The Kidnapper (8 page)

Mary and I got out of the same side of the car, so only one door would slam. I didn’t figure the kid would hear us, but no sense taking any chances. I walked her up to the back door, opened it, and pushed her into the house. Nobody’d seen us.

“How’d it go?” I asked, when the door was closed behind us again.

“Oh, Steve, you aren’t going to leave her out there that way—she’s tied so tight, I’m afraid she’ll—”

I grabbed her and shook her. “How’d it go!” I said.

“All right.”

“Nobody noticed anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

I shook her again. “Don’t guess at it. Are you sure?”

“Y-yes. I’m sure.”

“Then we’re okay.”

She started for the door and I grabbed her arm.

“Where you think you’re going?”

“I want to see if she’s all right. Maybe I can loosen that rope a little—”

I walked over to her and slapped her in the mouth.

“No you don’t. I explained how you can’t go out there. I’ll see that she gets along. You got a job to do, remember? Hop into the john and get busy with that hair-dye.”

“Steve, you hurt me.”

“Steve, you hurt me.” I imitated her whiney voice. “That’s only a sample of what you got coming if you get any more ideas. Now get moving, quick. This isn’t a game—we’re playing for keeps, now. They hang you for kidnapping in this state.”

I thought for a minute she was going to pass out. I went over and grabbed hold of her just in time.

“Mary, I’m sorry. Honest I am. Look, I’m just as nervous as you are—maybe more. But I got to control myself. You got to control yourself. That’s why I said that, about what they do to you if they catch you. Only just remember one thing; you do what you’re told and nobody’s going to get caught.”

“Steve, I wish—”

“Never mind. I know what you wish. But everything’s fine so far. The kid isn’t hurt. In a couple days she’ll be back home playing in the yard. And we’ll be having our fun on a pile of twenty-dollar bills.” I kissed her, and it was like kissing a piece of ice. “That’s my girl! Now you run along and turn yourself into Marilyn Monroe or somebody, and I’ll go look after the kid.”

She went into the john and shut the door.

I walked out to the garage. I went inside and shut the overhead behind me, turned on the light.

The kid was still lying on the seat, wriggling around and whimpering. When she heard me come in, she began to get louder.

I climbed into the back seat and lifted her so that she was sitting up.

“Listen, kid,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

She nodded.

“Then stop crying, will you? Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’ll be all right.”

She made some sounds under the handkerchief and I could tell she was trying to say something like, “I want my Mamma.”

“Of course you want your Mamma,” I said. “And I’m going to take you back to her. In just a little while. But you’ve got to behave. No more crying, understand?”

She didn’t nod or anything, but she quieted down. I could feel how warm she was, sitting next to me like that.

It made me feel funny all of a sudden. I looked at her, and she was a mess. Hair all tangled, and this handkerchief over her eyes and another one over her mouth. Her blouse was torn, too. I reached down and looked at her hands. They were white and cold. They’d tied the rope pretty tight. Come to think of it, it must of been pretty bad for her, all this happening so quick. She was awful skinny. I noticed that again.

“Look, kid,” I said. “I’m fixing this rope so it’s a little looser. It won’t make your wrists sore then. That okay?”

She jerked her head up and down. I reached over and untied the knot, then tied it again after I moved the rope up a little. Her wrists were all red where it had cut in.

“That’s better now, isn’t it?” I asked. “See, nobody’ll hurt you if you behave. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll come out after a while and bring you some supper.”

She nodded again. She was getting the idea.

“Meanwhile,” I said, “why don’t you just lay down on the seat here and go to sleep? I’ll go and fix supper—don’t you worry, the door’ll be closed and nobody’s coming in to bother you. Just lay down and pretend you’re at home in your own bed. That’s a girl! Here, I’ll put this blanket over you. Now, go to sleep.”

Hell, you’d think I was saying goodnight to my own kid or something. But she lay down without a peep out of her, and I got out of the car and closed the door.

I went back into the house and turned on the radio, soft. Mary was still in the john, and I could hear water running in the bath tub. I knew there was a 4:45 news broadcast, and I wanted to hear it without her listening.

It came in fine and clear.

“Good afternoon, everyone. This is Arch Wesley and the news. Today’s biggest headline comes from Washington, D.C., where top government officials announced this morning that—”

I switched the radio off again. I knew the pattern. Any big local story always was announced first. They hadn’t sent out a report on the kidnapping yet. Or notified anyone that the kid was missing. I kept forgetting they hadn’t had time to get that letter. Right now, it seemed as if this had all started days ago.

Anyway, it was all right.

I went out to the kitchen and monkeyed around in the icebox, looking over the groceries I’d brought out. Then I got out the frying-pan and set the table. I had bought some steaks, but I figured it would be easier to fix hamburgers right now. Easier to feed them to the kid, that is.

Just about the time I was ready to get rolling on the cooking, the bathroom door opened and Mary said, “Did you go out there?”

“Sure,” I said. “And everything’s all right. I loosened her wrists for her and she stopped crying. She even went to sleep.”

“That’s swell.”

“Sure it’s swell. Stop worrying, Mary. How you feel now?”

“I took a bath, a hot bath. Now I feel better.”

“Of course you do.” I walked over to the door. “That’s good for you, makes you relax. Did you fix your hair?”

“I’m just letting it dry before I put it up. It should be all right by tonight.”

“Everything’ll be all right by tonight. I’m getting us some supper ready. Nothing more to worry about. We’re okay, the kid’s okay.”

The minute I said it, I felt better. It made her feel better, too. All the panic was gone, and nothing was left but a sort of excited feeling. The same feeling you get when you’re sitting in on a big poker game, and you’re playing your hand close to your belly because you know you’ve got a cinch, you’re bound to win.

“Let’s see how your hair looks,” I said.

“It isn’t ready yet. I haven’t got any clothes on.”

I opened the door. She was standing by the wash bowl, looking in the mirror and trying to put in some curlers or whatever you call them.

“Say, that’s nice,” I told her. “I always did like blondes.”

“You really think it looks good?” She turned around.

“You know what I think?” I walked right up to her.

“Steve, let go, what if somebody—”

I kissed her, hard. “There’s nobody around,” I said. “Nobody but us. The two of us, together, from now on in.”

And all at once it was true, there was just the two of us in the whole world, the two of us with all that tightness inside, fighting to get out. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

It was pitch dark when I went back to the kitchen again. She fixed her hair and I made the hamburgers.

“Go ahead and eat while they’re still warm,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I got one of those little cardboard cartons with a half pint of milk in it, and I put a hamburger on a plate and a cruller.

“This ought to hold the kid,” I said.

“Make sure she drinks all her milk,” Mary told me. “Then maybe you can bring her in. It’s dark enough now. She probably has to go to the bathroom.”

I nodded and went out.

I went into the garage and switched on the light. I had to set the food down on the floor, first, and when I got the light on I stood up again and something hit me in the back.

I jumped about a foot, and then I noticed it was only the car door, swinging open against me.

It was only the car door, but it was the
rear
door.

I turned around and saw how it was.

What had happened was that she had her hands looser than before, and could use them. She couldn’t untie the bandage or the gag, but she could reach out and find the door handle and open it.

Only thing is, she was still blindfolded and didn’t know where she was going. So the door came open, and she must of leaned against it and slipped.

That’s why she was lying there on the cement. She’d fallen straight out on her head. There was no blood or anything, but I could tell what had happened from the way her neck was bent.

Even before I reached down to turn her over, even before I felt her, all cold and with her head dangling like a chicken’s, I saw how it was, knew what had happened.

She was dead.

Chapter Ten

I
didn’t do anything, then.

There was nothing I
could
do. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t think, and it was hard enough just trying to keep from passing out.

She was dead.

And that meant—

I leaned against the wall and tried to figure out just what it meant.

Then the answer came to me.

Nothing.

It meant nothing. A minute before I was ready to scream, run away, bat my head against the concrete, all kinds of crazy things. Now I was calm again. Because it meant nothing, if I stayed calm.

The kid was dead. But the ransom note had been sent, and they’d pay up. The only difference was that now they wouldn’t be getting their kid back. Too bad, but that’s the way the ball bounces sometimes. Hell, I didn’t kill her. I was bringing her some supper.

And it didn’t matter either way, as far as the law was concerned. They’d hang me if they caught me, either way.

Only they wouldn’t catch me. Not if I stayed calm, and just played the hand out.

It would be a little different hand, but I still held all the cards. For one thing, I’d have to figure out what to do with the body. That wasn’t good—but I’d hit on something.

The next problem would be handling Mary and Specs. I couldn’t let them go overboard on account of this thing.

I’d just have to figure things one at a time, now. And there was no sense rushing.

So I lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the butt. That helped a little. But it was still bad, having to pick her up and put her back on the seat. I managed to do it, all right, and I covered her up. She looked like she was sleeping.

That’s what they always say at funeral parlors. “She looks just like she was sleeping.” I tried to think about something else. The first step now was Mary.

I dumped out the milk and the hamburger, closed the car door, turned out the light, went outside. I made sure the garage was locked tight.

Then I came back into the kitchen.

“Where’s Shirley Mae?”

“I just finished feeding her. She fell asleep right away. The poor kid’s plenty bushed, I guess.”

“But aren’t you going to bring her in and put her to bed?”

“She’s fine right where she is. Got a blanket over her and everything.”

“Hadn’t I better make sure?”

“You sit right there.” I pushed her down in the chair. “How often do I have to tell you before you get it through your head? She mustn’t see you or hear you. So you don’t go out there, see? And you don’t bring her in here, either. That way there’s no chance of a slip-up.”

“But the poor little thing—”

“She’s fine, I tell you! You’ll be the one to feel sorry for, if they ever heard her say you were out here.”

“All right, Steve. Here, eat your meat.”

“I’m not hungry. Guess I’m too tired.”

Tired wasn’t the word for it. But I didn’t want to eat, and I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to think. I’d have to do a lot of thinking between now and tomorrow noon when I called Specs.

She cleared away the dishes and I sat there, smoking.

“Gee, it’s quiet out here in the country.”

“Don’t bother me—I’m trying to think.”

She came over and stood behind my chair and put her arms around my neck.

“Poor lover. He’s so tired.” For a minute I almost felt good again; it was sort of like having your old lady around when you’re a kid and hurt yourself.

Then I wanted to laugh, or cry or something, because she said, “Don’t worry, Steve. I know how you feel, but everything’s going to be all right.”

That was a hot one. Now
she
was cheering me up! If she only knew—

But she mustn’t know. Not yet. It’d drive me nuts, spending the night out here with her alone, if she knew. I had to keep her busy. And then I remembered.

“Holy cow!” I jumped out of the chair. “Now I know what I was trying to think of. We almost forgot something.”

“What?”

“That letter. You got to write a letter, right now. To the Warrens. For me to send to New Orleans to be mailed. Remember?”

“Yes. You got any paper, envelopes and things?”

“Sure. I brought some in my suitcase. You can use your pen. Wait, I’ll go get you the stationery.”

I found it and came back to the kitchen.

“Oh, Steve, I don’t know what to write.” She made a face. “I’m no good at writing letters, anyway. And I’m afraid they’ll figure out it’s a lie.”

“Not if you’re careful. That’s the whole reason for doing it in the first place—so they won’t suspect you. Now sit down there and get your pen out. I’ll tell you what to say.”

She spoiled three or four sheets of paper, but we finally got it done. This is how it read:

Dear Mrs. Warren:

I am writing this so you won’t worry about me. You know what happened the other day. It was just awful. One minute we were walking along and the next minute this car pulled out of the alley near the school and a man pointed a gun at me and said to get in or he’d shoot.

Maybe I should have yelled or tried to run, but I was afraid he might really do something and hurt Shirley Mae. So I got in and then he hit me over the head with the gun and I guess I passed out.

The next thing I knew we were riding along somewhere and he pushed me out of the car and said to get going and if I told anybody I’d be killed.

I was so sick and dazed I couldn’t think straight. He let me out way uptown, near the bus station there, and all I could think of was I had to get away. I am so ashamed now, but that’s what I did. You paid me in the morning, so I had $45 and another $30 of my own in my purse. I just went in the bus station and asked when the next bus left going south.

There was one in about ten minutes, so I took it as far as Chicago, and then I took another bus to New Orleans. By the time you get this letter I will be moving along. Maybe to California, where my aunt lives.

I am sorry now I ran away, but I just couldn’t stand coming back and telling you what happened, or getting mixed up with the police.

I sure hope Shirley Mae is back home safe by now. I will read the papers and see what happened. In case they have not caught the man who did it, here is what I remember and you can tell the police.

He was driving a blue Ford with white sidewalls. He was dark complected and bald headed, about fifty I guess, and he talked sort of broken English. But he did not look mean or cruel and I don’t think he will hurt Shirley Mae. I think he just wants money. Anyway I sure hope they catch him.

Mrs. Warren, I am sorry about everything. You folks always treated me nice, and I loved your little girl so much. If whoever did it wants a ransom, I have $500 in Downtown Savings and Loan. Take this letter and tell them to let you have the money and you can put it toward the ransom if that will help. Maybe some day when it’s all over I will come back just to see Shirley Mae. I hope you are not angry and realize this was not my fault.

Yours sincerely,
Mary Adams