin?’
Knowing that Macklin was Meg Clayton’s doctor, he avoided the trap.
‘No. I had my own specialist to take care of her. I’m sorry, Meg, but I am desperately busy. As soon as Shannon feels well enough, she will call you. My best to you and Jay,’ and he hung up.
By tonight, the news that Shannon wasn’t well would be all over the goddamn musical circles of the city, he thought. He had forgotten that Shannon was not only popular, but a talented cellist.
For the next quarter of an hour, his telephone rang with people asking after Shannon. He dealt with them politely and curtly, asking them to let Shannon rest.
He kept looking at his watch. In another half hour, Kling would contact him, and he would know the conditions of the ransom. Once he knew that, he would put the plan he had in his mind into action to defeat Kling.
Getting to his feet, he walked from his study, through the big living-room and out onto the terrace to stare at the rising moon and to feel the hot breeze against his sweating face. He drew in several deep breaths, then, seeing Smyth hovering uneasily, he said, ‘Get me a double Scotch and lots of ice.’
Returning to his study, he sat at his desk. He looked at the desk clock. The time now was 19.35. Soon, Kling would be telephoning him, and he would know what ransom he would be demanding.
Smyth entered and placed the Scotch that Jamison had ordered on the desk.
‘You will be needing dinner, sir,’ he said. ‘What may I prepare for you?’
‘Oh, sandwiches!’ Jamison snapped. ‘But later!’
‘Very good, sir,’ and Smyth, looking sorrowful, withdrew.
Then the telephone bell began its soft buzzing. Jamison stiffened. Was this Kling? Or was it one of Shannon’s goddamn friends? He lifted the receiver and barked, ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Jamison?’ A man’s voice.
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘Chief of Police Terrell.’
Jamison felt his heart skip a beat. At some boring shindig, thrown by the Mayor, he had met Terrell and had been impressed by the man’s quiet power and authority.
He forced himself to relax.
‘Hello there, Terrell. Long time no see. Look, I am busy. Something I can do for you?’
‘Mr Jamison, I understand that your wife was kidnapped early this morning,’ Terrell said.
Blood rushed to Jamison’s head. He felt a sharp pain stab him in his chest. For a long moment, he sat motionless, feeling short of breath, then he made an effort and controlled his heavy breathing.
‘How do you know that?’ he demanded.
‘An eye-witness to the kidnapping, Mr Jamison. I am sorry about this,’ Terrell said, his voice quiet. ‘I want you to know we will do everything possible to be of help.’
Jamison flew into a panicky rage.
‘You don’t do a goddamn thing!’ he shouted. ‘Understand? Keep out of this. I am handling it! If you so much as fuck up this situation, I’ll make you sorry! Understand?’
‘I understand, Mr Jamison,’ Terrell replied. ‘You have the usual ransom note, saying that if you contact the police Mrs Jamison will be killed. Am I right?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Jamison snarled. ‘So keep out of this! When I get my wife back, you can move in, but not before!’ and he slammed down the receiver.
‘Very convincing, Mr Jamison,’ Kling said as he appeared out of the shadows of the terrace. ‘I liked that.’ He moved into the light thrown by the desk lamp. ‘I’m a little before my time, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting.’
Jamison leaned back, glaring at Kling.
‘How did the cops know we had kidnapped your wife?’ Kling asked, settling himself in an armchair near Jamison’s desk.
‘An eye-witness,’ Jamison rasped. ‘And you call yourself a professional!’
Kling shrugged.
‘An eye-witness or two or even three can always be fixed. Nothing to worry about, Mr Jamison. Once, when I was knocking off a fink who was causing trouble, there were five eye-witnesses.’ He released a barking laugh. ‘They never testified. Don’t worry about eye-witnesses.’
Jamison regarded this tall, lean, grey-haired man with revulsion.
‘You have gypped me, damn you!’ he exclaimed.
‘No… no. Don’t get the script wrong. I had second thoughts. Now, the original plan I put before you was for me to throw a bomb that would wipe out this Irish fink, your wife, the priest and a number of oldies.’ Kling shook his head. ‘That’s correct, isn’t it? You agreed that that was the perfect way to get rid of your wife. Right?’
‘It was your suggestion, and I agreed to it,’ Jamison said, biting off each word. ‘You now say you have had second thoughts. What thoughts?’
Kling relaxed back in his chair.
‘You mightn’t think it, Mr Jamison, but I am not so tough as you. I thought about knocking off thirty or so old finks just to kill your wife, and I told myself it was like killing a gnat with a sledgehammer. You get the drift of my thoughts, Mr Jamison?’
Jamison remained still and tense at his desk. He said nothing.
‘The more I thought about it, the less I liked it,’ Kling went on, after a pause. ‘But I had agreed to do the job for you. So I thought up this kidnapping caper. It will be safe: no problems for you. I went into action and your wife is safely hidden away. As soon as you pay the ransom, her body will be found in the trunk of a stolen car. It’ll be a guaranteed job. There’ll be no blow-back. You will tell the cops you paid the ransom to a masked man who told you you’d find your wife in the Casino car park, safe and sound, in the trunk of a stolen car. The cops and you will find the car and find the dead body of your wife. Get the photo, Mr Jamison?’ Kling lit a cigarette. ‘It’s a nice, safe idea. To put the icing on the cake, the ransom money will be found in the car. Two hundred thousand dollars, Mr Jamison. The cops will think it was a piker’s kidnapping. The guy lost his head, killed your wife, left the ransom which might be traced and took off. Like it?’
Seething with rage, Jamison kept control of himself.
‘What’s the real ransom to be?’ he snarled.
Kling nodded his approval.
‘That’s what I like about you, Mr Jamison. You get at once to the basic facts.’
‘What’s the ransom to be?’ Jamison repeated, clenching his fists.
‘You are a very rich man, Mr Jamison, and yet you are a piker. You come to me and offered me three hundred thousand to murder your wife. That was a stupid offer. Had you offered me a million, I just might have thrown a bomb. I don’t say I would have, but for a million I could have been tempted. But no, you are such a piker, you offer peanuts. So, Mr Jamison, the ransom will be five million dollars to be paid into my Swiss account.’
Jamison reared back, staring at Kling.
‘Five million dollars! You must be out of your mind!’
‘What’s five million dollars to you, Mr Jamison? That’s the deal. A nice, safe, well organized job, and you’ll be rid of your wife for good.’
Jamison sat still for several seconds while his mind went into action, then, satisfied with his thinking, he leaned forward, pointing his finger at Kling.