The Frumious Bandersnatch by Ed McBain

FBI.
    â€œBarney Loomis,” Carella said. “He’s the CEO of Bison Records. He thinks the perps are going to ask him for the ransom.”
    â€œOh? How come?”
    â€œHer parents are divorced, one in Mexico, the other in Europe. Also, neither of them has any money.”
    â€œState line been crossed here?” Byrnes asked.
    â€œWe don’t know where the boat went after the snatch. Could’ve gone across the river, sure, docked someplace there. In which case, yes, a state line’s been crossed.”
    â€œYou say this girl’s a celebrity?”
    â€œPersonally, I never heard of her, Pete. According to Loomis, she’s the hottest thing around. But he owns the label, so what do you expect him to say?”
    â€œYou think he may have already called the Feds?”
    â€œI have no idea. He wants that girl back.”
    â€œWhat’d you say her name was?”
    â€œTamar Valparaiso.”
    â€œCause here she is now,” Byrnes said, and got up to raise the volume on the television set. “Can you hear this?” he asked Carella.
    â€œI can hear it,” Carella said, and nodded grimly.
    â€œâ€¦from a luxury yacht in the River Harb last night,” a television newscaster was saying. “According to U.S. Coast Guard reports…”
    â€œHow’d they’d get in this?” Byrnes said into the phone.
    â€œHarbor Patrol called them.”
    â€œâ€¦two armed and masked men boarded the River Princess at about ten-fifteen, seizing the talented young singer as she was performing her debut album, Bandersnatch, for a hundred or more invited guests…”
    â€œWhat channel is that?” Carella asked.
    â€œFive,” Byrnes said.
    â€œFour’s gonna sue the city.”
    â€œâ€¦Barney Loomis, who says Bison has not yet received a ransom demand. In Riverhead this morning…”
    â€œThat’s it,” Byrnes said, and lowered the volume. “Sue the city? Why?”
    â€œCause I confiscated a tape of the kidnapping.”
    â€œOoops.”
    â€œIt was evidence. So what do we do here, Pete? Pursue this or phone the FBI?”
    â€œLet me talk to the Commish. I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t know. What I don’t want is for the Feds to use us as errand boys. That’s the last thing I want. Nobody called from them yet, huh?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œLet me see what the Commish advises. I know he won’t want heat later on, anybody saying we dropped the ball prematurely. You’re about out of there, anyway, aren’t you?”
    Carella looked up at the clock.
    â€œHalf an hour,” he said.
    â€œGet some sleep, you may have to come back in. I don’t know how this is gonna fall, Steve, we’ll have to play it as it lays. Call me later, okay?”
    â€œYou coming in today?”
    â€œNo, it’s supposed to be my day off. Call me at home.”
    â€œThere’s the other line,” Carella said.
    â€œI’ll wait. Maybe it’s the Feds.”
    Carella put Byrnes on HOLD, stabbed at a button on the base of his phone.
    â€œCarella,” he said.
    â€œCarella, this is Sandy McIntosh, HPU. You got a minute?”
    â€œYeah, hang on.” He switched over to Byrnes again. “It’s the Harbor Patrol. Am I on the job, or what?”
    â€œStay with it for now,” Byrnes said. “Call me later.”
    Carella switched to the other line again.
    â€œOkay, Sandy, I’m back,” he said.
    â€œThis may be nothing at all,” McIntosh said, “or maybe you can use it. Around nine-fifteen, nine-thirty last night…”
    Â 
    IT WAS NOT often that this precinct caught something as big as a celebrity kidnapping—if, in fact, Tamar Valparaiso was a celebrity and not some figment of a record label’s imagination.
    Neither Bert Kling nor Meyer Meyer had ever heard of her. Perhaps this was not too surprising in Meyer’s