Stolen Away

“My dear,” he said, sidling up to her, “you must not cry—if one of those tears drops, I shall go off the case immediately.”

She smiled—at the absurdity of it, I think—and the professor took that as an invitation to slide his arm around her shoulder.

“Child,” he said, “I shall do everything in my power to return your boy to you.” He raised the forefinger of his free hand like a politician making a point. “You’re talking to a man who once won a twenty-dollar prize for submitting to the Bronx Home News the following New Year’s resolution: ‘That I shall, to the best of my ability, and at all times, help anyone in distress.’”

“Uh, really,” Anne said.

“I swear it is true,” he said gravely.

Lindbergh delicately moved Anne out of Condon’s grasp, and the professor said jovially, “Look at the Colonel, here! I believe he’s jealous of an old fellow like me!”

Anne laughed nervously. “Good night, Doctor,” she said. “Good night, Henry. Nate.”

Lindbergh walked her to the stairs.

When he came back, he said, “Thank you, Professor—my wife hasn’t laughed since the night they took Charlie.”

Condon bowed again; he was just in front of me, and you don’t know the restraint it took, not kicking him in the ass.

“I’m afraid I can’t even offer you a comfortable bed,” Lindbergh said. “Every bedroom in the house is taken.”

“I quite understand.”

“If you can manage camp style…?”

“Perfectly.”

“Henry,” Lindbergh said, “take the doctor up to the nursery, if you would. That cot Nate was using is still up there.”

Breckinridge nodded and ushered the professor upstairs.

“Nate,” Lindbergh said, quietly, taking me by the arm, “do you mind staying over?”

“No. Technically, it’s been morning for several hours now.”

“If I round up some blankets for you, will you sleep in the nursery?”

“Keep an eye on that pompous old goat, you mean?”

“Something like that. I think he’s sincere.”

“He’s also a pain in the ass.”

“Most people are. Would you share quarters with him, just for tonight?”

“Sure.”

When I entered the dark nursery, some light from the hall fell in and revealed Condon on the floor on his knees in his long johns with his hands wrapped around the rungs of the crib. His voice boomed through the room.

“Oh great Jehovah, by Thy grace and that it may redound to Thy credit and that of Thy immortal Son, I swear that I shall dedicate my best efforts and, if necessary, the remaining days of my life, to helping these unfortunate parents.”

He knew I was standing there, as he continued.

“Let me do this one great thing as the crowning act of my life. Let me successfully accomplish my mission to the credit of Thy Holy Name and that of Thy Divine Son. Amen!”

He stood. He turned to me. “Detective Heller. I did not see you there.”

“Right.” I had an armful of blankets and a pillow. I tossed them in the middle of the room. “Make yourself a pallet, gramps. The cot is mine.”

He did that, and was asleep before me; even his snoring seemed pompous.

When I woke up in the morning, he was dressed and at the toy chest by the window, going through it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped.

It frightened the old coot; he jumped, turned around and said, pointedly, “I find your language most offensive and if you don’t refrain from such talk, we might have to resort to fisticuffs.”

I went over and looked him right in his watery blue eyes. “I said, what the fuck are you doing?”

He had a wood-carved elephant in one hand. “I’m looking for a toy or some other item that the child might be able to identify as his.”

There was a knock at the door behind us and we both turned; Lindbergh peeked in.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s eight o’clock. We’d like you to join us for breakfast.”

“I’d be honored,” Condon said, clutching the toy elephant.

Lindbergh, as before, stayed in the doorway of the nursery; he looked casual and neat at once, wearing a pair of old gray trousers and the leather flying jacket over a darker gray shirt with a tie.

I was standing there in my underwear. “He wants to borrow that toy elephant. For identification purposes.”

Lindbergh seemed confused by that.

Condon held up the wooden elephant. “When I’ve succeeded in establishing personal contact with the kidnappers, I shall ask to be taken where the baby is being kept. I shall show the baby this toy, and watch for his reaction.”

“He can’t say ‘elephant,’” Lindbergh said, quietly. “He says ‘el-e-pent.’”

“Splendid! I’ll ask the child to name this toy, and will know what response to expect! In that way, it will be impossible for them to confront me with the wrong child and deceive me.”

I was getting my clothes on while this brilliant dissertation was delivered. As far as I was concerned, you could deceive this clown with a dime-store doll.

“Take it with you, by all means,” Lindbergh said.

“I’ve already taken the liberty of removing two other items,” Condon said. “I’d like your permission to keep them—two safety pins that secured the blankets under which your son slept, to the mattress.”

“I don’t see why you’d want…”