The Frawleys had declined to be interviewed. Their statement was read to the press by Monsignor Romney: “Margaret and Steve wish to express their undying gratitude for all the messages of compassion they have received. At this time they need privacy to comfort Kelly, who misses her twin, and to deal with their own grief in the loss of Kathy.”
Walter Carlson went on camera with a different message. “The man known as Lucas Wohl is dead, but his associate or associates are alive. We will hunt them down, and we will find them. They will be brought to justice.”
At C.F.G.&Y, Robinson Geisler did not get to deliver the triumphant message he had hoped to give. Instead, his voice halting, he expressed his tremendous sorrow at the loss of one of the twins, but said that he believed that the cooperation of his firm in paying the ransom had led to the safe return of the other one.
In a separate interview, board member Gregg Stanford broke ranks with his chairman and chief executive officer. “You may have heard that the vote to pay the ransom was unanimous,” he said. “But it was a decision fiercely fought by a minority faction which I spearheaded. There is a crude but also accurate saying, ‘If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.’ I firmly believe that if the ransom demand had been rejected out of hand, the kidnappers would have had a tough decision to make. If they harmed the children, they would only add to their terrible culpability. The death sentence in Connecticut is still on the books. On the other hand, if they released Kathy and Kelly, even if they were eventually caught, they could expect leniency. At C.F.G.&Y., we made a decision that I believe was wrong in every aspect, morally and logically. Now, as a member of the board of directors, I want to assure anyone who might believe that our firm will ever deal with criminals again—listen very carefully: It is not going to happen.”
42
“Mr. Pied Piper, Lucas is dead. Maybe he killed himself. Maybe he didn’t. What difference is it to you? In fact, you should be grateful. He knew who you are. We don’t. Just for the record, he was taping you on his phone. He had the cassettes in the glove compartment of his Ford. He probably was going to put the arm on you for more money.”
“Is the other twin dead?”
“She is not dead. She’s only sleeping,” Angie said. “As a matter of fact, I’m holding her right now. Don’t call again. You’ll wake her up.” She put down the phone and kissed Kathy’s cheek. “Wouldn’t you think that seven million dollars would satisfy him?” she asked Clint.
It was eleven o’clock. Clint was watching television. Every station was carrying stories about the end of the Frawley kidnapping. One child, Kelly, had been found alive, a tight gag around her mouth. It was believed that the other twin, Kathy, had probably been unable to breathe if she was gagged in the same manner. It had been confirmed that Lucas Wohl had flown his plane out of Danbury Airport on Wednesday afternoon, carrying a heavy box, and had returned shortly after without the box. “That box is believed to have held the body of little Kathy Frawley,” the announcer speculated. “According to the suicide note, Lucas Wohl buried Kathy at sea.”
“What are we going to do with her?” Clint asked. The exhaustion of the sleepless night and the shock of watching Angie shoot Lucas was taking its toll. His heavy body was slumped in the chair. His eyes, always sunken in his full face, were now red-rimmed slits.
“We’re going to take her to Florida and buy a boat and sail through the Caribbean on it, that’s what we’re going to do. But for now, I’ve got to go to the drugstore. I shouldn’t have put the vaporizer in that box I gave Lucas. I’ll have to buy another one. She’s having trouble breathing again.”
“Angie, she’s sick. She needs medicine, she needs to see a doctor. If she dies on us, and we get caught . . .”
“She’s not going to die, and stop worrying that anyone will connect us with Lucas,” Angie interrupted. “We did everything right. Now, while I’m gone, I want you to take Kathy into the bathroom and let the shower run till it gets all steamed up. I’ll be back soon. You kept some of the money out, like I told you, I hope?”
Clint had pulled down the ladder in the bedroom closet that led to the attic and dragged the bags of money up there. He had taken five hundred dollars in used twenty-dollar bills for ready cash. “Angie, if you start paying with a wad of twenty- or fifty-dollar bills, somebody will start asking questions.”
“Every ATM machine in the country dishes out nothing but twenty-dollar bills.” Angie spat out the words. “It’s unusual to carry anything else.” She thrust the drowsy Kathy at Clint. “Do as I tell you. Turn on that shower and keep the blanket around her. If the phone rings, don’t answer it! I told your drinking buddy Gus that you’d meet him at the bar tonight. You can call him later, but I don’t want him to get curious about what baby I’m minding.”
Angie’s eyes were glittering with anger, and Clint knew better than to try to reason with her. This kid’s face has been on the front page of every newspaper in the country, he thought. She no more looks like me or Angie than I look like Elvis Presley. The minute we’re with her anywhere in public, somebody will spot us. By now the cops must have figured out that Lucas is really Jimmy Nelson and that he did a stretch in Attica. Next they’ll start asking questions about who might have been his pal there. And they’ll come up with the name Ralphie Hudson, and sooner or later they’ll trace him to this door, and after that nobody will call me Clint anymore.
I was crazy to take Angie back after she did that stretch in the psycho hospital, he thought as he carried Kathy to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She had almost killed the mother who tried to pick up the baby Angie was minding. I should have known better than to get her involved with kids again.
He put the lid of the toilet seat down and sat on it. With clumsy fingers he opened the top button of the polo shirt Kathy was still wearing. He turned her body so that she would breathe in the steam that was rapidly filling the small bathroom.
The kid was starting to babble. Nothing she was saying was making sense. Was that the twin talk stuff Angie had been talking about? he wondered. “I’m the only one listening, kid,” he told her. “So if you have anything to say, say it straight.”
43
Dr. Sylvia Harris knew that confronting the awful grief of losing Kathy was to some extent being postponed by Margaret and Steve. For now, their attention was riveted on Kelly. She had not spoken a single word since they had been reunited with her in the Elmsford hospital. The physical examination showed that she had not been molested, but the tight gag on her mouth had left bruises on the side of her face. The black and blue marks on her arms and legs suggested that she had been pinched viciously.
When she saw her parents come into the hospital room, Kelly stared at them and turned away. “She’s angry at you now,” Dr. Harris explained gently. “By tomorrow, she won’t let you out of her sight.”
They got back home at eleven o’clock, rushing into the house as photographers scrambled to get pictures of Kelly. Margaret carried Kelly upstairs to the twins’ bedroom and changed her into her Cinderella pajamas, while she tried not to think of the matching pair still neatly folded in the drawer. Troubled by Kelly’s absolute lack of reaction, Dr. Harris gave her a mild sedative. “She needs to sleep,” she whispered to Steve and Margaret.
Steve laid her in bed, put her teddy bear on her chest, and placed the other one on the empty pillow next to her. Kelly’s eyes flew open. In a spontaneous gesture, she reached out, grabbed Kathy’s teddy bear, and silently rocking back and forth, began to hug both of them. Only then, sitting on either side of her bed, did Steve and Margaret begin to weep, silent tears that broke Sylvia’s heart.
She went downstairs to find that Agent Carlson was preparing to leave. Seeing how drawn and weary he looked, she said, “I hope you’re going to get some rest now.”
“Yes. I’m going to go home and crash for about eight hours. Otherwise, I won’t be any use to anyone. But then I’m going to be back on this case, and I promise you, Doctor, that I�
�m not going to rest until the Pied Piper and whoever else was working with him are behind bars.”
“May I make an observation?”
“Of course.”
“Besides the potential danger of the gag, the only physical injury Kelly suffered were bruises that were probably caused by being pinched. As you can understand, in my volunteer work, I sometimes see abused children. Pinching is a woman’s trick, not a man’s.”
“I would agree with you. We know from an eyewitness that two men grabbed the trash bags with the ransom money. It would make sense that a woman was involved in taking care of the twins while the men were picking up the cash.”
“Was Lucas Wohl the Pied Piper?”
“Somehow I doubt it, but that’s only a gut feeling.” Carlson did not add that, pending the autopsy report, there was still a serious question about the angle of the bullet that had killed Lucas. Most people who kill themselves do not hold the gun up in the air and point the barrel down. They hold it directly to their forehead or against their skull, or put the muzzle in their mouths and then they pull the trigger. “Dr. Harris, how long will you be staying here?”
“For at least a few days. I was supposed to give a talk in Rhode Island this weekend, but I’ve cancelled it. After the kidnapping, the harsh treatment she received, and now the loss of her twin, Kelly is very fragile emotionally. I think I can help by being around for her as well as for Steve and Margaret.”
“What about the Frawleys’ families?”
“Margaret’s mother and aunt are coming up next week, I believe. Margaret asked them to wait. Her mother is crying so much that she can hardly speak. Steve’s mother cannot travel and his father can’t leave her. Frankly, I think it’s better that they are alone as much as possible with Kelly. She is going to be grieving intensely for her sister.”
Carlson nodded. “The ironic part is that I believe Lucas didn’t mean to kill her. There was a faint smell of Vick’s on Kelly’s pajamas. She isn’t sick, so it probably means that whoever was taking care of the girls was trying to treat Kathy’s cold. But you can’t put a gag on a child whose nostrils are clogged and expect her to breathe. Of course, we checked immediately. Lucas Wohl did go out on a plane Wednesday afternoon. He was carrying a heavy box when he took off and returned without it.”
“Have you ever had a case like that before?”
Carlson picked up his briefcase. “One. The kidnapper had buried the girl alive, but there was enough air for her to last until we got him to tell us where he put her. The problem was that she hyperventilated and died. He’s been rotting in prison for twenty years and will stay there until they carry him out to a cemetery, but that doesn’t help the family of that girl.” He shook his head in weary frustration. “Doctor, from what I understand, Kelly is a very bright three-year-old.”
“Yes, she is.”
“At some point we’re going to want to talk to her or have a child psychiatrist question her. But for now, if she starts to speak, will you jot down anything she says that might possibly relate to her experiences?”
“Of course.” The genuine grief on the agent’s face moved Sylvia Harris to say, “I know Margaret and Steve believe you and your fellow agents did everything you could to save the girls.”
“We did the best we could, but it wasn’t good enough.”
They both turned as they heard footsteps hurrying down the stairs. It was Steve. “Kelly began to talk in her sleep,” he told them. “She said two names, ‘Mona’ and ‘Harry.’ ”
“Do you or Margaret know anyone named either ‘Mona’ or ‘Harry’?” Carlson demanded, his exhaustion forgotten.
“No. Definitely not. Do you think she was referring to the kidnappers?”
“Yes, I do. Is that all Kelly said?”
Steve’s eyes welled with tears. “She’s lapsed into twin talk. She’s trying to talk to Kathy.”
44
The elaborate plan to follow Franklin Bailey’s limousine at a safe distance had not worked. Even though a host of agents had been scattered through the city to follow whatever vehicle the kidnapper used after the ransom drop, they had been outwitted. Angus Sommers, in charge of the New York City phase of the operation, realized now that while he had been riding in the limo back to Connecticut with Franklin Bailey, the ransom money may well have been only a few feet away from him in the trunk.
Lucas Wohl was the guy who told us that two men had driven away in a new Lexus, he thought grimly. They knew now that only one man either drove away or took off on foot. Lucas was the second man. Recent dirt and water stains on the floor of the otherwise immaculately clean trunk of the limo suggested that several wet and soiled objects had been in it. Objects like trash bags filled with money, Angus thought bitterly.
Was Lucas the Pied Piper? Angus didn’t think so. If he had been, he would already have known that Kathy was dead. According to the suicide note, Lucas had flown her body over the ocean and tossed it from the plane. If he had intended to commit suicide, why would he have bothered to pick up the ransom money? It didn’t make sense.
Was it possible that the Pied Piper, whoever he was, was unaware that Kathy was dead when he phoned Monsignor Romney and told him where the children could be found? According to the Monsignor, the Pied Piper had told him that he could deliver the joyful news to the parents that the girls were unharmed. Was that a macabre joke on the part of a sadistic mind, or was it possible that he had not been told of Kathy’s death?
And had the Pied Piper really been giving directions to Franklin Bailey as Bailey claimed? These were the issues Sommers debated with Tony Realto as they drove to Bailey’s home late Thursday afternoon.
Realto was having none of it. “Bailey is from an old Connecticut family. He’s one of the people involved in this whole thing who I’d say is above reproach.”
“Maybe,” Sommers said as he rang Bailey’s doorbell. Bailey’s housekeeper, Sophie, a stocky woman of about sixty, examined their badges and admitted them with a worried frown. “Was Mr. Bailey expecting you?” she asked hesitantly.
“No,” Realto said. “But we need to see him.”
“I don’t know if he’s up to meeting you, sir. After he learned that Lucas Wohl had been connected with the kidnapping and had killed himself, he had terrible chest pains again. I begged him to go to the doctor, but he took a sedative and went to bed. I only heard him moving around a few minutes ago.”
“We’ll wait,” Realto said firmly. “Tell Mr. Bailey that we absolutely must speak to him.”
When Bailey came down to the library nearly twenty minutes later, Angus Sommers was shocked to see the marked change in his appearance. Last night he had seemed to be on the brink of exhaustion. Now, his face was paper white, his eyes glazed.
Sophie was following him with a cup of tea. He sat down and took the cup from her, his hands visibly trembling. Only then did he address Sommers and Realto. “I simply cannot believe that Lucas was involved in this terrible affair,” he began.
“Believe it, Mr. Bailey,” Realto said crisply. “Naturally, that makes us re-examine the facts of the case. You told us that you injected yourself into the Frawley kidnapping, offering to act as a go-between with the Frawleys and the kidnappers, because you had formed a slight friendship with Margaret Frawley.”
Franklin Bailey sat straighter in the chair and put aside the cup of tea. “Agent Realto, to use the word ‘inject’ in this case would suggest that I forced myself in, or was acting inappropriately. Neither is the case.”
Realto looked at him without answering.
“As I told Mr. Carlson, the first time I met Margaret she was on line at the post office. I noticed one of the twins, Kelly, making a beeline for the door while Margaret was speaking to the clerk. I stopped the little girl before she darted into traffic and brought her to Margaret, who was very grateful. She and Steve attend the ten o’clock Mass at St. Mary’s, where I am a parishioner. That following Sunday she introduced me to Steve. Since then we have chatted several
times after Mass. I knew that they did not have any family nearby. I was mayor of this town for twenty years, and am well known in the community. Oddly, I recently reread a history of the Lindbergh kidnapping, and it was fresh in my mind that a professor from Fordham University offered his services as a go-between in that case, and he was the one finally contacted by the kidnapper.”
Realto’s cell phone rang. He opened it, glanced at the number calling him, and stepped into the foyer. When he returned, there was a noticeable difference in his attitude toward Franklin Bailey.
“Mr. Bailey,” he said, brusquely. “Isn’t it a fact that you lost a considerable amount of money in a scam about ten years ago?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“How much did you lose in that scam?”
“Seven million dollars.”
“What was the name of the man who cheated you?”
“Richard Mason, as slippery a con artist as I have ever had the bad luck to meet.”
“Did you know that Mason is Steve Frawley’s half brother?”
Bailey stared at him. “No, I did not. How could I have known?”
“Mr. Bailey, Richard Mason left his mother’s home on Tuesday morning. He was supposed to have been at work as a baggage handler on Wednesday but he never showed up, nor has he been at home. Are you sure you have not been in touch with him?”
45
“You’d never know it was the same kid. She looks like a little boy,” Angie said cheerfully, as she surveyed the effects of her makeover on Kathy. The little girl’s dark blond hair was now charcoal brown, the same shade as Angie’s. And it was no longer shoulder-length; it barely covered her ears.
She does look different, Clint admitted to himself. At least if someone were to see her, they’d think Angie was babysitting a boy. “I’ve got a great name for her, too,” Angie added. “We’re gonna call her ‘Stephen.’ After her father, get it? Do you like your new name, Stevie? Huh?”
Two Little Girls in Blue Page 11