Vanished

“Sure.” Officially, the way things had worked out, John was there to help the prosecution. But he was actually there to help all of them, by finding Teddy.

“Can we go somewhere quiet for a few minutes?” He left Charles then, to be taken back to jail, and followed Taylor to an empty office.

“What you got?”

“I'm not sure. But I think it's a good one.” He explained the source to him, and what the man had said. “He's scared out of his mind. He took the dough from whoever left it for him, and he's an accessory now, or at the very least he'll get an obstruction of justice. He's got a record an arm long, the guy's on parole, and he's scared shitless to come forward.”

“At least he's not dumb. Who is he? Maybe I know him.”

“You probably do. But you've got to guarantee me amnesty for the guy if I tell you.”

“I can't guarantee you shit, Armour. But I can guarantee you I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't share what you've got with me. We're not just protecting your client's ass here. We're looking for a four-year-old boy, who may or may not be dead by now, and if he isn't, he's in one hell of a lot of dan-

“I know that, dammit. But you can't blow my source. He also thinks the boy is still alive. You've got to promise me you're not just going to go and nail him.”

“I'm not going to nail him. I want to talk to him. If you want, you can come with me. Who is he?” Armour was still worried he was going to get the guy in trouble.

“His name is Louie Polanski,” Tom said hesitantly, praying Taylor wouldn't bust him.

“Louie? Louie the Lover? Hell, Louie and I go back years. I sent him to the joint fifteen years ago when I was a kid myself … I saved his life. His mob buddies were trying to kill him then, and we gave him a nice cozy cell and protection for about five years. He loves me.” John Taylor was actually grinning.

“Are you serious?” Tom looked startled by the story.

“He'll talk to me. I swear it.” And when Tom called Louie again, he was waiting by the phone, and he agreed to meet with Tom Armour and John Taylor.

They met at one o'clock in an Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village, it was run by the mob and had been a speakeasy for years, and Taylor knew it well, although it was new to Tom Armour. The man they met was short and obese, bald, and sweating profusely. He was a nervous wreck when he talked about what he'd done, but he actually seemed genuinely pleased to see John Taylor.

“I never shoulda done it. It was crazy. But it was so damn much money, and it sounded so easy.” And it had been. Until now.

Taylor looked at Tom. “Who the hell would have paid him that much to frame Delauney? Somebody really has it in for your client.”

“I wish to hell I knew who,” Tom said sourly.

“The word is, the kid's still alive, but I don't know where, or who's got him,” Louie said in a whisper, glancing over his shoulder.

“What makes them think so? Can you find out?” Taylor was suddenly all business.

“I'll ask. But I think someone's keepin' it real quiet. There's a lot of money changed hands, and they must have hired good ones, because no one's talkin'.” Except for Louie, thank God. Taylor found himself praying that Louie's pals were right, and that Teddy was still living.

“You have any idea where he is? Any hint? Any clue? Anything we can go on?”

“Maybe he's already out of the country.” They had thought of that. But for months they had held a tight rein on the ports and the airport, and even the frontiers into Canada and Mexico. They had closed down everything tight, until very recently. By now they figured that Teddy was either dead, or no one was going to try moving him out of the country. But that suddenly made John wonder. The pressure on the ports had been lightened only the week before. It was worth another look. He looked at Louie with an interested expression.

“You just gave me an idea, Louie. I love ya.”

“Yeah? Then what are you gonna do for me? Listen …I'll give the money back … I only spent ten grand. You can have back the other forty. Give it to the FBI, Christ, give it to the judge. But shit, I don't wanna do more time for a lousy pair of kid's pajamas.”

“Tell you what.” Taylor looked at him seriously. “If we find anything, I'll make a deal for you for helping us find the kid. If we don't find him, you could be in deep shit. But I'll do what I can. I'll call you.”

“Yeah … let me know …” Louie the Lover looked nervously at Tom, and John Taylor went to make a phone call.

“Thank you for talking to us,” Tom said quietly. “This could mean my client's life.”

“Yeah,” Louie smiled nervously, “and my ass. But … eh … I don't like to see people hurt a kid. Stinks. You know what I mean. Like the Lindbergh thing. I was in the joint then, doing time for a little bank robbery. Made me sick, guys like that …killing a baby.”