The Kidnappers (8 page)

There was a tap on the door, and Mom stuck her head in. “Mark, have you seen—oh, there you are, Joel. I want you to run down and give this list to Ernie, right away, before he leaves. He's at the service entrance.”

“Okay. Come on, Pink. Then we'll check in with your mom and see if it's okay for you to spend the night.”

“She won't care,” Pink said, following me out into the hallway. “My sisters are having a slumber party tonight. If I'm gone, they can use my room, too.”

On the way through the utility room we helped ourselves to a couple more pastries. They sure were good.

Ernie was in the alley, putting boxes in the trunk of the car. He slammed the lid and looked around as we came out of the building. “Ho. You off to more adventures?”

“No, just bringing you a list from Mom.” I handed it over. He looked at it and sighed, then stuck it in his shirt pocket.

“Care to come along and help me pack this stuff?” he asked, reaching for the door handle.

“No, thanks,” I said, and then I saw it. Parked in the alley, maybe twenty feet away.

The black New Yorker with the fancy emblem on the door.

They call it an alley, but it's really a one-way street behind our apartment building. On the other side of it is another big apartment complex. Parking isn't allowed except temporarily for loading and unloading, but there are usually vehicles there, using the service entrances. There are also Dumpsters, and the garbage trucks pass through to empty them. The cars belonging to residents are parked in an underground garage around the corner.

This afternoon Ernie was preparing to drive off on another errand before he picked up my father. I could tell he didn't want to do any more stuff for Mom, because if he was late picking up the boss, Father wouldn't like it much. Still, Ernie didn't dare insist on doing the errand later, not after Mom had indicated it was urgent.

There was a silver-colored Mercury Montego on our side of the alley, with no one in it. And another car on the other side where nobody was supposed to stop; the alley was to be kept clear so traffic could move on through. I probably wouldn't have paid any attention to the car if it hadn't been stopped in the wrong place.

My heart seemed to stop in my chest when I really
saw
it. A black Chrysler New Yorker, and I knew instantly that it was the car Willie had been dragged into.

I made some kind of gurgling sound, and Pink glanced at me, then sharpened his focus when he saw my expression.

“Joe? What's up?”

“That's it,” I said, sounding hoarse. “That's the car, Pink.”

He saw it then. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Breathing was an effort; I felt as if I were having to pull in air through a kind of plugged-up filter that wouldn't let me get enough.

“You guys change your minds?” Ernie said, sliding into the front of our car. “I could use some help.”

My lips were numb. “That's the kidnap car. Right over there.”

“Huh?” Ernie twisted around to look. “Come on, Joey, this is a hectic day. Give it a rest, okay?”

“It's true,” Pink said, sounding squeaky the way he did when he was under stress. “It's not a story he made up this time. The cops were here and talked to him, and it's true. Willie Groves really is missing—”

I jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “Everything he said was supposed to be confidential, remember?”

Pink died in midsentence. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

Ernie was sitting with the car door ajar, the window rolled down. “No kidding? The cops were here?”

No sense denying it now, I thought. Pink had let it slip. “Yeah, but we're not supposed to talk about any of it.”

“No kidding. I apologize, kid. I thought it was more of your usual baloney. What makes you think the car over there's the one the kidnappers used? There must be a couple thousand Chrysler New Yorkers in the city just like it. You said you didn't get a license number.”

“That emblem on the door's not standard, though. Did you see anybody around that car?”

“Wasn't paying any attention,” Ernie said. “I been busy. Want me to check it out, see if there's anything in it that might be significant? Get the license number?”

He reached over and got a little notebook out of the glove compartment, then brought a stubby pencil out of his shirt pocket and got out of the car.

“This is spooky,” Pink muttered. “Shall we look at it up close, too?”

Ernie was already heading for the New Yorker, and Pink and I fell in behind him.

“What if the driver comes out and catches us?” I wondered aloud. “He can't be very far away.”

He certainly wasn't. Before we were halfway there, the motor in the Chrysler roared to life, and the car jumped forward, right at us. It was those dark windows. The driver could see us, but we couldn't see him.

Ernie yelled something profane and dove sideways just in time. Pink and I threw ourselves behind the Dumpster on the opposite side of the alley.

I was aware of something stinging sharply, and of hitting my shoulder on the corner of the Dumpster, but I was too scared to give it much thought. I landed sprawled in some garbage that had been spilled outside the container, but I was still alive.

Pink was scrambling to his feet beside me, muttering his thoughts about the driver.

Ernie, too, was wiping something off his pants when we rejoined him. The black New Yorker was gone.

“Not much chance of getting a license number when the guy's trying to squash you flat,” he said in disgust. “Looks like you were right, though, kid, about it being the same car. Why else would he try to kill all three of us?”

“I think he was trying to kill Joe,” Pink said, wiping a hand across his mouth. “We just happened to be in the way, too.”

I was shaking, and I couldn't stop. “Twice in only a couple of hours. The time with the taxi wasn't an accident either, was it?”

Ernie was scowling. “You mean somebody tried to run over you before?”

I explained, and his scowl deepened. “I suggest you kids get back inside and stay where there are lots of people. I gotta run, or I'm going to be late picking up your old man, and he'll be ticked.”

He got in the car and drove away, leaving us standing in the alley.

I looked uncertainly at Pink. “Maybe it's not safe for you to hang around me. This guy doesn't care who he runs over, as long as I'm included.”

“You think it was the same guy? Two different cars?” Pink asked. He was as shaken as I was.

“Probably. Although there was a driver
and
another guy who grabbed Willie, so there must be at least two conspirators. And with the yellow cab, there might be a third. It doesn't matter much, does it? Come on, Ernie's right, let's get where there are people.”

There were still plenty of them around. The florists had been allowed to come in the front way, but everybody else was coming and going in the service elevator. For once Mom wasn't on the phone, and she was smiling about the latest delivery.

“It looks beautiful,” she was telling a slim young man who was on his way out. “Thank you so much.”

She turned around and saw us. “Joel, for heaven's sake, what have you got all over yourself? And Pink, too? What have you been doing?”

“Diving into some garbage to keep from being run over,” I told her.

Her alarm made me wish I'd worded it differently, but the meaning would have been the same. “Joel! Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I explained. “Ernie said to come back up here and stay where there are people.”

“I think I should call the police,” Mom said at once, and herded us into the study where it was quiet enough to call.

“They're sending over an officer,” she told us when she got off the phone. “Before he gets here, change your clothes. Don't throw these in the washer or anything,” she added hastily, “because he may want to see them. I'm going to call your father and insist that he come home at once.”

“Ernie's picking him up as soon as he gets the stuff on your list,” I told her. “I'll get Pink some of my clothes.”

We found some more scrapes and bruises, none of them serious. But I couldn't stop shaking. Pink wasn't too relaxed, either.

We had to tell the whole story to Mark and Sophie. Sophie was horrified, Mark intrigued. “Wow! You aren't having to make up much of this one, are you? If he's tried twice to get you to shut you up, Joey, he'll probably try again.” He said it almost with satisfaction.

Sophie was indignant. “You're a lot of help,” she snapped. “Maybe something to drink would calm you both down,” she said to Pink and me.

“I'm not allowed to drink anything alcoholic,” Pink said. “Though maybe my folks would make an exception under the circumstances . . .”

“I wasn't talking alcoholic, silly,” Sophie said. “Hot cocoa, maybe. That's what they gave all of us, that time John Abbott fell through the ice on the pond up at Grandma Charlotte's, and we all thought he'd drowned. Shall I make some?”

“Couldn't hurt,” Pink agreed.

And I added, “Thanks, Soph.”

“He must think you can identify him,” Mark pressed. “Maybe he doesn't want you to find his picture in a mug book, so he wants to finish you off before you can look. Or before you can describe him for a police artist.”

“How does he know I'm supposed to do that?” I demanded, whacking a palm on the top of my dresser. “The police visit was supposed to be secret!”

“He's probably got an inside person, feeding him information. Maybe Junie's his spy,” Mark said, laughing.

“Oh, shut up. We don't need any of your stupid remarks. You don't know what it feels like to wonder if somebody's trying to kill you.”

“I wouldn't
wonder
at this point,” Mark said. “I'd be sure.”

“It's not funny,” I said, and it wasn't. “Go on, get out of here.”

He went, sort of chortling, and Pink rolled his eyes.

“I'm glad I don't have an older brother.”

“I'd be glad to get rid of this one,” I said sourly, opening the closet door. “Here, this ought to fit you. Strip down, and we'll wash the crud off our hands before we get dressed again.”

Pink was examining his arm. “What was it, anyway? It smells awful.”

“Like somebody threw up there,” I agreed as we headed for the bathroom.

It wasn't Detective O'Hara who came this time, but a Detective Phil Osbourne. He was thin, short, blond, with a wispy mustache.

He took all the information, said he'd want to talk to Ernie when he got back, and didn't give us any information about the kidnapping or what might be happening to Willie.

“He didn't act like it was any big deal,” Pink observed after Mr. Osbourne had left.

“I suppose they have to deal with things like this all the time. Probably nothing much gets them excited. Let's have some more cocoa. I've almost stopped shaking, but I still feel cold.”

“Like somebody's walking over your grave,” Pink said solemnly.

For once I was glad when my father came home. It was somehow comforting to know that he was there, and that now he believed what I was saying.

“Can Pink go with us to the police station?” I asked. I could tell by Pink's face that he was dying to go.

“This isn't a game, Joel,” my father stated. “This is serious business, identifying a possible kidnapper.”

“If Joe finds his picture in the mug book,” Pink said eagerly, less intimidated by Father than I usually was, “I could look at the picture, too. I might recognize the guy. I mean, maybe he's somebody I've seen hanging around school or something.”

To my surprise my father seemed to give this serious consideration. “All right. Come along. But if they won't allow you to stay with Joel, you'll have to sit in a waiting room.”

“Great!” Pink said, raring to go.

Mom rested a hand on my shoulder as we started to leave the apartment. “Parnell, you won't let them . . . browbeat Joey, will you? I mean . . . he's only eleven.”

“Why would they browbeat him?” Father asked impatiently. “All they want him to do is pick the man's picture out of their mug books, if he has a past criminal record that's on file. Calm down. If Joel needs a lawyer, I'll call in Dodds immediately. But Joel's a witness, not a suspect.”

Mom still looked anxious. “And you'll be careful, won't you? I don't like the things that are happening. Joey could have been killed.”

“Nobody's going to have the chance to do anything while he's with me,” Father asserted. “Come on, let's get going, so I can get back in time to greet the guests when they arrive.”

Ernie met us with the car at the front door. Sherman held the door for us, smiling at Pink and me after Father had gone past him. “Off on yet another adventure, are you?” he asked.

“To the police station,” Pink said before I could stop him. I gave him a look, and Pink said, “Oh, I keep forgetting it's supposed to be a secret.”

“The most interesting things are secret,” Sherman said, his smile growing deeper. No doubt he thought we were making up a spy mission or some other kind of intrigue.

Father sat in the backseat, the way he always does. I joined him, and Pink sat up front with Ernie.

Father told him where to go, and Ernie said, “Yes, sir.”

We slid out into traffic, which was heavy as usual. Father raised his voice to speak to Ernie. “Did that detective talk to you?”

“Yes, sir, he did. I couldn't tell him much. I didn't see the driver at all, didn't even realize there was anybody in the car until I was halfway across the alley. If I'd approached from the front, I could probably have seen his face. The windshield wasn't dark, of course, like the side windows. I wasn't all that sure Joey was right about it being the kidnap car, but the way the driver acted, I guess the kid knew what he was talking about.”