Free Where Are the Children? by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

get copies of the seven-year-old film the newspapers had called 'a moving plea'. In fact, the assistant district attorney in San Francisco had offered to provide it during their telephone conversation only half an hour ago. 'It'll save that bitch the trouble of going through her act again,' he'd said.
    Ray was speaking quietly, his tone a hell of a lot more subdued. 'We haven't contacted a lawyer,' he said. 'I hoped that maybe . . . with everyone searching . . .'
    'Most of that search is going to be suspended pretty soon,' Jed said flatly. 'With this weather, there isn't going to be anyone able to see anything. But I've got to take your wife down to the station for questioning. And if you haven't arranged for a lawyer yet, I'll have the court appoint one for her.'
    'You can't do that!' Ray snapped the words furiously, then made an obvious effort to control himself. 'What I mean is that you would destroy Nancy if you took her to a police-station setting. For years she used to have nightmares, and they were always the same: that she was in a police station being questioned and then that she was taken down a long corridor to the mortuary and made to identify her children. My God, man, she's in shock right now. Are you trying to make sure that she won't be able to tell us anything she may have seen?'
    'Ray, my job is to get your children back.'
    'Yes, but you see what just reading that cursed article has done to her. And what about the bastard who wrote that article? Anyone vile enough to dig up that story and send it out might be capable of taking the children.'
    'Naturally we're working on that. That feature is always signed with a fictitious staff name, but the articles are actually free-lance submissions that if accepted involve a twenty-five-dollar payment.'
    'Well, who is the writer, then?'
    "That was what we tried to find out,' Jed replied. He sounded angry. 'The covering letter instructed that the story was offered only on condition that, if accepted, it would not be changed at all, that all the accompanying pictures would be used and that it would be published on November seventeenth - today. The editor told me that he found the story both well written and fascinating. In fact, he felt it was so good that he thought the writer was a fool to have submitted it to him for a lousy twenty-five dollars. But of course he didn't say so. He dictated a letter accepting the conditions and enclosing the cheque.'
    Jed reached into his hip pocket for his notebook and flipped it open. 'The letter of acceptance was dated October twenty-eighth. On the twenty-ninth the editor's secretary remembers receiving a phone call asking if a decision had been reached about the Harmon article. It was a bad connection and the voice was so muffled she could hardly hear the caller - but she told him - or her -that a cheque was in the mail, care of General Delivery, Hyannis Port. The cheque was made out to one J.R. Penrose. The next day it was picked up.'
    'Man or woman?' Ray asked quickly.
    'We don't know. As you have to realize, a town like
    Hyannis Port has a fair number of tourists going through it even at this time of the year. Anyone requesting something from General Delivery would only have to ask for it. No clerk seems to remember the letter, and so far a twenty-five-dollar cheque hasn't been cashed. We can work our way back to J.R. Penrose when it is. Frankly, it wouldn't surprise me if the writer turns out to be one of our own little old ladies in town. They can be just wonderful at digging into gossip.'
    Ray stared into the fireplace. 'It's cool in here,' he said. 'A fire will feel good.' His eye fell on the cameos on the mantelpiece that Nancy had painted of Michael and Missy when they were babies. He swallowed over the stinging lump that suddenly closed his throat.
    'I don't think you really need a fire in here now, Ray,' Jed said quietly. 'I asked you to step in here because I want you to tell Nancy to get dressed and come with us to the