Bernie called the police at ten o'clock, and they were sympathetic, but not overly worried. Like Bill, they felt sure that Chandler would eventually show up. “Maybe he had a few too many,” they suggested. But at eleven o'clock, when he was near tears, they finally agreed to come and take a report from him, and by then Grossman was getting worried.

“You still haven't heard?” The police were still there.

“No, I haven't. Do you believe me now?”

“Christ, I hope not.” He had been describing to the police what Jane had been wearing, and Nanny was quietly sitting in the living room with him in her dressing gown and slippers. She looked extremely proper and she had a calming effect on him, which was fortunate because half an hour later the police discovered that the license plate he'd taken down was of a car that had been stolen that morning. It was serious now. At least to Bernie. To the police it was exactly what Bill had predicted. Child stealing and no more, a misdemeanor and not a felony and they didn't even give a damn about the fact that he had a criminal record an arm long. They were more upset about the stolen car, and they put an APB out for it, but not for his daughter.

He called Grossman at midnight with that bit of news, and the moment he hung up, the phone rang. It was finally Chandler.

“Hi there, pal.” Bernie almost got hysterical when he heard his voice. The police were gone, and here he was, alone. And Scott had his daughter.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Janie and I are just fine.”

“I asked you where you were.”

“Out of town for a spell. And she's just fine, aren't you, sweetheart?” He chucked her under the chin a little roughly as she stood shivering in the phone booth with him. She had only brought a sweater and it was November.

“What do you mean out of town?”

“I wanted to give you enough time to get the money together, pal.”

“What money?”

“The five hundred thousand bucks you're going to give me to bring little Janie home. Right, sweetheart?” He looked down at her again, but he didn't really see her. “In fact, little Janie even thought you'd like to throw in that fancy watch you were wearing today, and I think that's a great idea. You might even want to throw in another one for my friend here.”

“What friend?” Bernie was frantically thinking and getting nowhere.

“Never mind. Let's talk about the money. How soon can you get it?”

“Are you serious?” Bernie's heart was pounding.

“Very.”

“Never…. My God, do you know how much money that is? It's a goddamn fortune. I can't get you that kind of money.” There were suddenly tears in his eyes. He had not only lost Liz. He had lost Jane. Possibly forever. And God only knew where she was or what they would do to her.

“You'd better get me that money, Fine, or you're not going to be seeing Janie. I can wait a long, long time. And I figure you want her back eventually.”

“You're a rotten sonofabitch.”

“And you're a rich one.”

“How do I find you?”

“I'll call you tomorrow. Stay off your phone and don't call the cops or I'll kill her.” She stood staring at Scott with terrified interest as he said that but he didn't notice. He was concentrating on his conversation with Bernie.

“How do I know you haven't killed her already?” The thought terrified him, it was more than he could bear as he said the words. He felt as though there were a hand squeezing his heart.

At his end, Chandler Scott shoved the phone into her face. “Here, talk to your old man.” She knew enough not to tell him where she was. She wasn't even sure herself. And she had seen their guns, and knew they meant business.

“Hi, Daddy.” Her voice sounded so little and she started to cry the minute she got on the phone. “I love you…. I'm okay. …”

“I'm going to bring you home, sweetheart…whatever it takes … I promise …” But Chandler Scott didn't let her answer. He ripped the phone away and promptly hung up on Bernie.

He dialed Grossman with trembling hands. It was twelve-thirty by then. “He's got her.”

“I know he's got her. Where is he?”

“He wouldn't tell me. And he wants half a million dollars.” Bernie sounded breathless, as though he'd been running, and there was an endless silence.

“He kidnapped her?” Grossman sounded stunned.

“Yes, you asshole. Isn't that what I told you …I'm sorry. What the hell do I do now? I don't have that kind of money.” He knew only one person who might, and he wasn't even sure he did, and certainly not available in cash, but he would try it.

“I'll call the police.”

“I already did that.”

“This is different.” But it wasn't. They were no more impressed than they had been an hour before. As far as they were concerned, it was a private matter, between two men, wrestling over one child they both felt they owned, and the police didn't want to get involved. He probably didn't mean it about the money.

And all through the night. Nanny Pippin sat there with Bernie, pouring tea, and eventually a brandy. He needed it. He was as white as a sheet. And at one point, between phone calls, she looked him directly in the eye and spoke to him as she would have a frightened child.

“We'll find them.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you're an intelligent man, and right is on your side.”

“I wish I were sure of that, Nanny.” She patted his hand, and he dialed Paul Berman in New York. It was almost five o'clock in the morning, and Berman said he didn't have the money. He was aghast at what had happened. But he explained that he didn't ever keep that much cash. He would have to sell stocks, and he owned them all jointly with his wife. He would need his wife's permission to sell and he would also lose a fortune if he sold because the market was rotten. He explained that it would take time if he could even do it. And Bernie knew he wasn't the answer.

“Did you call the police?”

“They don't give a damn. Apparently 'child stealing,' as they call it, is no big deal in this state. The child's natural father can do no wrong.”

“They ought to kill him.”

“I will if I find him.”

“Let me know what I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Paul.” And he hung up.

He called Grossman again after that. “I can't get the money. Now what?”

“I have an idea. I know an investigator I've worked with.”

“Can we call him now?”

There was only a fraction of a second of hesitation, but basically Bill Grossman was a decent guy, just a great deal too trusting. “I'll call him.” He called back five minutes later and promised that the investigator would be there in half an hour. And so would Grossman.

It was three o'clock in the morning as the group assembled in Bernie's living room. Bill Grossman, Bernie, the investigator, who was a heavyset, ordinary man in his late thirties, a woman he had brought whom Bernie couldn't figure out, and Nanny in her dressing gown and slippers. She served tea and coffee to everyone. And she brought Bernie another brandy. She decided that the others didn't need one. They were going to have to stay sober, if they were going to find Jane for them.

The investigator's name was Jack Winters, his associate, the woman, was his wife and her name was Gertie. They were both ex-narcs, and after years of working underground for the San Francisco police, they had decided to open their own business. And Bill Grossman swore that they were terrific.

Bernie told them everything he knew about Chandler Scott's past, his relationship with Liz, his arrests, his time in prison, and his relationship, or lack of it, with Jane. And then he gave them the license plate of the stolen car, and sat back looking at them in terror.

“Can you find her?”

“Maybe.” The investigator had a drooping mustache and a manner which suggested that he wasn't very bright, but his eyes were as sharp as any Bernie had ever seen. And the woman seemed to have the same interesting combination. She was plain but she wasn't stupid. “I suspect he went to Mexico or some place like that.”

“Why?”

His eyes bore into Bernie's. “Just a feeling. Give me a few hours and I'll put some possibilities together for you. You don't have any pictures of him, do you?” Bernie shook his head, and he didn't think Liz had any either, and if she did, he had never seen them.

“What'll I tell him when he calls?”

“That you're getting the money together for him. Keep him busy …keep him waiting …and don't sound too scared. It'll make him think you've got the money.”

Bernie looked worried. “I already told him I didn't.”

“That's all right. He probably doesn't believe you.”

They promised to contact him by the end of the day, and suggested he try to relax while he waited. But he had to ask them something before they left. He hated to ask the question, but he had to.

“Do you think …could he … do you think he might hurt her?” He couldn't say the word kill. It was too much for him by five o'clock that morning. And Gertie spoke to him in a soft voice, as she looked at him with wise eyes. She was a woman who had seen a lot, and he knew it.

“We hope not. We're going to do everything we can to find him before he does. Trust us.”

He did, and they were back twelve hours later. It had been an interminable wait for Bernie. He had paced the floor, drunk more coffee, more brandy, more tea, and finally fallen into bed at ten o'clock the next morning, hysterical and exhausted. Nanny had never gone to bed at all but had taken care of Alexander all day, and was feeding him dinner when the doorbell rang and the investigators returned. Bernie didn't know how, but they had collected a fascinating portfolio of information, and they couldn't have had much sleep either.

They had all of Scott's mug shots and prison records. He had done time in seven states, always for theft or burglary or con games or bunko. He had lots of arrests for bad checks as well, but most of those had been dropped, maybe he had made up the money to the people involved, but they weren't sure and it didn't matter.

“The interesting pattern here is that everything this man does is for money. Not drugs, not sex, not passion …but money. You might say it's his hobby.”

Bernie looked at them mournfully. “I wouldn't call half a million dollars a hobby.”

Winters nodded. “Now he's hit the big time.”

They had checked with his parole officer, because he was an old friend of Jack's, it turned out, and they had hit on the right one the first time around, which was good luck on a Sunday, and they knew where Scott had been staying. He had checked out the day before, and he had said something to someone about going to Mexico. The stolen car had been located at the airport. And three stolen tickets had turned up on a flight to San Diego, and the threesome had been long gone by then, and the stewardess whom Gertie had talked to between flights that day thought she remembered a little girl, but she wasn't certain.

“My guess is that they've gone to Mexico. And they're going to sit on Jane till you come up with the money. And to tell you the truth, I feel better now looking at this guy's record. There's not a single act of violence here. That's something at least. If we're lucky, he won't hurt her.”

“But how the hell do we find him?”

“We'll start looking today. If you want us to, we could be on our way down there tonight. I'd like to start from San Diego and see if I can pick up the trail there. They probably stole another car, or rented one they aren't going to return. They're not as smooth as you'd think. I think he knows he's in no real danger. He's not facing kidnapping charges here. We're talking child stealing—in the eyes of the law, that's peanuts.” Bernie got angry just hearing it, but he knew it was true. And he was ready to do anything to find her.

“I want you to start right away.” They both nodded. They had already made tentative arrangements, in case he said that. “What do I say when he calls me?” He still hadn't.

“Tell him you're working on getting the money. That it may take some time, a week or two. Give us some time to get down there and start looking. Two weeks ought to do it. We should have located them by then.” It was an optimistic assessment but they also had a good description of his girl friend, who also had a record and was on parole and had been living with him at the hotel he had checked out of the previous morning.

“Do you really think you'll find him in two weeks?”

“We'll do our damnedest.” And he believed they would.

“When are you leaving?”

“Maybe around ten o'clock tonight. We have to make a few more arrangements.” They had three other jobs they were working on, but this was the biggest and they had other operatives to take over on the others. “Speaking of which—” He mentioned their fee, and it was a big one, but Bernie wasn't going to quibble. He'd come up with it somehow. He had to.