The Kidnapper by Robert Bloch

all; maybe it was because I could feel her there with me.
    The next morning we got up late and had breakfast together. Both of us felt pretty good. I watched her close, and she wasn’t nervous or upset today. Once she made up her mind to play along, that was it.
    Or so I figured.
    The car pulled in right after lunch time. Specs jumped out and came running up to the side door.
    “Did you see the paper?” he yelled. “Did you see it? They’re calling in the FBI!”
    “Here, give me that!” I grabbed the paper out of his hand, but it was too late. Mary heard him.
    “Let me see,” she said.
    So I gave it to her. What else could I do? I just sat there, reading parts over her shoulder.
    They’d called the FBI, all right. And the whole damn front page was full of it. Even the governor had to get in his two cents worth about maybe turning the National Guard loose. They were raising a real stink.
    “God, that’s all I been hearing about, down at the shop,” Specs said. “Everybody’s talking about it. I got so sick I went back to the can and heaved my supper.”
    “Well, calm down. We’re all right.”
    Mary turned the page. She started to read something like, “Police are seeking Mary Adams, twenty, a maid in Warren’s employ, who left the school in the company of—”
    I grabbed the paper away.
    “Quit reading that crud,” I said. “It’ll only make you upset.”
    “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” she said. “You knew yesterday. That’s why you wouldn’t buy a paper.”
    “Sure,” I told her. “I knew. So what? No sense filling yourself full of this newspaper malarkey. You got nothing to be afraid of. That letter will clear you and nobody could recognize you anyway. Look at her, Specs—would you know it was the same girl?”
    “No,” Specs said. “She looks real different.”
    “There, you see?”
    “But what about me?” Specs asked. “That’s what I want to know.”
    “What about you? You’re doing all right. And tomorrow, we get the dough.”
    “So soon?”
    “Sure. Why wait?”
    “I thought you figured Tuesday or so.”
    “Quicker the better.”
    “I guess you’re right. Maybe once they get the kid back they won’t care so much.”
    Mary’s mouth opened. I tried to catch her eye, but he saw it.
    “What’s the matter?” Specs asked. “Anything wrong?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Where’s the kid? How is she?”
    “I been meaning to tell you,” I said. “There’s been an—”
    Mary cut in. “The kid’s dead.”
    “What?”
    “You might as well know it. The whole thing. Go ahead and tell him, Steve.”
    I told him.
    “Oh my God!” He looked like he was going to faint in his tracks. “This is awful!”
    “No it isn’t,” Mary said. “If I can take it, you can. We’re all in this thing together.” It was the second time she’d surprised me. “Steve, get him a drink.”
    “I don’t want any drink.”
    “Do you good.” I went out and came back with half a water glass full of bourbon. “Here.”
    “Steve, what we going to do now?”
    “We’re going to do just what we planned. Only we’ll move up the schedule a day or so, do it faster. Tonight I’m going to line up a place where we can tell them to leave the money. Then, tomorrow morning, Warren gets his phone call. He can leave the dough tomorrow night and we’re set. You two don’t have to worry about that part at all—it’s up to me to handle it. All you got to do, Specs, is go back to work tomorrow, just like nothing happened.”
    “Steve, I can’t go back. I can’t.”
    “You got to.”
    “I just can’t. Thinking about that kid, knowing she’s dead—”
    “Shut up and drink your drink!”
    “Steve, I won’t do it. You can’t make me. I’m scared, Steve, I wish I was dead too—”
    Mary came over and stood next to me. I looked at her and she nodded.
    “All right, Specs. You don’t have to go back. But you know what it means—sooner or later somebody’s going to