Rehearsal for Murder

by P. M. Carlson

  “Oh, Daddy, the most awful thing has happened!” Elaine was instantly a little girl again, pouring out her problem. She’d always be Busby’s little girl. And Steve would always be the kid. Guilt twisted inside him; he had to forget his resentments now, to focus on Muffin’s dilemma.

  “Daddy, you’ve got to believe me! Listen, I’ll read the note.” Elaine picked up the paper and recited the ghastly words.

  She listened a moment, then said, “No, of course we haven’t called the police. Because of what the note said!” And in a moment she turned to Steve. “Here, he wants to talk to you.”

  Steve gripped the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Is all this true, Steve?”

  “I’m sorry, especially with your operation, but—”

  “How much cash have you got?”

  “Hundred and two, liquid.”

  “I’ll get the rest. You call the police.”

  “No! The note said—”

  “The police will know what to do. They’re—”

  “I don’t care! The important thing is Muffin’s safety!”

  “Of course it is! All right, I’ll call them. I’ve got connections.”

  “After she’s back! Not before!”

  “Look, Steve, they’ve got specialists. They’ll know that getting her back safely and quickly is the important thing. They’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

  “I know,” said Steve stubbornly. “But that note meant business. If they bumble things even a little, our baby might be hurt.” In the background he could hear Elaine sobbing in Rachel’s arms, and he hated Busby for forcing him to say these things.

  But the old man was obstinate. “You’re more likely to bumble on your own. In fact, I think I’ll come up.”

  “But you can’t travel yet!”

  “Bill was in the medical corps in the Army. When did you get the note?”

  “I don’t know when it arrived. We found it about nine, when we got back.”

  “And you know she was safe at the school at five?”

  “I called them to say someone else would be picking her up. They would’ve said something if there was already a problem then.”

  “Well, we’ve lost a lot of time already. We’ve got to get the police on it now.”

  “Please.” Steve heard the desperation in his own voice. “Elaine is upset enough already. Damn it, so am I! We’re just going to do exactly what they say until we get Muffin back. After that you can call in the FBI if you want. But not yet!”

  “You’re forgetting two things,” said Busby acidly. “First, I won’t let them hurt any relative of mine. I’ll do what’s best for the kid. Second, any kidnapper with half a brain wouldn’t ask you for that much money. It’s not your daughter who was kidnapped, Steve. It’s my granddaughter. And so I’m going to run this show. I’ll be there by noon.”

  “But—oh, damn.” The line was dead. Steve slammed the receiver back into the cradle. Red visions of smashing Busby flooded his mind.

  “Is he calling the police?” Elaine’s hands clenched and unclenched jerkily.

  “Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat. “He’s taking over. Damn, I should have known!”

  “Well, maybe it’s for the best,” Elaine faltered, but her gaze strayed to the note.

  “Look,” said Rachel, concerned but a little more objective. “He’s got the money, right? You can’t do what the kidnappers say without him.”

  “That’s true. Not by tonight,” admitted Steve.

  “So you need him, and he’s going to help but on his own terms. What did you expect?”

  “I expected some understanding of the problem! I mean—what they say in the note—”

  “Well,” said Rachel practically, “it’s clear the police are going to be called. Better deal with that as a given.”

  “That’s right,” said Elaine. “You know how Daddy is.”

  “I sure do.” Steve knew they were right. He’d just have to try to convince the police to stay out of it. Maybe the note would do it. “But what if the kidnappers are watching the house?” he asked. “I’d better call them myself.”

  He was forestalled by the imperious ring of the telephone. Avery Busby again. “It’s all set,” he informed Steve. “Their top specialist will be meeting you at the office at nine.”

  “The office?”

  “Yes, of course. Your house may be under surveillance by the kidnappers. Much safer to talk to them at work.”

  “You don’t think I’ll be under surveillance there?”

  “Look, they know what they’re doing. This Lugano is the top man. Be sure to give him the note and a photo of Muffin. See you soon.”

  Steve hung up and turned to Elaine. “Okay, I’ll do my best to keep them away,” he said to her. “Honey, you’ll have to manage the phone. Okay? In case the instructions come that way. And take care of your dad when he arrives. It’ll be okay to call me if you need me.”

  “Yes.” Elaine nodded.

  “Do you want me to stay?” asked Rachel.

  “Please,” said Elaine. “Unless Bob needs you.”

  “I’ll see him off and come right back.” Rachel heaved herself to her feet and lumbered out.

  Steve went for his tie and jacket. When he returned to the kitchen, Elaine had moved her chair near the telephone and was sitting dry-eyed, clutching Muffin’s fuzzy brown teddy bear. Steve knelt before Elaine.

  “Honey, it’ll be all right. I’m sure it will,” he lied. But the dazed grief in the lovely hazel eyes was beyond the reach of his words. He kissed her tense hand and, miserable, waited until Rachel returned.

  On the way to his office he made plans about how to handle the police. Busby might insist on calling them, but the note had been more than clear: no police. Well, Steve would do what he could to keep them off the trail long enough for Muffin to be safely returned home.

  When Myra Goodwin called to announce a Mr. Lugano, Steve went out to greet him. For a moment he was nonplussed—two men were sitting on the leather sofa waiting, both obviously businessmen in gray pinstripe suits and conservative ties. Steve asked the receptionist, “Myra, where’s Lugano?”

  “Mr. Bradford?” One of the two men stood up. Black hair, tanned skin, alert amber eyes like a lion’s or jaguar’s. “I’m Harold Lugano.”

  “Oh! Yes, glad to meet you.” Steve shook hands.

  “Glad you could work me in today.”

  “Yes, of course.” In spite of himself Steve was impressed; effort and skill had gone into this act. “Do you want to come back to my office?”

  “You know, I hate to admit it, but I had to miss breakfast. Do you suppose we could go out for a bagel and coffee?”

  “I could send out for one, Mr. Bradford,” Myra offered.

  “Yes, why don’t—” A fleeting frown in the amber eyes suddenly jarred Steve’s exhausted mind to comprehension. “No, on second thought, I have an errand to do anyway. It’ll save time to go to the coffee shop.”

  “Great,” said Lugano.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Steve told the receptionist, who nodded, oblivious to the tension in his voice, and returned to her typing and to her cigarette.

  Safely in the bustle of the streets he asked Lugano, “Even my office is suspect, then?”

  Lugano nodded. “I don’t know any details yet, of course, but with young kids, kidnappings generally require inside information. Sometimes it’s a complete stranger who watches the family routine for a while, but sometimes it’s a trusted employee or friend.”

  Steve’s head was pounding. “God, I never thought of that. You just sort of assume it’s an outsider, you know? Listen, do you think we’ll get my daughter back?”

  “If we don’t scare the kidnappers.”

  “Yes! Yes, that’s what I’m worried about. Will anyone recognize you here on the street?”

  “I’ve avoided becoming a household word,” said Lugano with a slight smile. “Here, let’s go in this place.”

  The coffee
shop was just beginning to empty out a little from the morning crush. Lugano paused in the door, then apparently saw what he wanted as two men in a corner booth got up to pay. He headed for the booth and sat facing the main part of the restaurant. Steve slid in across from him. “We’re lucky to find a private table.”

  “Those were my men,” explained Lugano. A waitress arrived, and he paused until they had ordered coffee before saying, “Now, let’s hear the story. Do you have the photo?”

  Steve handed him the picture: Muffin grinning in a frilly spring dress her grandparents had sent her. “That’s the best recent one.”

  “Looks good. She’s two and a half, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” Lugano pocketed the photo. “Do you have any ideas about who might have her?”

  “None.”

  “Does your wife?”

  “Look, Mr. Lugano—I mean, Captain? Or what?”

  “Mister is best.”

  “Okay. Anyway, we don’t know, and we don’t want anyone checking into it yet, because of what the note said. We just want our daughter back!”

  Lugano didn’t answer; the coffee was arriving. When the waitress had gone, he said, “So do we. You brought this note?”

  Steve handed it over. “Here. You see how murderous they are!”

  Lugano read the note and nodded. “I’m sorry to say this is pretty typical. They want to impress you.”

  “You mean they might not hurt her?”

  “I don’t mean that. We have to take them seriously.”

  “Yes, I thought so.”

  “Okay, now tell me how it happened.” Lugano’s notebook was ready.

  “You’ll promise not to go after them until she’s safely back?”

  “I promise not to endanger your daughter.”

  Steve drew a deep breath. “Well, my wife was out of town. Her father was having an operation.”

  “Yes. We heard from her father.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” said Steve grimly. “Anyway, she was only gone from noon to evening, but of course we had to make arrangements about Muffin. We thought it would be easy. Muffin goes to a Montessori school in the Village, below Washington Square.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? Why not something in your own neighborhood?”

  “We’re only thirty minutes away. This school is run by one of Elaine’s old friends, Mitzi Black. Also Elaine is a dancer, and she still studies with a teacher in the Village. So she’d bring Muffin about noon, have her own lesson, and then take Muffin home.”

  “I see. But not yesterday.”

  “No. She brought Muffin in as usual, but then went straight to the airport. Mitzi was going to keep Muffin till five, and I was going to leave work a few minutes early and pick her up myself.”

  “Okay.”

  The hard part loomed now. Steve was determined to keep the clever and efficient Lugano from getting close to the people who had Muffin. Lugano had promised not to endanger her; but there was a surer way. Steve said, “Well, it turned out that I had to run some errands, and there was extra work at the office, and—anyway, a lot of things piled up. Well, our next-door neighbor Rachel had offered to help. Muffin knew her. I hated to impose, but things were getting frantic, so I called her.”

  “I see.” The predatory amber eyes flicked up at Steve.

  “Damn, I feel guilty as all hell! But it seemed okay at the time!”

  “Of course. Take it easy. Guilt won’t help your daughter now. Facts will. What next?”

  “I called Mitzi’s to say someone else would be picking her up. Look, you’re sure you won’t go looking for these people?”

  “I’ll check MO in our files, in case it’s someone we know. I’ll ask cops on the beat if they saw anything yesterday. No questioning neighbors, no stakeouts, no all-points bulletins. Nothing to alert them that we’re interested.”

  “Well …” Steve was still reluctant. Damn nosy Avery Busby. Once Muffin was back they could hunt to their heart’s content. But for now it was best not to mention Maggie and the sitter, Mrs. Golden. Could Lugano find them without Steve’s cooperation? If the detective broke his word and began questioning people, he would get a description of Maggie from the Montessori people, possibly a name, probably not an address or phone number. And if he somehow found Maggie, she could tell him about the pied-à-terre and possibly give him Mrs. Golden’s name. But again, probably no address or phone number. Getting even that far would take time. And until Lugano reached Mrs. Golden, there should be no problem. Steve was convinced that Mrs. Golden was the one who knew where Muffin was.

  Lugano asked, “Did the school know the person who picked up your daughter?”

  “No. Tall, dark-haired, they said. Young. Not Rachel.”

  “Clothes?”

  “I didn’t think to ask. But please don’t ask them! What if one of their people is in on this? We can’t trust anyone, you said.”

  “I told you already, we won’t be interviewing anyone. We cooperate, negotiate if possible, with the kidnappers. What does this Rachel look like?”

  “Dark hair, strong features. Very pregnant.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “She moved next door last year. She and Elaine are good friends.”

  “Okay. Other good friends among your neighbors?”

  “Sure. None that live so close. People we go sailing with and so forth.” Steve frowned uneasily at the alert, poised policeman. “Look, you won’t bother them? If one of them did it I don’t want to upset him.”

  “We won’t go near until your daughter’s back. You might make me a list, though. Now, your receptionist.”

  “Yes. Myra Goodwin.”

  “She’s been with you a long time?”

  “A year and a half.”

  “Knows your routines?”

  “Well...” Dismayed, Steve saw Lugano noting down Myra’s virtues, which suddenly took on a sinister cast. “Look, she wouldn’t do a thing like that!”

  Lugano tapped the note. “People have done stranger things for less money.”

  “Yes. But she’s not tall and dark-haired!”

  “I have to be suspicious of everyone. Sorry. Now, can you add anything to what you’ve told me?”

  “No. I guess I could ask Mitzi more about the appearance of the woman who took her.”

  “You’ve told her not to spread the word that she’s kidnapped?”

  “Of course. She’s a friend of Elaine’s. She’ll cooperate. Unless—do you think she might be involved?”

  “Anything’s possible,” said Lugano, “although a daycare outfit can’t really afford the negative publicity of a kidnapping. I’d think they’d have more than this ransom to lose. We’ll check recent employees of course.”

  “God!” said Steve. “Suddenly everyone looks guilty.”

  “Yes. You have to remember, most people aren’t. Try to get a description of the woman and tell this Mitzi Black to tell people that your daughter is ill or something.”

  “Okay. Damn! Rachel and her husband know too. They were there when we found the note.”

  “They know not to noise it around?”

  “Yes, I guess so. The one I’m not sure about is my father-in-law.”

  Lugano smiled faintly at the bitterness in Steve’s voice. “He’s not stupid. And we did impress on him that loose talk could be dangerous.”

  Steve nodded. Avery Busby was shrewd as well as cantankerous, and if anyone could convince him, it would be Lugano, with his quiet, competent manner. “I’d better call my wife. Make sure she understands she shouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Fine. Now, we’ll be putting a tap on your phone. If the message is a note instead, call me at this number.” Lugano gave Steve a card. “We’ll instruct you on how to respond.”

  “I know how to respond,” said Steve tightly. “We’ll do whatever we have to do to get Muffin back. To hell with your instructions!”

  “I didn’t put that very well,” said
Lugano mildly. “We’ll make suggestions, based on experience. If we’ve been able to identify the kidnappers, we may be able to advise you about what gets them nervous and so forth.”

  “Yes. I see. That would be helpful,” admitted Steve. “Look, Mr. Lugano, I’m not trying to put you down. But I’m damned upset.”

  “Hell, don’t apologize. I’ve got a kid too. We’ll all do our best.” Lugano glanced at his watch. “You’d better be getting back. We won’t leave together.”

  “Okay. Uh, thanks.”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  Steve walked back to his building alone. The early spring sun had erased the last traces of yesterday’s drizzle. He paused at a pay booth to call Elaine.

  She answered on the first ring. “Hello?” Her voice was raw.

  “It’s okay, Lainey, it’s only me. Are you okay?”

  “Steve, hang up! What if they’re trying to get through?”

  “I’ll be done in a second, honey. Just a quick message from the police. Don’t tell anyone about the kidnapping. And make sure Rachel and Bob know not to tell, though I’m sure they know. Okay?”

  “Yes. I see.”

  “We’re all working on it. But the detective said we didn’t want publicity.”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  “I’ll be home early. Though I’d better stay here till lunch so it won’t look suspicious. Call me if they call, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Steve returned to the office to stare unseeing at the papers on his desk. At ten thirty Avery Busby phoned.

  “I’ve arranged for the money. On my way now. Have you heard anything?”

  “Not yet. We’ll let you know the minute we do. Do you want to messenger me the money?”

  “No. Lugano said they might contact me instead of you. He agrees it’s my money they’re chasing.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “I have a man on it here. We’ll have to wait and see what they say. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Right.”

  Steve hung up, unhappy. So what if Busby’s money was what the kidnappers wanted? The note had come to Steve and Elaine. Why did Busby think the next communication might go to him? Self-centered old man. But as usual, they’d have to play the game his way. For a moment Steve daydreamed of breaking loose, defying Busby, besting him; but he pulled his thoughts back from such visions. Getting Muffin back was the most important thing. What was the next step?