Vinocur couldn’t wait for the chief to finish before he burst out:
“Then what in hell is to be lost by letting this Lazaretti go?” He looked around the table, as if soliciting support. “Anyway, maybe you kill a kidnap victim if big dough is involved, but just to get some two-bit punk out of hock? Why would any guy kill a cop just to get a man out of jail who’ll be out in three, four days anyway?”
“I don’t know why the man on that tape wants this Lazaretti out right now,” Boynton said quietly, “Probably because he may well be extradited to Italy at once, and not be available. But that’s not the point. The fact is this man has kidnapped a police officer who can identify him. And you can talk around it all you want, you still know what the chances are for the victim in cases like that.”
“Maybe,” Vinocur said. He had cooled down somewhat during the chief’s last statement. Then he added a bit desperately, “But on the other hand, sir, maybe Mike’s still alive. And even if you’re right, like I said before, what’s the big loss in letting some smalltime punk go just on the tiny chance that maybe Mike is still all right and will be all right? A couple of lousy days in the time of some nobody tough guy — that’s all that would be lost.” He stared at Boynton. “Maximum.”
“It’s still the principle of the thing, I say,” Clark started.
Boynton cooled him with a look. He turned back to Vinocur, considered the scowling face a moment, and then looked around the circle of frozen faces slowly, pausing a moment at each man’s face to consider him individually.
“All right,” he said at last, without any expression in his deep voice. “Let’s spread this thing around. What do the rest of you think?” He held up a broad palm, interrupting the four or five voices that had instantly broken out. “Wait a second. Before you speak, just remember a few things. One — in the entire history of this world, nobody ever reduced terror by giving in to it. Nobody. Ever. And that’s what we’d be doing. Two — a police officer — and for the purpose of this discussion Mike Holland is still a police officer, retired or not — automatically accepts certain risks when he signs up for the job. Among those risks are to do whatever is necessary, at whatever personal risk, to protect innocent people, and this includes his fellow officers. If we give in to this man’s demands, I tell you again in my honest opinion, no cop will ever be safe in this town again. Three — this Lazaretti is the only connection we have at the moment with the kidnapper. If we let Lazaretti go, we’ll probably be releasing our only chance of ever catching the man who kidnapped Mike Holland. And last but not least—”
He paused a moment before continuing, adding emphasis to his words.
“—if Mike Holland is still alive, the chances are he’ll only stay alive as long as this man’s demands are not met. The minute his demands are met he’ll have every reason to eliminate Mike. Remember, kidnapping comes under the Lindbergh law, whether the ransom demanded is a small-time tough guy or a billion dollars.” There was another pause; then Boynton said in a quieter tone, “All right, that’s how I feel. Now, let’s have your opinions.”
There was dead silence. Even Vinocur had nothing to say. Boynton sighed.
“All right. Then this Lazaretti stays in his cell, and beyond Wednesday or Thursday, too. Until we get the man who wants him out; until we get Mike Holland” — he did not feel it necessary to repeat the possibility of Holland being dead — “and the man who kidnapped him.”
Captain Tower cleared his throat. “Which department gets it?”
“All departments. I’ll co-ordinate myself.” He turned to Roy Gentry, all business now that the decision had been made. “From the laboratory, the first thing I want is a complete study of that tape. Voice patterns and graphs. Possible places of purchase; all efforts to trace. Call on any department you want for legwork, or hands; call on outside tape experts if you need them. Maybe some of those people who studied the eighteen-minute gap in the Watergate thing, if necessary. Since Lazaretti just came from Italy and hadn’t been here before that we know, we’ll also want to know if there might be any indication the speaker on the tape could be of Italian extraction, or anything else you can determine. Age, if possible, or education—”
“Also any idea as to what that funny background sound could be,” Reardon said, interrupting.
Boynton frowned at the interruption and went back to Gentry.
“Also any ideas on anything. Including the package it came in, string, paper, inside box; everything.” He swung around to Clark. “I want Traffic to concentrate on Holland’s car. The bridges; maybe the toll-booth attendants will remember something, if he crossed a bridge. All garages, the streets, public parking lots. The car may be parked someplace overtime.” His voice turned conversational. “I remember one time we looked all over for a car, damn thing was downstairs in the police garage, pulled in for scofflawing. Everyplace.”
He turned to the man at his elbow, still scribbling.
“Mark, I want the stations to have their footmen check out drugstores, public buildings, movie theaters — any places that have interior telephone booths, and see if anyone might have seen a man with a tape recorder in a booth last night. Bus stations, the airport — everywhere. They’ll also be keeping their eyes open for Holland’s car. What kind was by the way?”
“Black Chevy, four-door sedan,” Clark said. “1965. Plate number 6Y-286.” Reardon looked across at him in surprise and then shrugged. A bastard he was, but he was still a cop.
“Mark it down,” Boynton said. “All of you.” He turned to another man, busy scribbling the license number in his notebook. “Dave—”
Davidson, of Robbery, looked up.
“I want your men to go out to Holland’s house and go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Not just the top, but under the rugs. Look for a safe, or secret compartments. Look in the cellar. Look for betting slips, or a possible tie-in with gambling—” A hush had fallen on the room. Boynton was aware of it. “I know,” he said quietly, “but we do this all the way.” He turned back to Davidson. “Also check the driveway and the garage for any hint as to what might have happened. Hit the neighbors again, any enemies Holland might have had we don’t know about. And don’t stop at one block either side of the house — go two blocks, or three. And check the stores near there, where he bought stuff, the butcher, the liquor stores, the bars. You know what I want.”
He turned again. “Sam—”
Captain Tower looked at the chief without expression. “Chief?”
“Well, nobody’s been murdered yet in this affair, at least that we know, and I know you’ve got your hands full...” The chief considered a moment. “Well, since your men have started out after the drunk who put the package in the mailman’s bag, you might as well continue on that. And then maybe you ought to have a man down at Third at that channel bridge tonight...” He paused to think a moment. “No, that’s not such a good idea. Let’s play it his way, at least for the time being. In fact, Clark, you better tell the patrol cars to steer clear of that area from one to three in the morning, at least.”
Clark leaned forward.
“Maybe we could still keep an eye on the bridge, sir. From the water. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised he plans on picking up this Lazaretti by boat — that’s why he wanted it at that channel bridge, sir!” The more he thought about the idea the better he liked it. “Yes, sir! We could get hold of the Harbor Patrol—”