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they took him away.”
    It’s odd, she thought as she watched Carlson write down the name of the convicted defendant. Right now, I just feel numb. Nothing else, just numb.
    At seven o’clock, as light began to show through the drawn shades, Carlson stood up. “I urge you two to get some sleep. The clearer your heads are, the more helpful you’ll be to us. I’ll be right here. I promise we’ll let you know the minute the kidnappers make contact with us, and we may be wanting you to make a statement to the media later in the day. You can go up to your own room, but do not go near the girls’ bedroom. The forensic team is still going over it.”
    Steve and Margaret nodded mutely. Their bodies sagged with fatigue as they got up and walked through the living room headed to the staircase.
    â€œThey’re on the level,” Carlson said flatly to Martinson. “I’d stake my life on it. They don’t have any money. Which makes me wonder if this ransom demand isn’t ahoax. Somebody who just wanted the kids may be trying to throw us off.”
    â€œI’ve been thinking that,” Martinson agreed. “Isn’t it a fact that most ransom notes would warn the parents not to call the police?”
    â€œExactly. I only pray to God that those kids aren’t on a plane to South America right now.”

8

    O n Friday morning, the kidnapping of the Frawley twins was headline news all along the East Coast and by early afternoon had become a national media event. The birthday picture of the beautiful three-year-olds, with their angelic faces and long blond hair and dressed in their blue velvet birthday party dresses, was shown on television news channels and printed in newspapers all over the country.
    A command center was set up in the dining room of 10 Old Woods Road. At five o’clock in the afternoon Steve and Margaret appeared on television in front of their home, begging the captors to take good care of the girls and return them unharmed. “We don’t have money,” Margaret said imploringly. “But our friends have been calling all day. They’re taking up a collection. It’s up to nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Please, you must have mistaken us for people who could raise eight million dollars. We can’t. But please don’t hurt our girls. Give them back. I can promise you we will have two hundred thousand dollars in cash.”
    Steve, his arm around Margaret, said, “Please get in touch with us. We need to know that our girls are alive.”
    Captain Martinson followed them in the interview.“We are posting the phone and fax number of Franklin Bailey, who at one time was mayor of this town. If you are afraid to contact the Frawleys directly, please contact him.”
    But Friday evening, Saturday, and then Sunday all passed without word from the kidnappers.
    On Monday morning, Katie Couric was interrupted on the Today show as she was interviewing a retired FBI agent about the kidnapping. She suddenly paused in the middle of asking a question, pressed her hand against her earphone, listened intently, then said, “This may be a hoax, but it also may be terribly important. Someone claiming to be the kidnapper of the Frawley twins is on the phone. At his request our engineers are putting the call on the air now.”
    A husky, obviously disguised voice, its tone angry, said, “Tell the Frawleys time is running out. We said eight million and we mean eight million. Listen to the kids.”
    Young voices said in unison, “Mommy, I love you. Daddy, I love you.” Then one of the girls cried, “We want to go home.”
    *   *   *
    The segment was replayed five minutes later with Steve and Margaret listening. Martinson and Carlson did not need to ask the Frawleys if the call was legitimate. The look on their faces was enough to convince them that at last contact had been made with the