Recoil

“You know everything, do you?”

Merle didn’t reply.

“Where do you think this is going to get you?”

“I intend to get free of your husband and his pack of animals, Mrs. Pastor. You’re the instrument of that freedom.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe. Would you like coffee? Anything to eat?”

“No.”

“Don’t be stubborn. You’re probably thirsty—drugs do that, of course. There’s a plastic pitcher of ice water on the bedside table there, if you didn’t notice it. If you want anything at any time, just knock on the door. One of us will be outside at all times.”

“How considerate.”

“We’re not going to harm you. I want you to understand that. We may want to sedate you now and then, merely to benefit our own freedom of movement at certain times. Don’t be alarmed when you see hypodermic needles. It’s more humane than tying you up and putting a gag in your mouth.”

“How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“As long as it takes to convince Frank Pastor.”

“Convince him of what?”

“That he’s vulnerable.” Merle stood up. “You’d better try to sleep it off now.”

He left the room; she heard the lock slam home. She tried to think but drowsiness overcame her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

New York City: 6–7 November

1

FRANK WAS A PASSIONATE MAN BUT EZIO HAD NEVER SEEN him in such a towering rage.

The guests had come and waited and gone; the party had been limp and awkward without its guest of honor. Now the children had been sent to their rooms, Ezio’s wife and Ramiro’s were in the kitchen putting loads into the dishwasher, Belmont and Gregory Cestone were in the front room awaiting orders and Ezio sat locked in the study watching Frank pace back and forth like something in a zoo cage, darting savage glances toward the telephone as if willing it to ring.

“Let’s go over it one more time.”

“Frank, we’ve been over it a hundred times.”

“Get Belmont in here.”

“What for? We know everything he knows.”

“Maybe he forgot something.”

“We pumped him half a dozen times. There’s nothing wrong with his memory.”

“Get him in here.”

Ezio got up and went to the door. He crooked a finger at Belmont. Cestone sat near the door looking at the monitor screen. There were two men in the hallway, standing there. No one else; the elevator doors were shut. Ezio said, “Gregory, see if those two guys want some coffee or anything.”

Cestone went out through the foyer. Ezio returned to the study and closed the door. Frank was talking to Belmont: “I want to go over it again. Maybe you’ll remember something else.”

“I’m sure willing to try, Mr. Pastor.”

“I know you are. All right. You dropped her at the beauty parlor at ten-fifteen, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She told you to come back and pick her up in an hour and a half.”

“Right.”

“You got back when?”

“About eleven-thirty. I parked at Fifty-third right at the corner. At a hydrant. I figured at a quarter to twelve I’d pull out around the corner and pick her up.”

“You were just sitting there parked at the hydrant, reading the Daily News, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this guy walked over and tapped on the car window.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you actually see him come out of the beauty parlor?”

“No. He came from that direction.”

“Describe the guy again.”

“Small guy. Kind of wiry, you know, but he looked like he had muscles. Built like an acrobat, sort of.”

“Clean shaven?”

“Yeah. Dark hair, kind of narrow face, little tiny mouth. I never saw him before.”

“What about the clothes? You said he was wearing a dark suit.”

“Black. No topcoat or anything. Just the black suit. I think he had a colored shirt on, yellow or pink or something. He was wearing a tie—I couldn’t say what color.”

“What about his voice?”

“I didn’t notice anything unusual about it. He didn’t have an accent or anything. He talked clear, like a radio a

“Tell me again what he said.”

“He said he was just coming outside, a lady in there asked him to pass a message to me, she said she wanted to pick up something at Saks and she felt like a walk, and would I pick her up at Saks at twelve-thirty.”

“Before you said he asked if it was Mrs. Pastor’s car.”

“That’s right, he asked me that first. And he said the reason she asked him to deliver the message she was under the hair dryer and couldn’t come out.”

“Can you remember any of his exact words?”

“I don’t think so, I’m no good at that kind of thing. I’m sorry, Mr. Pastor. I’m doing my best.”

Ezio said, “We know you are. Nobody’s blaming you.”

Frank was scratching the top of his head through the toupee. “Why don’t we hear from them?”

“Trying to make us nervous,” Ezio said. “Sometimes they do that. They snatch the wife and let the husband spend the night alone, missing her. Then they make the call in the morning. Don’t be surprised if we don’t hear until morning.”

He saw the rage in Frank and he added quickly, “Listen, it’s an occupational hazard. Guys in our business, they know we won’t go to the cops. But you think about all the snatches you heard about people in our business. They usually handle the victim with a lot of care and they don’t hold you up for an arm and a leg. That Galleone kid, what was his name, they took him three-four years ago, somebody out in Kansas City. They called Galleone, they told him to drop twenty kay in small bills. He made the drop, they delivered the kid safe and sound. They don’t mess up the merchandise and they don’t ask for too much money because they know that would bring the whole organization down on them.… That’s all this is, Frank. Tomorrow night, Saturday morning, I bet you she’s home right here in perfect health. You want to try and take it easy.”

“I don’t think you’re reading it right, Ezio.”

“It’s not professionals, Frank. Professionals don’t kidnap people in the first place because the odds are wrong. In the second place nobody in the business is going to mess with Frank Pastor’s wife. So it’s a bunch of amateurs, maybe longhair kids or something, they want some quick money.”

“This guy that decoyed Belmont away from the beauty shop wasn’t any longhair kid.”

“So maybe they’re a bunch of middle-class middle-age businessmen that fell on hard times. Somebody he’s in trouble. I don’t know who they are but I’ll bet you they’re not professionals. It’s not some rival guy trying to put any kind of pressure on you. That leaves amateurs. Amateurs get scared, they don’t want trouble, they take the ransom and give her back safe.”

“Amateurs get scared, they start killing. You know that as well as I do. Don’t try to soft-soap me with reassuring lies, Ezio. I don’t need that crap.”

“I still say they’re not going to hurt A

“I hope to God you’re right.”

2

It wasn’t a phone call. It was a small package, marked Personal, delivered by hand messenger at eleven-fifteen Friday morning.

Ezio signed for the package. Behind him in the foyer Frank said, “That’s probably it.”

“Sure.”

Frank said to the messenger, “What’s the name of your outfit?”

“MRDS. Midtown Rapid Delivery Service.

“Where’d you pick the package up?”

“Forty-second Street Library. The main reading room.” The messenger was an old man without teeth; his jaw chopped up and down like a marionette’s when he talked.

Frank went into his pocket and took out his roll. He peeled off a twenty. “Describe the man who gave it to you.”

The old man gaped at the money. “Well I don’t know as I noticed him all that much. Young man, he was. Not a kid, you know, but young. A little younger than you, anyway.” He laughed, high-pitched and nervous.