you already - the simplest explanation is usually the best. We checked the security log, and two telephone repairmen checked in to the mansion three days ago. One of our guys just contacted the phone company - and no such team was sent out. The security guard was shot through the head, execution style, and all the indications are that Taylor's been shot, too.'
'Do you have any suspects yet?' Meg asked. 'A home invasion is usually staged by young kids without anything to lose. Except their lives. Most of them don't care about that. Half the time around these parts, the homeowner's armed and blows at least one of them away. The other half of the time, they shoot to kill, but the victim survives to put them in jail. Seems to me if one of Taylor's business victims want to blow him off, they'd choose a much less risky way. But then, you tell me.'
'Where's his body?' Meg demanded. 'If this was a home invasion, where's Verger's body?'
'Now, that's a good question. I don't know.' He grinned. Quill, who had been feeling a little intimidated, couldn't help but grin back.
'I know you two have been involved in a number of cases. Myles tells me you're actually pretty sharp at solving crimes. So, you have any ideas? I'll listen.'
'Where do you think the body is?' asked Meg. 'If the types of criminals that stage home invasions just leave the bodies, where is Verger Taylor?'
Jerry nodded. 'Now that, Miss Quilliam, is the best question anyone's asked all night. There's one possible explanation. And if it's true...'
'Jer!' Jerry's woman partner, a pleasant-featured, heavyset woman in her fifties, waved at him urgently from across the room. 'We got it. We got the call.'
'Oh, my goodness,' Quill said. 'Kidnapping. Of course!' She and Meg sprang up after Jerry and trailed behind him to the living room telephone. Evan, his face tight, was listening intently on the telephone. A wire was attached to the head of the phone by the same kind of rubber suckers that used to tip Meg's play arrows when she was six. The wire ran to a recorder that was spinning slowly. Evan held the receiver away from his ear, so that the police officers nearby could hear the conversation. The kidnapper's voice was heavily distorted. And from the look on Jerry's face, Quill knew that they were either unprepared or technically unable to trace the call.
'But is my father all right?' Evan said. He was sweating. It seemed hard for him to get his lips under control.
'Waaann hunnnnert t'ouusaanndd...' the voice hissed. 'Leeffttt onnnn theee noooommmbbber nine buoy oonnn the chhhannnell. Byyyy tenn-thhhirty tommorroowww.'
Evan's look at Detective Fairchild was desperate. 'One hundred thousand dollars,' he repeated, 'left on the number nine buoy in the Port of Palm Beach Channel at ten-thirty tomorrow night.'
'Nnoooo pollisss. No ppolllosss. Orrr...' A sudden scream, agony-filled, clearly male, blared from the receiver. Evan dropped it with a shout. There was a click and then the dial tone droned implacably.
'Did you hear him, Detective?' Evan's voice was high and uncontrolled. He stopped, put his hands over his face, and took several deep breaths. When he took his hands away, his face was pale, but calmer. 'You didn't hear it all. He said that if we didn't get that money there, tomorrow night, without police involvement, they'll send Dad back to us. Piece by piece.' He shuddered.
There was a clatter and thump. Quill turned. Corrigan had fainted.
'Cor!' Evan leaped for his brother. The two medics stepped over the stretcher and knelt by him. 'Don't touch him! Leave him alone!' Evan shoved one medic aside and snarled at the other to move. He cradled Corrigan's head in one hand and slapped him lightly, swiftly across the cheeks with the other. 'Cory,' he said. 'Cory!'
'Good God,' Meg said, 'this is terrible.'
Quill went quietly to Evan's side. She knelt next to him and touched him on the shoulder. 'Evan? Evan.' The boy turned to her with dilated eyes, not seeming to see her at first, free hand raised, the other still fiercely clutching his brother's head. Quill closed her hand over his. 'Here. He's just fainted. Let him down. Gently. That's it. Let me take him. You see how his eyelids are fluttering open? The shock's just been too much for him.' She looked around. 'Anyone have any smelling salts, or whatever it's called?'
'Ammonia carbonate,' said one of the medics. He was a slight man, with a pencil-thin mustache and sympathetic brown eyes. He pulled an ampule from his breast pocket, broke it, and waved it under Corrigan's nose. The boy coughed and his eyelids opened and closed. The color began to seep back into his face and he sat up. Evan grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. 'Cor! Cor! It's me. Evan! Wake up. Wake up!'
Corrigan held up his hand and nodded. He sat up, then shakily got to his feet. Quill, still on her knees, thought she had never seen anyone look so pale.
'Dad?' Corrigan said.
'Dad's going to be all right, Cor.' Evan, fiercely determined, hugged him. 'We're going to get him back. We're going to get the money.'
'How?' asked Corrigan simply. 'We don't have any. Where are we going to get it? Where are we going to get a hundred thousand dollars?'
'We'll get it, Cor.'
'But it's all Dad's! And that will take time! And they said no police! How are we going to get Dad out of this mess without involving the police?'
For the first time since Quill had met him, Evan showed some of his father's behavior. He snapped his fingers. 'Hawthorne. Hawthorne!'
There had been two men in three-piece suits conferring with Evan and Corrigan just before Meg had found Maria in the closet. The older of them wound his way through the crowd of policemen, medics, and technicians surrounding Evan and his brother. 'Yes, Evan.'
'I want my brother and myself out of here. Right now.'
'Okay. Who exactly is in charge here?'
'Jerry Fairchild,' Evan said. 'Fairchild?'
