The Kidnapper Page 8

Then we were in the bedroom, and I was kissing her again, and she was breathing hard.

  All at once, just when I figured she was set, she opened her eyes. She stared right up at me and stopped me cold.

  “Steve,” she said. “Shirley Mae—she’s dead, isn’t she?”

  I was so surprised, I couldn’t think what to say. So I told her. I told her the truth, all of it.

  She listened, and there was nothing in her face. Nothing. And when I finished, still nothing.

  “Don’t you understand?” I whispered. “I didn’t hurt her. She did it herself. It was an accident, just one of those things that happen. Nobody’s to blame.”

  She said, “What did you do with her?”

  “I won’t tell you that. I took her someplace, last night. Someplace where they’ll never find her. Oh, I know how you feel, because it’s the same way with me. But it can’t be helped, now. We’ve got to go through with it.”

  Maybe it was because she had no expression on her face, maybe it was on account of the blonde hair—whatever it was, she looked like a stranger, lying there. And when she spoke, she sounded like a stranger to me.

  “Steve.”

  “Yes, Mary.”

  “Do you love me?”

  I bent over, looking at the stranger. The stranger in a strange house, in a strange bed, in a world where everything was strange and unreal to me now.

  “You’ve got to tell me, Steve, because it’s important. Do you love me?”

  It was important, all right. I knew that. So I stared right back at her and at last I got it out.

  “Yes, Mary. I love you.”

  Then she smiled. She closed her eyes. She pulled my head down.

  I knew it was going to be all right, then.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Steve! Wake up!”

  I’d dozed off and she was poking me again.

  “What’s the matter, honey?”

  “You know what you forgot? You forgot to call Specs!”

  “Hey, you’re right. What time is it?”

  “Almost three.”

  “Come on, get dressed. We’re going down there.”

  “Where?”

  “To the drug store. I’ll bet he’s still hanging around the booth, waiting.”

  “You think it’s safe?”

  “Of course it’s safe. Step on it, while I shave.”

  I sure as hell wasn’t going to go downtown or even go out to phone by myself and leave her behind now. I knew I could trust her but it wasn’t a good idea to let her stay alone.

  That was one thing I’d have to watch from now on in. And I’d have to watch how I talked, how I acted. I couldn’t relax for a second.

  I shaved fast, and it made me feel better. It made me look better, too—that was another thing I had to remember, not to scowl or look funny around her.

  Well, I’d asked for the job. And I could handle it. For two hundred Gs I could handle anything.

  “Ready?”

  She was waiting for me, wearing those high-heeled shoes and a black sunback dress I’d picked out for her.

  “You look swell, baby,” I told her. And she did.

  She hesitated when we got to the door.

  “I don’t like to go out there. Suppose somebody sees us?”

  “Let ’em. Don’t forget, we’re supposed to be on a vacation here, you and I. And my name is George.”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “And from now on, we might as well act like we really were on vacation. I’m going to get some weenies, we can use that outdoor fireplace in back to roast them. And maybe we can even go in swimming. That lake water’s warm.”

  She smiled and I knew I’d got her cheered up.

  When we got into town I reached into the glove compartment. “Here, put on these glasses,” I said. “There isn’t a chance anyone will recognize you, but you might as well get used to them.”

  Funny, the way she looked in glasses. With that blonde hair and that dress, I just had to laugh. She got a peek at herself in the mirror and then she was laughing, too.

  We stopped laughing at the drugstore. Specs wasn’t there.

  I’d parked right in front and we went in. No Specs.

  “Steve, you think maybe something’s gone wrong?”

  “Got out to the car and wait,” I said. “I’ll take a look around.”

  The minute she left I walked over to the newsstand and looked for a paper. The afternoon edition was out, and I stared down at the headline.

  MISSING GIRL BELIEVED KIDNAP VICTIM

  Police Seeking Sender of Ransom Note

  So they’d hollered copper right away, after all! Well, it was too much to hope for, that they wouldn’t. Actually, I guess I’d counted on it all along. And it still didn’t make any difference.

  I glanced through the story, fast. I wouldn’t buy the paper because I didn’t want Mary to see it.

  It was a long story, but I skipped over everything except what I wanted to know. Paul, the chauffeur, was the one who made all the trouble. I hadn’t figured on him, really. He’d waited for Mary and the kid for about twenty minutes, then went inside to the school. When he found out they’d left he cruised around and then called Mrs. Warren. So before there was time for them to get the ransom note special delivery, they’d already called the cops and put in a report.

  There was a lot more about the police combing the city, and the sheriff ordering patrols and county road-blocks. And there were plenty of statements—all the usual crap about what a horrible tragedy it was, and what the penalties were. But not one word about clues. Except for Mary’s name. They were out looking for her, all right. And that’s why I didn’t want her to see the paper.

  One other thing I noticed. The reporters had asked old man Warren if he was going to pay the money. And he told them he was willing to do anything to get his daughter back.

  That suited me.

  I put down the paper, went into the booth, and called Specs at his place. He must of been waiting right alongside the phone.

  “Hello, is that you?”

  “Of course it’s me.” Who did he think it was, the king of Siam?

  “Where were you? I waited and waited—”

  “I got tied up. But everything’s all right.”

  “Sure? I been so worried I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Everything’s fine. Stop talking about being worried.”

  “But the papers—”

  “Don’t talk about the papers. Somebody might hear you. Just listen to me, Specs. It’s too late to get together any more today, so let’s make a date for tomorrow. Suppose you come on out to the place around noon. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  “Okay. But I kind of hate to think about going to work again tonight, you know?”

  “You’ve got to, Specs. One other thing, when you’re through work you go right home. No taverns or anything, understand?”

  “I understand. Way I feel, I couldn’t hold any liquor on my stomach anyhow.”

  “All right. See you at noon then.”

  “Steve, I—”

  I hung up. Talking would only get him more nervous. It didn’t do me any good, either.

  Back at the car, Mary said, “Did you get hold of him?”

  “Sure, he was at his place, like I thought. I told him to come out tomorrow around noon.”

  “What did he have to say? Is everything all right?”

  “Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?” I patted her cheek. “Come on, we’ve got the rest of the day off. Let’s go do some shopping.”

  I drove uptown to a Super Market and we loaded up on some more groceries. I filled four of those big cartons.

  “Gee, this is a lot.”

  “Keep us going for a week. Maybe we won’t need that much, but we might as well get it and be set.”

  Then I stopped off at a liquor store. I bought two bottles of light rum, two bottles of bourbon, and a case of coke.

  “Let me go in the drug store and get s
ome magazines,” she said.

  “You sit right here. I’ll get some. You like those confession magazines, don’t you?”

  “Why can’t I pick them out myself?”

  “Because I say so, that’s why.” And because I didn’t want her to see any headlines. But I shouldn’t have snapped at her, and I remembered just in time. “Sorry, honey. Just nerves. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When I came back she looked at me. “Steve, you should have gotten a paper. Maybe there’s something in it.”

  “No, I looked. You don’t want Saturday’s paper, anyhow—it’s so thin. We can get the Sunday paper tomorrow, with the comics and everything.”

  “All right.”

  On the way back she said, “I wish you had a radio in this car.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, maybe we could hear a news broadcast or something.”

  “Will you stop worrying? I told you, nobody said anything.”

  “Just the same, I’m going to listen when we get back to the cottage.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  When we drove in it was just getting to be twilight. I put the stuff away and she changed into slacks.

  “Go on outside and find some sticks of wood,” I said. “Take all this paper and stuff and start a fire in the fireplace. We’re going to have a picnic.”

  “You got weenies?”

  “Sure. Marshmallows, too. Find two long sticks we can use when we roast ’em.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Fix us a drink,” I said. “I’ll be out.”

  I did fix a drink, and I did go out. But not until I’d unscrewed a couple of tubes from the radio and stuck them in back, underneath the cabinet. There weren’t going to be any news flashes tonight.

  The weenies were good, fixed that way. For the first time in about three days I was really hungry. I ate about half a dozen of them, and some marshmallows and a couple peaches. It was a nice warm night and you could hear the motor boats going out on the lake. I saw some lights in cottages down the line, and along about nine somebody started playing the accordion way off.

  Mary and I walked down and looked at the water. I brought the bottle and a blanket. After a while we lay down and just stared up at the sky. You could see stars all over the place.

  “Steve, you know something?”

  “What?”

  “I’m all right now.”

  “Good.”

  “Up until a little while ago I was still nervous. I tried not to show it, but I was scared to death. Thinking that maybe they’d catch us, you know.”

  “They won’t.”

  “I’m sure of it too, now. And I’ll never be scared again, never, as long as you’re here with me.”

  “I’ll always be here.”

  She leaned back and I put my head in her lap. She stroked my forehead. “Just think, darling, how wonderful it’s going to be. You and I, together, always. Someday this will all seem like a dream, won’t it?”

  It seemed like a dream to me, right now. But I didn’t tell her that. “Yeah. It’s going to be great. One of the things I always wanted to do was to take a cruise. You know, down to South America, places like that.” I sat up. “Say, you know, we could even live down there if we found a place we liked.”

  “We’re going to have enough money to last, aren’t we, Steve?”

  “Sure. What do you mean, last? If we spend it all, we can always get—”

  “No, Steve. That’s one thing I wanted to get straight with you.”

  “Huh?”

  “This is the only time, darling. You’ve got to promise. We’ll never do anything like this again. Never.”

  “All right,” I said. “Anything you say.”

  “I really mean it, Steve. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  That satisfied her. After a while we went back to the cottage. First thing she did was try to turn on the radio.

  “Something’s the matter,” she said. “All I get is this buzzing noise.”

  “Let me try it.” I stooped down and fiddled around. Then I looked in back.

  “Must be some tubes burned out,” I said. “Well, I can pick some up in town Monday. To hell with the radio anyway. How about another drink?”

  We had another drink, and then we went to bed. I was all ready for her, but she said, “No, let’s just go to sleep. I’m so tired, darling. So tired.”

  She put her arms around me and we slept. Funny thing, I didn’t dream at all; maybe it was because I could feel her there with me.

  The next morning we got up late and had breakfast together. Both of us felt pretty good. I watched her close, and she wasn’t nervous or upset today. Once she made up her mind to play along, that was it.

  Or so I figured.

  The car pulled in right after lunch time. Specs jumped out and came running up to the side door.

  “Did you see the paper?” he yelled. “Did you see it? They’re calling in the FBI!”

  “Here, give me that!” I grabbed the paper out of his hand, but it was too late. Mary heard him.

  “Let me see,” she said.

  So I gave it to her. What else could I do? I just sat there, reading parts over her shoulder.

  They’d called the FBI, all right. And the whole damn front page was full of it. Even the governor had to get in his two cents worth about maybe turning the National Guard loose. They were raising a real stink.

  “God, that’s all I been hearing about, down at the shop,” Specs said. “Everybody’s talking about it. I got so sick I went back to the can and heaved my supper.”

  “Well, calm down. We’re all right.”

  Mary turned the page. She started to read something like, “Police are seeking Mary Adams, twenty, a maid in Warren’s employ, who left the school in the company of—”

  I grabbed the paper away.

  “Quit reading that crud,” I said. “It’ll only make you upset.”

  “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” she said. “You knew yesterday. That’s why you wouldn’t buy a paper.”

  “Sure,” I told her. “I knew. So what? No sense filling yourself full of this newspaper malarkey. You got nothing to be afraid of. That letter will clear you and nobody could recognize you anyway. Look at her, Specs—would you know it was the same girl?”

  “No,” Specs said. “She looks real different.”

  “There, you see?”

  “But what about me?” Specs asked. “That’s what I want to know.”

  “What about you? You’re doing all right. And tomorrow, we get the dough.”

  “So soon?”

  “Sure. Why wait?”

  “I thought you figured Tuesday or so.”

  “Quicker the better.”

  “I guess you’re right. Maybe once they get the kid back they won’t care so much.”

  Mary’s mouth opened. I tried to catch her eye, but he saw it.

  “What’s the matter?” Specs asked. “Anything wrong?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Where’s the kid? How is she?”

  “I been meaning to tell you,” I said. “There’s been an—”

  Mary cut in. “The kid’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “You might as well know it. The whole thing. Go ahead and tell him, Steve.”

  I told him.

  “Oh my God!” He looked like he was going to faint in his tracks. “This is awful!”

  “No it isn’t,” Mary said. “If I can take it, you can. We’re all in this thing together.” It was the second time she’d surprised me. “Steve, get him a drink.”

  “I don’t want any drink.”

  “Do you good.” I went out and came back with half a water glass full of bourbon. “Here.”

  “Steve, what we going to do now?”

  “We’re going to do just what we planned. Only we’ll move up the schedule a day or so, do it faster. Tonight I’m going to line up a place where we can t
ell them to leave the money. Then, tomorrow morning, Warren gets his phone call. He can leave the dough tomorrow night and we’re set. You two don’t have to worry about that part at all—it’s up to me to handle it. All you got to do, Specs, is go back to work tomorrow, just like nothing happened.”

  “Steve, I can’t go back. I can’t.”

  “You got to.”

  “I just can’t. Thinking about that kid, knowing she’s dead—”

  “Shut up and drink your drink!”

  “Steve, I won’t do it. You can’t make me. I’m scared, Steve, I wish I was dead too—”

  Mary came over and stood next to me. I looked at her and she nodded.

  “All right, Specs. You don’t have to go back. But you know what it means—sooner or later somebody’s going to wonder where you disappeared to. And why. And you’ll have to leave your car here, too, in case the FBI starts getting fancy and checking tire-marks in the alley or someplace. The heat will be on for you, Specs.”

  “I don’t care. I got to stay. If I went back, I know something’d happen, I’d tell or something. And if they ever find that kid—”

  “They won’t find her, not where I put her, so don’t talk about it. Now go home and get some clothes.”

  “I can’t drive, Steve, I’m too shaky.”

  “Go home and pack,” I said. “That’s the least you can do. We’re taking a big chance letting you come here this way, and the only reason I’m doing it is to give you a break. So buck up and go get your things. See you at supper time.”

  We watched him go, through the window.

  Mary turned to me. “Steve, this is bad, isn’t it?

  “You mean about him coming here to stay with us? It’s better than having him running around loose, the way he feels. No telling what he’d be liable to do in a few days. At least we can keep our eye on him here.”

  “You think they’ll trail him?”

  “Not a chance. I’ll see that he keeps out of sight once he gets here. And besides, he doesn’t go to work until five tomorrow. Nobody will start thinking about him as a suspect until at least Tuesday night or Wednesday. We’ll have the money, then, and I’ll figure out what our next move is. Maybe he’d look good as a blonde, too.”

  She nodded. “All right, Steve. You know best.”

  “Of course I do. And it might turn out to be a good thing, at that. We’ll have him out of harm’s way, and we’ll have the car in the garage in case they do mess around with tire marks. It’s going to work out fine. You’ll see.”