A Child Is Missing by David Stout Read Free Book Online Page B

here, Jerry.”
    They told each other the high points of the last decade or so of their lives. Both were still married to the same women, both had a son and a daughter.
    Graham said his wife was an art teacher. “And what’s Karen doing, Will?”
    â€œDeep into social work. She has her master’s now. She writes articles for journals, does some counseling.”
    â€œGosh, that’s great. Say, I read about that old murder case up in Bessemer. The town is still talking about it, I’ll bet.”
    â€œYou bet right.”
    â€œBut what brings you here, Will?”
    Will sighed. “You remember Fran Spicer? Covered city hall, sometimes the Federal Building.”
    â€œName’s familiar.”
    Will told Graham the basics.
    â€œThat’s a damn shame,” Graham said. “I knew there was a bad wreck the other night. I never connected.… Anyhow, I’m glad the Gazette has you covering this thing. Off the record, I get sick and tired of dealing with smart-ass young reporters.”
    â€œOff the record, so do I.”
    Graham laughed. “Come on, Will. Coffee’s on me.”
    The police station was connected to the Long Creek city government building, which had a small cafeteria in the basement. Will and the FBI man took a corner table. While Graham went to get coffee, Will looked around. Scattered among the clerks and political gofers on break were several sullen-faced cops.
    When Graham returned, Will said, “This isn’t exactly a friendly town.”
    â€œSugar? No, it sure isn’t. It’s got all the ingredients for bad government and bad policing. Decaying tax base, aging population, entrenched political machine, old-fashioned, pigheaded, out-of-work union people. And it’s all tied together, somehow. You saw the police chief.”
    â€œHow is he to deal with?”
    â€œHe’s staying out of my way, mostly. That’s the best I can say. Oh, I suppose he does his best.”
    Will felt refreshed by the coffee, and seeing someone from the old days took his mind off Fran Spicer. Then he thought again how much he would rather be home, and that made him miss Karen and the children, and that reminded him of the kidnapped boy and his parents.
    â€œWhat do you think about all this, Jerry?”
    Graham put down his coffee. “This is one old friend talking to another. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else.” Graham stared into his cup for a long time. At last, he looked at Will and said quietly, “I pray to God I’m wrong, but I think the boy’s as good as dead.”
    â€œJesus.”
    Graham nodded, and for a moment two fathers shared an understanding of something unspeakably horrible and sad. Then Graham’s eyes changed, and Will knew he was the FBI man again.
    â€œI don’t know how much of this you can use, Will. Maybe file it away for … whenever. The fact that the boy has been gone for this long lessens the chances for a safe return. That’s often how it works. The kidnappers panic and, well…
    â€œThen there’s this ransom thing. That first demand, fifty thousand. Such small potatoes, really, if you’re going to go to the trouble of kidnapping someone. So now, days later, there’s another demand. This time for two hundred fifty thousand. It’s like the kidnappers have suddenly said to them-selves, Oops, we’ve been acting like small-time punks here; let’s grow up and act like big-time criminals.”
    â€œAnd that’s a bad sign?”
    â€œI think it is. If these guys planned all this out well in advance, as I think they did, and then ask such a petty amount to start with—that tells me they had to work up their courage to do it in the first place. They really are small-time punks, as the first demand indicates.
    â€œThen it sinks in what they’ve done, and they realize they’ve risked a whole lot for very little. So they want more, a lot