(31/40) Murder, She Wrote: Madison Avenue Shoot Page 13

  “Okay, ladies, come into my office and give this to me in little pieces.” He pulled out a magnetic card and held it up to a box on the side of the door. We heard a click, and he pulled open the door and ushered us into his office.

  We spent the next ten minutes explaining the situation to him. Thankfully, at the end of my story, he agreed to let us have five minutes with Grady in an interview room.

  “There will be two officers in there with you,” he said. “It’s routine. You’ll have to leave your handbags in here. They’ll be safe. I’ll lock the door.”

  We quickly agreed, and Commander Willoughby took us to an empty office where he asked us to wait. Donna paced back and forth in the small space, while I made an effort not to look at my watch. Frank had been missing for more than two hours. It was dark outside. If we didn’t find him soon, he would spend the night alone, or so I fervently hoped. It was worse to think of him in the hands of a kidnapper—or killer. How long would it be before we found him? How many hours? I couldn’t bear to think it might be days. When he was a baby, Frank had been afraid of the dark. Was he still? It was not a question I would ask Donna.

  The door to the office opened and two uniformed officers brought Grady into the room. His wrists were hand-cuffed behind him. Donna rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. The officers stepped back and stood at either side of the door, but didn’t move to unlock the cuffs.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, but he couldn’t hold her with his hands tied. “Did you find him?” His eyes sought mine over Donna’s shoulder.

  I shook my head, and he dropped his face into Donna’s neck.

  Donna stepped back and put her hands on Grady’s cheeks. “We’ll find him, Grady. I know we will. Are you okay?” She kissed him gently.

  “I won’t be okay until we find Frank. You were right, Aunt Jess. I never should have let him go off by himself. He didn’t need to see another commercial being made.” He looked at his wife. “It’s all my fault, Donna. I should have taken him home after the lights fell down. I never should have let him convince me to stay. It’s all my fault. And now he’s gone. I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Grady Fletcher,” Donna said sternly, “I don’t want to hear you talk like that. Of course we’ll find Frank. I’m sure of it. You did nothing wrong, you hear? You’re a loving father. You are not to blame. And you know how Frank can wheedle us to get what he wants.”

  They gave each other a small smile.

  “We’re going to find him,” Donna continued. “You’ll see.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. She glanced at the two policemen guarding the door. “Will you be able to come home with us tonight?” she asked in a small voice.

  Grady shook his head “I don’t think so.”

  “How long do you have to stay?” Donna asked, deflated.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Why are they holding you, Grady?” I asked. “What did they say?”

  “They said I had motive and means. Some of the crew had told them about Betsy’s meltdown. They think I killed her in retaliation for her attack on Frank. It’s stupid. I wouldn’t do that. But they think I did. And there’s another problem.”

  “What’s that, Grady?” Donna asked.

  “My fingerprints are on that nail gun.”

  “We’ll get you a lawyer and I’m sure you’ll be out by tomorrow,” I said. “Is there someone specific you want us to call?”

  “We don’t really know any criminal lawyers,” Donna said.

  “We can find one,” I said. “And I know who to call for recommendations.”

  “If they ask for bail, we’ll have to take the money out of our savings account,” Grady told Donna.

  “We used up most of the money to buy the apartment. How much do you think it will be?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

  “But, Grady, what if we don’t have enough?”

  “Don’t worry about the bail,” he said. “Look, I’m not the important one here. Frank is the only thing that matters. Even if I can’t leave here, you’ve got to keep looking. Are the police still searching for him?”

  I told Grady the police had Frank’s photograph and were scouring the building and the surrounding area. I didn’t use the initials APB. I didn’t want to upset him even more. An APB is issued when the police are looking for a suspect in a crime. I didn’t know if Grady knew that, but I wasn’t taking the chance. He had enough to lose sleep about without worrying that the police might suspect Frank of murder.

  “Aunt Jessica suggested we go to the news media and have them put Frank’s picture on television and in the papers,” Donna told him.

  “You think that would work?”

  “It was my idea,” I said, “but I think I’d like to run it past Detective Chesny before we do anything. The police are the experts in missing children. If someone took Frank, we don’t want to do anything to aggravate a kidnapper.”

  Donna looked at me accusingly. “You said you thought he was lost,” she said.

  “I’m hoping he’s lost,” I said. “But I don’t want to rule out any possibility.”

  “How can we know for sure?”

  “We can’t,” I said. “The critical thing is for us to get Frank back safe and sound.”

  “Don’t get upset with Aunt Jess, sweetheart,” Grady said. “She’s doing her best for us, and there’s no one better to look for Frank.” He looked at me. “Please find Frank for us, Aunt Jess. I’m counting on you. I know you won’t let us down.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power,” I said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Detective Chesny was coming into the station house as Donna and I were exiting. Donna went to get the car, which she’d parked a few blocks away, and I took the opportunity to question Chesny about whether it was prudent to give the media Frank’s picture. And if so, which media? I reminded myself that while Frank lived in New York City, we had been filming in its outer reaches. We would need to alert media in both places, since we had no idea in which direction a potential kidnapper might have taken him.

  Chesny didn’t think the timing was right. “I recommend you hold off for a day,” he said. “If the boy was kidnapped, seeing his face in the paper might spook whoever took him. And I have to tell you, there are crazies in this world who would call the posted number just to give you a hard time, to tease you. Wait a day. Let’s see if he shows up, or if you get any ransom calls. If not, we can revisit the idea of distributing his picture to the press.”

  I was glad Donna was not with me when I asked the detective, “If Frank witnessed a murder, would his kidnapper, presumably the killer, make a ransom call?”

  “Probably not,” he said. “But I think it’s more likely the kid is hiding.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “It is, Mrs. Fletcher. If he finds his way out of the building, we have every available cop looking for him. I know you’re worried about Frank, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked. “Can you guarantee that he hasn’t been kidnapped?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Then why not issue an Amber Alert, or at least put Frank’s picture where the public can see it?”

  “Mrs. Fletcher, I told you before, the law is very specific about under what circumstances an Amber Alert can be distributed.”

  “But a child is missing. A nine-year-old. Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

  He heaved a great sigh. “I tell you what. I’ll call your precinct in Manhattan and arrange to have them monitor and record calls on your niece and nephew’s telephone so that if—and I doubt this will happen—so that if any calls from a kidnapper come in, they’ll have it on tape and possibly be able to trace it.”

  Detective Chesny was as good as his word. By the time Donna and I pulled up in front of the building, a police van was parked outside and a uniformed officer was coming out the front door. For an instant, I thought Frank had be
en found. Donna’s thoughts echoed mine. Her face immediately brightened, but fell as quickly when we learned that the officer had just installed a tap on their home phone. No calls had come in so far.

  Mary was in the living room when we came in. She rose from the sofa and enfolded Donna in a hug. The emotions that my niece by marriage had held in all evening came flowing out in Mary’s embrace. It was heartbreaking to hear her sobs. She was under such emotional pressure—the fears, the mourning for a missing child even though we held on to our hopes that Frank was still alive, the misery at not having Grady to share the grief, the worry about her husband’s situation, and always, always the terrible uncertainty of it all.

  I put down my bag and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, my panacea for all that ails me, even though I knew tea would offer little solace to Donna. She needed some food in her stomach. I put the water up to boil, searched their refrigerator for something for her to eat, and made a plate of fruit and cheese and crackers, slicing up the last of the apples I had brought to them. Mary joined me as I was pouring water into the teapot.

  “She’s lying down in Frank’s room,” she said, “holding on to his teddy bear.”

  I nodded. “She needs the rest.”

  “My son is in Donna and Grady’s bedroom watching TV. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him down with me. I didn’t tell Michele what’s happening, but he knows something is wrong. He told me he wishes Frank would come home.” She fought to hold back the tears.

  “Of course I don’t mind. I hope he gets his wish—and soon.” I carried the food to the table. Mary followed with the teapot and mugs.

  “Donna told me everything,” Mary said, “about Grady being arrested, and Frank seeing the murder and being kidnapped. It’s all so awful. I can’t comprehend it.”

  “I think Donna was communicating her worst fears,” I said. “We’re not sure yet if Frank saw anything. We only know that we found a pair of earphones he was using in the same room where we found the victim’s body. And while it’s true that Grady is being held, the good news is that he hasn’t been charged with any crime. At least not yet. I have the feeling he’s being held more as a person of interest—that’s a police term—than as a definite suspect.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Yes, it is. However, I have to find a lawyer for him, and it’s been a few years since I lived here in the city.”

  “My husband is traveling right now, but when I speak with him later tonight, I’ll ask if he knows a good one.”

  “Thank you, and I’ll be making a few calls myself. My agent or publisher will certainly be of help. I’ll use my cell phone so I don’t tie up Donna and Grady’s line.”

  “Is there anything more I can do for you or Donna or Grady? Would you like me to stay the night? It’s not a problem. We can bring down sleeping bags.”

  “That’s kind of you, but it’s not necessary. I’ll stay here until Grady gets home, and however long they need me after that. I have a friend at my hotel who can pack up my belongings and send them down here.”

  “Why don’t I get Michele and give you a little privacy to make your calls. Donna has my phone number, but I’ll write it down for you in case she’s sleeping and you need me. We’re only upstairs. I don’t plan on going anywhere this evening. Please call for any reason, at any hour.”

  “I certainly will, Mary. Thank you.”

  She walked down the hall to fetch her son, and I placed two quick phone calls. One was to Cookie, who was probably out to dinner; I left her a voice message asking that she send my things to Grady’s apartment. The other was to the Waldorf’s front desk, informing them that I would be checking out, and requesting that someone give their guest Stella Bedford the key to my room when she returned this evening.

  Michele covered up a yawn with one hand as he followed his mother into the living room; the other hand held his walkie-talkie, which was making loud static noises. My thoughts flew again to Frank—they were never very far from him—and I knew he must be tired, too. Michele would get to sleep in his own bed that night, but where would Frank sleep?

  Donna wandered in from Frank’s room, red-eyed and exhausted. “I can’t lie still,” she said. “My mind is just a jumble of thoughts. Are you leaving, Mary?”

  “I was, but I’ll come back any time you ask.”

  “You’ve done more than enough. Thank you so much.” She placed a hand on Michele’s shoulder. “How are you, Michele? You’re Frank’s best friend. Do you know that?”

  “We go to the zoo when my father is home,” Michele said. “Frank wants to see the elefante, and I want to see the leone marino.”

  “That’s the sea lion,” Mary said, smiling softly at her son.

  Donna’s eyes met mine. She dropped her hand. “That’s nice, Michele,” she said. “I’m sure the two of you will have a wonderful time.” There was a hitch in her voice.

  “I went once to the zoo,” Michele said. “I tell Frank, he will like the elefante.”

  The static sounded on his walkie-talkie, drowning out his last words. Mary leaned toward her son. “Why don’t you turn that off now? We’re going upstairs for dinner.”

  Michele held up the walkie-talkie and shook his head, but on Mary’s insistence, he turned the knob, stopping the sound of the static.

  “We’ll see you later,” Mary said.

  Donna walked them to the door. I watched as they stepped into the hall. Something was bothering me, but what was it?

  “Wait!” I said, rushing to stop them before they left. “Mary, would you come back inside for a moment, please.”

  They returned to the living room and Donna closed the door. “Aunt Jessica? What is it?”

  I put my hands on Michele’s shoulders and looked earnestly into his eyes. “Michele, did you speak to Frank on his walkie-talkie today?” I asked.

  Michele shrugged one shoulder and shook his head.

  “Why do you ask, Aunt Jessica?” Donna put her hand on my arm. “Frank didn’t have his walkie-talkie with him today. I told him not to take it. I was afraid it would get lost.”

  “Do you know where it is?” I asked.

  “Yes. I put it in the top drawer of his dresser.” She walked quickly to Frank’s room and I heard the drawer being opened. “Here it . . . no, it’s not here.”

  I smoothed down my hair and cocked my head at her. Obviously, Frank didn’t always listen to his mother. “Frank mentioned that he had it with him when I saw him this morning,” I said. “I didn’t see it, but it must have been in his pocket.”

  “His pockets are always full,” she said, the second smile I’d seen that day making a fleeting appearance on her lips. “I have to be careful when I do the laundry to make sure he’s emptied them.”

  I turned back to Michele. “Do you think Frank keeps his walkie-talkie on, like you do?”

  He shrugged again and looked over his shoulder to his mother.

  “You can answer Mrs. Fletcher, Michele.”

  But he looked at me with a worried expression and was silent.

  “What are you thinking, Aunt Jessica?”

  It was a long shot. After all, Frank was probably still somewhere outside the city. But a long shot is better than no shot at all. And Grady had said the walkie-talkies were long-range. Just how long-range I didn’t know. “Michele, is Frank your good friend?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Would you do a big favor for him? Would you turn on the walkie-talkie again?”

  Michele looked to his mother for approval.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  He twisted the dial until the sound of static filled the room again. “Please try to call Frank now,” I said over the noise.

  Michele shook his head.

  “Michele,” his mother said cajolingly, “please do what Mrs. Fletcher asks.”

  Michele shook his head and pointed toward the master bedroom.

  Mary looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Jessica.”


  “That’s all right,” I said, my eyes never leaving Michele. “Does the walkie-talkie work better in the bedroom?” I asked him.

  There was a small nod and a smile.

  “May we try it in there?”

  Michele twirled around and skipped down the hall to the bedroom. He sat on the end of the bed and twisted the volume button to high. “Station two to station one. Come in.”

  There was a blast of static and then nothing. Michele pursed his lips, then moved to the window. He leaned on the windowsill and tried again. “Station two to station one. Come in, per favore.”

  More static and then a tiny voice came through. “Station one to station two, I hear you.”

  Donna gasped. “Is it Frank?” she whispered.

  “May I?” I asked Michele, putting out my hand for the walkie-talkie.

  He hesitated, tipped his head to the side, his eyes on mine, smiled, and handed it to me.

  I pressed the button to talk. “Station one, this is Aunt Jessica. Is that you, Frank?”

  “You have to say ‘come in’ or he won’t answer,” Michele instructed.

  “Oh. Thank you.” I tried again. “Station one, this is Aunt Jessica. Is that you, Frank? Come in, please.”

  The tiny voice was marred by static, but I heard, “This is station one. Hi, Aunt Jessica.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Donna’s hands were trembling when she took the walkie-talkie from me. “Frank, are you all right?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fumbled with the talk button. “Can you hear me, Frank? Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay, but are you coming to get me soon? I’m hungry.”

  “Y-y-es, sweetheart. As soon as we can,” she said, wiping away the tears. “But we don’t know where you are. Can you tell me where you are, Frank?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. You sound funny. Can I talk to Dad?”

  “He’s not here right now, sweetheart,” Donna said, sniffling. She looked at me. “He doesn’t know where he is. How can we find him?”

  “May I talk with him again?” I asked.