The Seven File

Three

At midnight a black sedan pulled up and parked on the east side of Second Avenue, a few doors below Thirty-first. Grant was at the wheel, hat brim low across his forehead, a cigarette gleaming in the dark triangle of his face. Belle huddled close to him, the collar of her bulky opossum coat turned up about her throat; the night was cold and a sharp wind churned through the empty, silent streets.

Duke sat behind them, leaning forward, and only the sharp glint of his eyes was visible in the darkness.

“I got a minute after twelve,” he said quietly. “How about you?”

Grant raised an arm and looked at his watch. “That’s it. We’ll be around front in just ten minutes.”

They had timed this operation as carefully as possible, estimating to the half-minute how long it would take Duke to reach the nursery in the Bradleys’ home, to bring the child down to the sidewalk on Thirty-first Street. It was necessary to rendezvous on Thirty-first Street; the lane that ran behind the Bradleys’ brownstone was not wide enough to admit a car.

Grant shifted and stared at Duke. “You all set?”

“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Duke said. His smile was a vivid slash in the darkness. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Sure, sure,” Grant said in a light sharp voice. “Get started.”

Duke left the car and walked rapidly toward the narrow lane that passed behind the Bradleys’ home. He wore a black leather windbreaker and a black scarf wrapped tightly about his throat. In spite of his limp he moved swiftly and silently, and only the white flash of his face was visible in the dark stretches between the yellow street lamps...

In the car Belle lit a cigarette and Grant looked at her and swore under his breath. “You have to smoke now?” he said. “You can’t wait till we’re on our way?”

“What’s the matter, Eddie?”

“I asked you a question. Can’t you wait till we—” Grant wet his lips and stared through the windshield at the wide dark emptiness of Second Avenue. Only an occasional truck rumbled past them, and the sidewalks were deserted. “You’ll have your hands full with that baby pretty soon,” he said.

“I’ll be through with this cigarette by then,” she said.

“Okay, okay.” He wished she wouldn’t quibble about things; he wished she would do as he told her and shut up; and he wished his nerves were in steadier shape. It had come as a surprise, this sudden jittery conviction that something was going to slip. There was no reason for fear; the plan was sound, its details had been checked painstakingly and he had no serious doubts about Duke or Creasy. So why was he worried?

She laughed softly. “Eddie, you’re a funny guy. Until tonight I’d of sworn you didn’t have a nerve in your body.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It happened right after supper, didn’t it? I saw you get a funny look on your face. It came real suddenly, as if you’d just woke up in a strange place and didn’t know where you were. And were afraid to turn your head to see what was behind you.”

“You got some imagination,” Grant said, trying to make his voice flat and bored. “Stop thinking so much about me. You packed everything for the baby? And did you put my cable exerciser in the grip?”

“Yes, of course. Everything is perfect.”

It happened right after supper, didn’t it? She was right, of course. That’s when it had hit him, the weakening fear that he was risking his life in this deal — literally his naked vulnerable body. That wasn’t true in other jobs; you risked your freedom for ten years, say six with good behavior thrown in, but in a kidnaping there was nothing but the chair. Grant looked at his watch and saw that seven minutes had passed. Duke must be in the nursery now! He cleared the dryness from his throat and started the motor. “We’ll go around the block,” he said, keeping his voice soft and quiet. “If everything’s okay he should be waiting for us.”

There was no parking space near the Bradleys’ home, Grant saw. Cars were lined bumper to bumper on both sides of the street. And there was no sign of Duke. But they were a good two minutes ahead of schedule. He double parked three doors from the Bradleys’ house, and cut the motor and the lights. Silence and darkness closed about them; along the block only a few windows showed yellow squares against the night.

Grant watched the double doors of the Bradleys’ home, prepared to turn the ignition the instant they swung open. In his mind he could see the sequence vividly — the opening doors, then Duke’s dark figure, bulky with the child in his arms. And he could almost feel his own arms and legs moving as he drove slowly to meet them. And in his imagination he could hear the smooth roar of the motor as they picked up speed and disappeared into the dark...

But the door remained closed.

“He’s late,” Grant said, willing the door to open.

Three minutes passed away — three minutes in which each second died separately and slowly.

“Duke said a minute after, didn’t he?” Grant turned to Belle, his voice strangely high and sharp. “Not a minute before, was it?”

“You both had your watches set at a minute after,” Belle said.

In the rear vision mirror Grant saw a car turn into the block off Third Avenue. A red rectangular light gleamed on the roof of the car above the windshield.

“Christ!” he said softly.

“What is it?” Belle looked at Grant and saw the blisters of sweat that had suddenly broken out on his forehead. “What is it?” she said again, reaching for his hand.

“A squad car.” He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close as the light from the police prowl car swept up to them. “If they stop we’re just saying good night, see?”

But the police car didn’t stop. It went by slowly, the driver glancing at them without expression, his face hard and young under the shiny visor of his cap.

Grant took his arm from Belle’s shoulders and watched the squad’s red taillight until it disappeared at the intersection of Second Avenue. Then he said softly, “Next time around those jokers will stop and ask questions.”

He wet his lips and looked at the closed door of the Bradley home. “I had a feeling something would slip.”

“He’s only six or seven minutes late,” Belle said.

“We’ll go around the block, once more,” Grant said. “Just once.”

“What do you think happened?”

“How the hell would I know?” Grant said, as he let out the clutch.

The circuit took two minutes. As they came down Thirty-first Street for the second time, the car rolling slowly and quietly, Grant saw no sign of Duke; the steps and sidewalk in front of the Bradley home were empty. And then, as he gunned the motor, a shadow moved between two parked cars and Duke stepped suddenly into the glare of the headlights.

He was alone — Grant saw that as he pressed his foot powerfully against the brake. The car stopped short, swaying on its springs, and Duke limped toward them, his eyes bright and reckless with excitement.

“Get in!” Grant said. “Get in, damn you.”

“No, I’ve got to go back inside.”

“Are you crazy?” Grant’s voice rose suddenly. “Get in, I tell you.”

Duke caught his shoulder with a huge hand. “Now listen,” he said sharply. “Shut up and listen. The nurse woke up. She was sleeping in the room beside the nursery. I—”

“Stay here if you want,” Grant said, staring into Duke’s hard, dangerous eyes. “I’m clearing out.”

Duke tightened his grip on Grant’s shoulder. “We got time, Eddie. The nurse is out cold. She’ll be out for ten minutes. Relax, for God’s sake.” He glanced up and down the dark sidewalks then, still holding Grant by the shoulder, and finally he swung his eyes over the dark windows in the building across the street. “We got time,” he said, in a low, insistent voice. “We look all right. I’m just a guy saying good night to some friends. Listen to me, will you?”

“Did the nurse get a look at you?” Grant asked.

“No, I took her from behind,” Duke said. “She didn’t see anything.” He looked past Grant and Belle. “You’ve got to come back with me. We’ve got to take the nurse and the kid. I can’t handle it alone.”

“Have you flipped?” Grant said, jerking free from Duke’s hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We’re taking them both, Eddie,” Duke said. He was grinning but his eyes were cold and ugly. “If we leave the nurse she’ll blow a whistle on us when she comes around. And that will louse up the whole deal. But if we take her with us and the cops get into it, they’ll blame the job on her. Don’t you see that?” His voice suddenly hardened. “Damn it, what’s the matter with you? We ran into trouble. Does that mean we chicken out? Are you kids or grownups?”

Grant wet his lips and glanced at Belle. She looked lonely and frightened, her eyes large and shiny in the darkness. This was what he’d feared and expected; some freakish development that would make all their planning worthless. The conviction of disaster had become a superstition with him; a certainty based on emotions impervious to logic or reason. “Okay, get moving,” he said to Belle. “It’s okay.”

“But, Eddie—”

“It’s okay,” he said, but he knew that was a lie. They were acting impulsively, improvising to circumvent trouble, and he knew this was no good. “You go with Duke,” he said.

When Belle hesitated he said sharply, “Get moving,” and at that she opened the door and walked around the car. In the glare of the headlights he saw the fear in her pale face. Duke took her arm and said to Grant, “Ride around for ten minutes. We’ll be ready by then.”

Grant let out the clutch and when the car moved away Duke said to Belle, “Come on. We got to work fast...”

Everything was as he had left it, Duke saw, as he entered the nursery. The baby was in her crib, the nurse lay on the studio couch against the wall and the air was heavy with the nauseating smell of ether. A blue night-light cast a soft glow over the room, touching the smiles of big-eyed dolls, gleaming on brightly colored picture books and pull-toys. It was a charming room, warm and scented, luxurious with satin-smooth blankets and big cuddly pillows.

Duke said quietly, “The nurse’s room is upstairs. Pack a grip with her things, enough to last her a week or so. Don’t forget jewelry, perfumes, letters. Personal stuff.”

“Will she need all that?” Belle stood close to him, speaking in a nervous whisper. She was staring at the nurse’s slender figure, at her black hair spread in disorder against the pillow.

“Make it look like she planned to leave,” Duke said, still very quietly. “Go on now, Belle. And hurry.”

When Belle tiptoed from the room, Duke sat on the couch and studied the girl’s pale face. She was breathing slowly and heavily, moving her head from side to side in confusion and pain. In the glow of the night-light he could see the fine softness of her skin. She was smaller than he remembered her. Actually she was more girl than woman, with a tiny waist and small but promising hips and breasts; it was the way she held herself and walked that gave an illusion of height. She wasn’t just pretty, he thought, smiling at her shadowed eyes. She was beautiful, hard and fine at the same time, full of breeding and spirit. The kind that needed training and curbing — lots of it. But breaking them in was fun. And then they worked just that much harder to please you. Like his brother, Hank...

He realized that he was wasting precious time. “Okay, wake up,” he said, slapping her cheeks sharply and deliberately. When her eyes opened, when the cords in her throat suddenly went tight with terror, Duke put a heavy hand across her mouth and said, “No noise now. You understand?”

She struggled helplessly against him, arching her slim body against his weight, twisting her head away from the suffocating pressure of his hand.

Duke said quietly, “Cut it out now. You want the kid to be hurt?”

At that she ceased the unequal and pointless fight; her body became taut and rigid under his hand. Only her eyes continued to move; they went back and forth across his face, intent with a sudden new fear and understanding.

“That’s better,” Duke said. “You remember me, I guess. New listen: we’re taking the baby. And we’re taking you. If you do what you’re told the kid won’t be hurt. You understand? It’s up to you whether the kid lives or dies. You got that straight?”

He moved his hand to let her speak. She said, “Yes, don’t hurt her. Please—”

Duke put his hand down, cutting off the sentence. “Okay, that’s smart. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us tonight. You get dressed, get in the car and enjoy the ride. If you make a fuss, we’ll tie you up like a Christmas turkey and put you in the trunk. You won’t like that. You won’t get any circulation in your hands and feet, and there’s not much air back there. After eight or ten hours you’ll be glad to be a good little girl. You understand me?”

Belle came into the room carrying an overnight bag, a sweater, gray tweed skirt and a pair of black sling pumps. “I’ve got everything,” she said.

“Okay,” Duke said. He took his hands from the nurse’s mouth and stared into her dark eyes. “You going to be good?”

Her eyes went to Belle, and then back to Duke. Only the sound of her rapid shallow breathing disturbed the silence of the room.

“Well?” Duke said.

Staring up at him, she wet her lips and nodded slowly.

The cold blue of the Medomak River was on their right as they turned into the narrow gravel-topped road that wound past Hank Farrel’s cottage. They had made two stops since leaving New York; one, on Third Avenue, to post the ransom demand, the second for coffee and fried egg sandwiches several hours later. Now they were eight hours out of New York, ninety miles north of Portland and the sun had already burned away the last of the mists that had hung in thick layers over the land at dawn. It was clean hard country they had been driving through the past two hours, a winter country softening now with spring; thick scrub bushes were touched with bright green and the frozen earth had turned dark in patches, as snow melted and freshets trickled toward the river from the high ground. It was a land of silences and small brilliant ponds, of rocky coast line and forests of squat, salt-bleached fir trees.

When they stopped in the lane beside Hank Farrel’s house no one spoke for a moment; they were held by the silence around them, and the curious sense of distance that pervades coastal lands. Finally Duke stirred and that served as a cue for the others: they climbed from the car then and stared at the house.

It was a snug and tidy salt box, the original structure two stories high and the addition extending out sharply from the level of the first floor windows. Everything about it was spick-and-span; the clapboard was bright with fresh white paint and the windowpanes sparkled cleanly in the sun. From its elevation, the views were dramatic; on one side a vividly green stretch of fir trees sloped down to the tidal river. On the other side there was the winding road, a pond semicircled by forests and finally the peak of another house outlined sharply against the blue sky. The house was a half mile down the road and the nearest village, Williamsboro, was five miles away.

Grant narrowed his eyes against the brilliance of sun, sky and water. He didn’t like the look of this country; it was hard and cold and unyielding. But then, staring around at the silent forest and feeling the desolateness of the area, he began to smile faintly. This wasn’t a pleasure trip, this was business. And for their business this place was perfect. Grant had recovered his confidence and was thinking clearly and sharply again. Their schedule would have to be altered, he knew, but not seriously. Originally he hadn’t planned to make the trip up to Maine; he was to stay in New York and pick up the ransom money. But with the nurse on their hands he had been forced to come along. Belle didn’t drive and Duke couldn’t watch the nurse and the road at the same time. But they could handle her all right now and he would take the train back to New York in the morning. “Let’s get inside,” he said.

Twenty minutes later he stood with Duke in front of the fireplace, soaking up warmth from the blazing pine logs. Duke was pouring rum into two thick mugs on the mantelpiece. They had found the fire laid for them and the bottle of rum on the kitchen table — with a note from Duke’s brother telling them to make themselves at home.

Grant was in high spirits; the lines of tension had disappeared from around his mouth and eyes. The fire was loosening his cold, stiff muscles, and the smell of the strong rum had quickened all of his senses. He glanced around the long, comfortable room, noticing the shelves of books, the small piano, the well-worn rugs and furniture — and suddenly he began to laugh.

Duke handed him a glass of rum. “What’s so funny?”

“It was so damned easy, when you think about it. We walk in and pick up the granddaughter of one of the biggest guys in the country — with no more trouble than you’d have stealing a newspaper.”

Duke glanced at him, smiling faintly. “Sitting out in the car was easy enough, I guess.”

“Let’s don’t argue who was the hero.” Duke’s sarcasm didn’t affect Grant’s good humor. “The thing is we licked this deal. I’ll go back to New York in the morning and arrange to pick up the cash. All you have to do is keep the nurse quiet. That shouldn’t be hard.”

“Just the opposite,” Duke said, grinning.

Grant looked at him, and then turned his eyes toward the low beamed ceiling. Belle had taken the nurse and baby upstairs, and they could hear the click of high-heeled shoes above their heads.

“Be smart,” Grant said. “She’ll play along. She’ll do anything to save the kid.”

“I was thinking about that,” Duke said, and took a sip from his drink.

“I told you to be smart,” Grant said, staring at him. “Leave her alone.”

“Supposing she throws herself at me?” Duke said. He sighed comically. “It might take all my strength, Eddie.”

“Get this straight,” Grant said. “Don’t touch her.”

And then, as Duke grinned at him with easy challenge, a knock sounded on the front door.

For an instant neither man moved; standing perfectly still they stared at each other, their breathing a slow, laboring sound in the silence. Then Grant swore softly and dropped his hand into the pocket of his suit coat.

“Relax,” Duke said, grabbing his arm.

“You said nobody ever came by here.”

“Take your hand off that gun.” Duke’s voice was an angry, insistent whisper. “It’s probably a friend of my brother’s. I’ll handle this.”

Grant swallowed the dry constriction in his throat. The yellow, old-parchment color had faded from his face; in the morning light his skin was a dirty gray. “See who it is,” he said hoarsely.

There was a second knock on the door as Duke limped across the room. “Coming,” he called.

He pulled open the door and the smile stiffened on his face as he stared at the slender sandy-haired young man who stood on the porch. For a few seconds the two men stared at each other in a tense, unnatural silence; they were both smiling, but there was no humor in their watchful, appraising eyes. Then Duke laughed suddenly and boisterously and slapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Talk about surprises. Come on in, kid.”

Turning his head he looked at Grant, who was moving slowly across the floor, one hand deep in the pocket of his suit coat. “Eddie, how about this!” he said. Duke’s voice was big and hearty, but his eyes were alive with dark and unmistakable warning. Laughing, he said, “Eddie, meet my kid brother!”