The Kidnapper (15 page)

Specs was short to begin with, but he seemed to get shorter now. “My God! I forgot—I didn’t go to work last night, and they’ll find out, the car is gone and everything, they’ll know—”

He was almost crying. “Steve, what’ll I do, what’ll I do?”

“You’ll stay here and behave,” I said. “That’s what you’ll do.”

“Yes, Steve. You’re right. I’ll stay.”

“Come on, then. How about some lunch?”

Mary went out and got busy. She took out the skillet and mixed up some pancakes. They tasted good to me, but Specs wasn’t eating much, I noticed. And when it came time for coffee, he got up from the table and went to the john. He stayed in there with the door closed, a long time.

“What’s the matter with him?” Mary whispered.

“Nerves, I guess.” I got up and went over and knocked on the door. “Specs, open up.”

He opened. He was leaning against the wash basin, white as a sheet. I could see he’d heaved his cookies.

“I’m sick,” he mumbled. “Real sick. Get a doctor.”

“Doctor, hell! It’s nerves, that’s all. Come on, let me help you—lie down for a while, you’ll feel better.”

“No, I’m sick, I tell you. Feel my forehead.”

It was hot. And I felt his pulse, too. He wasn’t kidding. I got him into bed. He was trembling so bad I put the covers on him from our bed, too.

“Now go to sleep and forget about it,” I said. “I’ll pull the shades.”

“I’m so sick—”

I went back to the kitchen, after closing his door.

“How is he?”

“All right. He feels rugged, but there’s nothing really wrong. It’s one of those, what they call psychosomatic illnesses. You get it from worrying.”

“Poor little guy.”

“You’re not worried, are you, Mary?”

“No. Not as long as you’re here.”

“Good. Finish the dishes and let’s go down to the water.”

We spent the afternoon down there. It was nice. Mary took her shoes and stockings off and went in wading. I sat up on the bank, where I could watch the house and hear in case Specs called.

But he slept straight through the afternoon, and through supper, too. I didn’t wake him. Mary and I ate alone, and then we just sat there.

It was dark outside, and quiet. Inside, you could hear the wall clock ticking.

“Want a drink?” I asked.

“No thanks.”

“Want to play some rummy?”

“I don’t feel like it. Oh, Steve, what will he think?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Warren. When he shows up tonight, expecting to find Shirley Mae. And—”

I reached out and grabbed her arm. “None of that stuff, now! You’ve got to keep calm, remember?”

“Yes. But I can’t, Steve, I can’t! I keep thinking and thinking about it—how awful it will be for him and Mrs. Warren. And what everybody will say, how it was all our fault, like we did it on purpose. You know what they’ll call us? They’ll call us murderers. I’m not a murderer, Steve, I’m not a mur—”

She began to cry, and I grabbed her and patted her head.

“There, there, honey, forget it, everything’s all right, everything’s fine.”

All at once she pulled away. “No it isn’t, Steve. It’s not fine. Specs was right. He didn’t know it, but I can tell. I can tell when you’re lying, and you lied last night and you lied today. Saying you had things planned. You don’t have any plans, Steve. You don’t know how we’re going to get out of this place. And we’ll sit here until they come and find us and then it’ll be too late.”

She almost spit it out, standing right in front of my face, and her voice got higher. “Why did I ever trust you, why did I ever believe you? You’re nothing but a liar, a liar, a li—”

Then she shut up because I hauled off and hit her one across the mouth. Her jaw wobbled and her eyes got glassy. I grabbed her by the hair and hit her again. Then she came to life and tried to claw me. I yanked her hair as hard as I could and then I reached down and scooped her up in my arms.

“Let me go, let me go! What are you—”

“We’re going to bed, you and I,” I told her. “You said I was the doctor. Well, I got just the medicine for you. The best medicine in the world.”

It was, too, for her.

Not for me. I don’t like medicine, and besides, she’d figured things out.

It was the truth. I didn’t know what would happen to us next. And tomorrow, they’d find out. The heat was on.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he next morning Specs was still in bed. I went in and took a look at him.

“How you feel, boy?”

“Sick. Real sick. I had the awfullest dreams. You better get a doctor, Steve.”

I felt his forehead. “You don’t need a doctor. All you need is a good meal. How about some breakfast?”

“I can’t eat. Get me a doctor.”

“You’re nuts if you think I’d let a doctor in here! Besides, there’s nothing really the matter with you. You don’t have any fever now. It’s just your imagination.”

“I don’t care! I can’t stand this any longer, I can’t!” He began to cry, and his eyes were real puffy without his glasses on.

I sat down on the bed and grabbed him by the collar.

“Cut that out and listen to me! There isn’t a damn thing wrong with you, and you know it—you’re just yellow.”

“All right, I’m yellow, I admit it. If we could only get out of here I wouldn’t mind. But I’m sick of waiting around, waiting for something to happen.”

“We’ll go as soon as it’s safe,” I told him. “Hell, don’t you think I feel it, too? It isn’t any easier for me to sweat it out.”

“Oh, yes it is.” He sat up now. “With you it’s different. You’ve got Mary. You think I don’t know what you two are doing? I heard you, last night. But me, all I can do is lie here. I’m going batty thinking about it.”

“So that’s what eating on you, is it?”

“Of course, that’s what you promised, wasn’t it? We’d go to Florida, have ourselves a time down there. Instead, here we sit. You got Mary, you don’t care what happens to me. You’d think I was one of these here morphodites or something.”

“Just hold your water,” I said. “It won’t be long now.”

“Well, it better not be. I’m about ready to blow my top, the way I feel.”

“Come on, get up and have something to eat.”

“No, I don’t feel like it. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t worry.”

He turned over and closed his eyes. I went out and shut the door.

Mary and I ate breakfast together, but I didn’t tell her anything except that Specs was still a little woozy. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, of course—no fever now, or even a cold. But he’d told the truth. I could see that. He was getting ready to blow his top.

Something had to be done about that, and fast. I’d better think of a plan.

Meanwhile, there was the radio.

Mary turned it on, after breakfast. She kept it low, so as not to wake up Specs. But it was loud enough for us to hear, and we heard plenty.

Like I figured, the heat was on, now. There was a news broadcast every hour on the hour, and they all said the same thing. The whole story was out—how Warren paid the kidnappers off and how he went to get the kid, only the kid wasn’t there. So he’d gone to the police with his hair down, and promised to cooperate. He was still hopeful, but the chief of police had issued a statement that they thought the kid was dead.

“Did you hear that?” Mary asked. “Now they know!”

“They don’t know a thing—they only are guessing,” I said. “So don’t get upset. After all, we expected this. It’s all part of the deal.”

“But they’re organizing search parties, they’re going out to look for the body. Steve, where did you put the body?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” I got up and turned off the radio. “It’s safe, I swear it. They won’t find her in a million years. And even if they do, it won’t mean a thing. We’re in the clear, so stop listening to all that junk.”

“Well, I want to know what they’re doing. Besides, it gets me down, just sitting and waiting like this.”

“Go read your confession magazines or something.”

“Oh, honey, don’t get angry!” She came over and kissed me. “I’m sorry I’m so nervous and all.”

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But you got to remember, we’re doing this for a reason. So we’ll be safe. Some day we’ll look back on all this and laugh.”

She drew away from me. “No, Steve. Not laugh. I’ll never be able to laugh about what happened to Shirley Mae. You don’t feel like that, do you, Steve? You’re sorry it happened, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. I was just trying to cheer you up.” I gave her a pat on the fanny. “How about some lunch now?”

“All right.”

We ate lunch and did the dishes. It was a fine day, but neither of us suggested going outside that afternoon. I didn’t want to leave Specs alone, and there was something about going ouside now that made me edgy. Outside was where
they
were—the police, and the sheriff’s department, and the FBI and all. The fat guys who wanted to kill you. They were all against you, outside.

It was better to stay in here, with the money, and be safe. Stay here and plan the next move.

Mary got out a magazine and sat down on the sofa. Specs was still sleeping when I looked in, so I closed his door again and came back and sat down at the kitchen table. I lit a cigarette and tried to get myself organized. It was time to think of what to do next.

There had to be a way of moving out of here sooner than next week. Specs wouldn’t sit still for that long. And Mary was plenty jumpy already. I’d have to take chances. Maybe along about the weekend we could start. Today was Wednesday. Say Friday sometime.

But how would we do it, and where would we go?

There was a U.S. road map in the car. I decided to look it over, so I got up and went to the back door.

Just then the car drove in.

We didn’t hear it until it turned onto the driveway, and then Mary jumped about a foot.

“Steve!”

“Shut up!” I ran back to our bedroom and grabbed my coat, put it on. My gun was in the coat pocket.

When I got to the kitchen again, I could watch through the window. Two people were coming up the steps, a man and a woman. Somebody knocked.

“Steve, what’re you doing?”

“Letting them in, of course,” I whispered. “Sit down and be quiet—I’ll handle this.”

I opened,the door.

“Mr. Henderson?” said the woman.

I stood there for a second, until I recognized who it was—Mrs. Racklin, the dame who had rented me the cottage. And that was the name I’d given her, of course. Mr. Henderson.

“Yes,” I said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She was standing on the top step with the man behind her. Now, when she moved, I got a good look at him. He was a stocky guy of about forty-five or so, with grey hair and a mustache. He had real blue eyes.

“This is my husband. Hans, this is Mr. Henderson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said.

He held out his hand. “A pleasure.” Boy, he had a grip on him like a wrestler.

“I hope we’re not intruding. We just happened to be driving by and I said to Hans, why not stop in for a minute and see how things are getting along? Are you enjoying your stay?”

She looked around the kitchen and then into the living room, and of course she saw Mary sitting there.

“Everything’s just fine,” I told her. “You haven’t met my wife, have you? Merna, this is Mrs. Racklin.”

Mary just sat there for a minute. She was so scared, I guess, she didn’t catch it when I called her “Merna.” Then she got up and smiled.

“Glad to meet you,” she said. And nodded at Mr. Racklin.

“Won’t you sit down?”

“Well, we can only stay a second. We’re on our way to visit some friends for dinner.” But the old dame sat down, and so did her husband.

I looked over to make sure the bedroom door was still closed. It was, and I didn’t see any of Specs’ stuff lying around, either. Mary looked at me and I could tell she was praying the same thing, that Specs wouldn’t come out all of a sudden. Then she smiled at me.

“Uh—George, maybe you can fix the folks a drink or something?”

“Of course,” I said. “How about it?” Good girl. Mary had remembered I was supposed to be “George.”

Mrs. Racklin shook her head at me. “No, thank you. Hans and I don’t indulge.” Old Hans nodded but he didn’t say anything. He had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen—like the sun shining through a piece of ice.

“Have you been in swimming yet?” Mrs. Racklin asked Mary.

“No, not yet.”

“I’m surprised to find you both indoors on a day like this. When Hans and I were here, we spent most of the time on the beach.”

“We’ve been listening to the radio,” Mary said.

“The radio? Oh, you mean the news broadcasts. About that kidnapping. We heard a report while we were driving. Isn’t it terrible?”

“Awful,” I said. “Sure I couldn’t get you folks a coke or something like that?”

“No, really. Don’t bother, Mr. Henderson.” She leaned over, looking at Mary. “I don’t know what things are coming to, nowadays. It’s getting so a person doesn’t feel safe any more. Can you imagine, kidnapping a child like that, right in broad daylight?”

I walked over to Mr. Racklin. “Cigarette?” I said.

“No, thank you. If you do not mind, I will smoke this.” He pulled out a cigar.

“Go right ahead.” I gave him a light.

“Thank you.” He didn’t have an accent as near as I could tell, but he sounded like a foreigner just the same. Maybe because he was so polite.

“Hans and I were talking about it when we drove up,” Mrs. Racklin was saying. “You know, I think there’s a lot more to it than the papers tell you. This maid, what’s-her-name, Mary something—I think she must have planned the whole thing.”

“What thing?” I asked. “Oh, you’re still talking about that kidnapping. We haven’t really paid much attention to it. After all, we’re on vacation.”

“But you can’t just ignore something like that when it happens right under your nose,” Mrs. Racklin said. “Whoever did it is still running around loose. Suppose they showed up here?”

“Not a chance.” I laughed. “Why, I’ll bet they’re a thousand miles away by now.”

“Then you too think the child is dead?” Mr. Racklin puffed some smoke my way.