Stolen Away

Condon’s apple cheeks were a pair of pink balls in his ludicrous smiling face. “I’ll specify that it is to be of five-ply veneer. We’ll use different types of wood in its construction. Maple, pine, tulipwood…and a couple of other varieties. Five different in all.”

“Which will make the box easy to identify,” I said.

Breckinridge looked at me, curiously.

“It’s not a bad idea,” I said, surprising us all.

“Doctor,” Breckinridge said, putting a hand on the old boy’s shoulder. “I’m not unaware of the sacrifice you’re making. I’m aware that members of your family don’t look favorably upon your participation in this case. But some day, I hope, you’ll in some way be rewarded for what you’re doing.”

“I do not expect a small reward for anything I might do,” Condon said, with the usual pomp and circumstance. “Perhaps the reward I intend to ask for is too large.”

I didn’t for one second think Condon was going to ask for dough, though. He was either too square a john or too crooked a one to do that.

He didn’t disappoint me.

“I ask only,” he said, “that when that little baby is recovered, I be the one to place him back in his mother’s arms.”

Breckinridge bought it, apparently; he shook Condon’s hand and said, warmly, “You’ll deserve that. And I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve, Doctor.”

My feelings exactly.

13

The bronze Tiffany clock on the mantel in the dining room of the Condon home chimed seven times. In the adjacent room, the living room, the shades drawn, we sat: Condon, his wife, Breckinridge and me. Tonight the daughter was back in New Jersey, having had enough of this intrigue.

“My friend is a first-rate cabinetmaker,” Condon said, hands on his knees. Then he added, “A Bronx cabinetmaker,” as if that made all the difference.

“This ballot box you’re having duplicated,” I said, “how long will it take your Bronx cabinetmaker to do the job?”

“He promised delivery within four days,” Condon said, as if sharing something miraculous with us. “The cost will be three dollars—materials and workmanship included!”

“Well, that’s swell,” I said, “but suppose they ask for delivery of the dough sooner than that?”

Colonel Breckinridge said, “I hope to God they do. We’ll have the money together by Monday afternoon.”

“Perhaps I should call my cabinetmaker friend,” Condon said, thoughtfully, “and bid him hasten.”

“If they contact us tonight,” Breckinridge said to me, “it will be to arrange the money drop, correct?”

“Probably,” I said. “But you guys did run an ad saying ‘Money is ready’—and it isn’t.”

“But that was the specific language,” Condon said defensively, “the kidnappers required!”

“I know,” I said. “I was here. But you shouldn’t have run it before the money was ready.”

That shut Condon up; and Colonel Breckinridge sank into a gloomy silence.

I’d already had a confrontation with Lindbergh over this earlier, at Hopewell.

“I thought you had the money together,” I’d told him.

We were walking with the leashed Wahgoosh around the barren outskirts of the yard of the house; it was midmorning and windy and cold.

“Frankly, Nate,” he said, “I’m a little strapped for ready cash.”

“Well, hell, your credit’s good—wasn’t your father-in-law a partner at J. P. Morgan’s banking house?”

Lindbergh nodded. “My wife’s mother has offered me the money, but I refused it.”

“Slim! This is no goddamn time to stand on ceremony…”

He raised a hand. “I’ve been liquidating stocks. The ransom’s damn near raised.”

“These are stocks you bought before the crash, huh?”

“Yes.”

“What did they cost you?”

He took a moment or two to answer; without looking at me, he said, “Three hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Which you’re selling to raise seventy.”

He shrugged with his eyebrows. “Actually—fifty. I’m still working on the other twenty.”

The wind nipped at my face. “I had no idea…they really got you over a barrel, don’t they?”

“They do. I hope we can arrange for proof that I’m not being hoaxed…. Nate, I’ve kept you in the dark about it, and for the time being I still have to, but Condon isn’t the only party who can make a convincing case for being in touch with the kidnappers.”

“What?”

“I can’t say anymore right now. I’m looking into these other claims. In the meantime, Condon seems perhaps the most reliable option.”

My eyes rolled like marbles. “If Condon is the most reliable option, God help you with the others.”

He said nothing. We paused while Wahgoosh pissed.

I turned my face away from the March wind. “I heard Schwarzkopf say something about keeping Condon’s house under surveillance, and shadowing him to any ransom drop point.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m glad. There’s hope for Schwarzkopf yet.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve forbidden it.”

“You’ve what?”

“Colonel Schwarzkopf withdrew his proposal to stake out Condon’s house, when I objected.”

“On what goddamn grounds did you object?”

“That it might endanger the safe return of my son.”

What could I say to that? Other than it was fucking nuts. I could only hope Frank Wilson had taken my advice and put Condon under government surveillance. We walked. The dog crapped.