Free A Child Is Missing by David Stout

cutting himself off.
    â€œNow I … Will? I’ve got it, I think. Can you hear me, Will?”
    â€œLoud and clear, sir.”
    â€œNothing new on Fran, Will?”
    â€œNo, Lyle.” No sense telling him more right now, Will thought.
    â€œYou’ll let me know soonest, I’m sure. Will, I had a story idea. I already bounced it off Ry, and he thinks it’ll fly. What about a roundup of other famous kidnapping cases of the past?”
    â€œWe could do that if we have space, Lyle. I’m sure the wire services are moving something like that, if they haven’t already.”
    â€œWe thought you could do a better job from where you are, Will. I know you can. And we’re going to make as much space in the paper as we need. Did Ry tell you yet about the editorial?”
    â€œEditorial? No, Lyle.”
    Will was baffled, but only for a moment. Then the tentative, trying-to-please voice of Tom Ryan came on the line again: “Page one day after tomorrow, Will. The Gazette ’s coming out in favor of reinstating the death penalty in this state for kidnappers.”
    â€œThat’s why I want this backgrounder, Will. I want it under the byline of our executive editor. You are there, after all. And it’ll lend a little weight to the package, don’t you think?”
    â€œThat could be, Lyle.” What else could he say?
    â€œWill, this whole thing has made me sick,” the publisher went on. “I don’t know if you remember, but I was on the State Parks Commission for a stretch when Jamie Brokaw’s father was a member. Salt of the earth, salt of the earth…”
    In an instant, everything was much clearer to Will: the publisher’s early and intense interest in the kidnapping, his eagerness to send Will. Hell, seeing to Fran Spicer’s welfare was only part of it. Maybe the smaller part, at that. The publisher had it in his head that the presence of the Bessemer Gazette ’s top editor (never mind that he was functioning as reporter and errand boy) would—what? Make the FBI try harder? Put a hundred police officers on the case, instead of fifty? What?
    â€œSalt of the earth, Will.”
    â€œI’m sure, sir. If you want a background story with my byline, then I’ll get you one. I really can’t do it for tomorrow, though.”
    â€œDay after tomorrow, Will. Your background story, plus the lead-all on whatever breaking news there is, plus an editorial on page one.”
    Overkill, Will thought. He heard himself say, “We’d better pray there’s no other news we have to get into the paper.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said, we can all pray that our newspaper, that getting something into our newspaper will play a part in the safe return of the boy.”
    â€œAmen, Will.” The publisher was saying good-bye, Will knew.
    â€œWill? I’m still here, Will. Just one thing.”
    â€œYes, Ry?”
    â€œI wonder at the beginning of your story, Will. I mean, I was brought up short for a moment by the reference to the parents in their separate homes.…”
    â€œWhy? The parents are divorced, in fact. It lends a little poignancy, I thought.”
    â€œYeah, but the publisher kind of tripped over that part.…”
    Will shook his head in disgust. No wonder his reporters complained about the editing they got at the Gazette. Ryan was probably reacting not to something the publisher had said but to something he thought he might say.
    â€œRy,” Will said evenly at last, “you just go ahead and do whatever you have to.”
    Will hung up, went to the window, and stared out. A gray sky hanging over a gray city, almost low enough to smother it.
    He lay down, closed his eyes, tried to let the tension flow out of him. He’d better; otherwise, he’d have a dandy headache.
    He tried to remember what a therapist had told him again and again about self-esteem and control and thinking and