Arthur Hailey - Evening News

"Well, when Mrs. Sloane, her father-in-law and Nicky were leaving, I was in there.” Florence motioned toward a sunroom at the front of the house.”I saw them drive away.”

"And?”

"There was a car parked on the side street; you can see it from there. When Mrs. Sloane left, all of a sudden the car started and went the same way she did. I didn't think anything about it at the time.”

"No reason why you should,” Jensen said.”Can you describe the car?”

"It was dark brown, I think. Sort of medium size.”

"Did you see a license plate?”

"No.”

"Did you recognize the make?”

Florence shook her head.”They all look the same to me.”

"Leave that for now,” Detective York told Jensen. Then to Florence, "Think about that car. Try to remember anything else, and we'll come back to you.”

The detective and Jensen returned outside. As they did, two more police cruisers arrived. One brought a uniformed sergeant, another the Larchmont chief of police. The chief, in uniform, was tall and rangy, with a deceptively low-key manner. The four began a hasty conference in the driveway.

Near the end of it the chief asked Detective York, "Do you think this is for real-a kidnap?”

"At this moment,” York said, "everything points that way.”

"Jensen?”

"Yes, sir. It's for real.”

"You said the Nissan van that was seen leaving had New Jersey plates?”

“According to a witness, yes, sir.”

The chief mused.”If it is a kidnap and they cross a state line, it becomes the FBI's jurisdiction. That's the Lindbergh law.”

He added, "Not that that kind of detail worries the FBI.”

The last words came out sourly, reflecting the conviction of many local lawmen that the FBI moved in on any high-profile case they wanted and found reasons to decline the ones they didn't. Then the chief said decisively, "I'm calling in the FBI now.”

He returned to his car and picked up the radio mike.

A minute or two later, rejoining the others, the chief ordered Detective York to go back to the house and stay inside.”The first thing you do, have that maid put you in touch with Mr. Sloane and speak to him yourself. Tell him as much as you know, and that we're doing all we can. After that, answer any incoming phone calls. Keep a note of everything. You'll be getting help soon.”

The sergeant and Jensen were instructed to remain on protective duty outside.”Soon, there'll be more people here than flies around a shithouse. Let no one past the front gate except the FBI. When the press get here with their questions, direct them to headquarters.”

At that moment they heard the sound of a noisy approaching car. Their heads turned. It was a battered white Volkswagen bug and the chief said glumly, "Here's the first.”

* * *

Bert Fisher had no need to check which house on Park Avenue was number 66. The assembled police cars were direction enough.

As he stopped his VW at the curb and climbed out, the police chief had entered his own car and was about to leave. Bert hurried forward.”Chief, can you make a statement?”

"Oh, it's youl”The chief ran down his window on the driver's side; he had encountered the old news stringer many times before.”A statement about what?”

"Oh, come on, Chief! I've heard all the radio buzz, including your instruction just now to call in the FBI.” Bert looked around him, realizing that his hunch was right.”This is Crawford Sloane's home, isn't it?”

"Yes, it is.”

"And is it Mrs. Sloane who's been kidnapped?”

As the chief hesitated, Bert pleaded, "Look, I'm the first here. Why not give a local boy a break?”

The chief who was a reasonable man, thought, Well, why not? He was even a little fond of Fisher, a nuisance at times like a persistent mosquito, though never vicious the way some press people could be.

”If you heard all the messages,” the chief said, "you'll know we aren't certain of anything yet. But yes, we do think Mrs. Sloane may have been abducted, along with the Sloanes' son Nicholas and Mr. Sloane's father.”

Bert, scribbling as the chief spoke, knew this was the most important story of his life and he wanted to be careful.”So what you're telling me is that the Larchmont police are acting on the assumption there have been three kidnappings.”

The chief nodded.”That's an okay quote.”

"Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

"No. Oh, just one thing. Mr. Sloane has not been informed and we're trying to get in touch with him. So before you start sounding off, for god's sake give us time to do that.”

With that, the chief pulled away and Bert dived for his VW. Despite the chief's caveat, he had no intention of waiting for anything. The only question in his mind was: Where was the nearest pay phone?

Moments later, as Bert turned out of Park Avenue, he saw another car turning in and recognized the occupant—the local stringer for WNBC-TV. So the competition was onto the story. Now, if Bert was to stay ahead he had to move fast.

Not far away, on Boston Post Road, he found a pay phone. As he punched out the numbers of WCBA-TV, his hand was trembling.

At 11:20 A.M. in the pressure-driven newsroom of WCBA-TV, tension was rising as it always did during the hour preceding the local New York station's News at Noon. Today especially, there was a heavy budget of news with several developing stories competing for the lead position.

A famous evangelist, in New York to receive a religious prize, had been found dead in his Waldorf suite, apparently from a cocaine overdose, and a prostitute who had spent the night with him was being questioned by police. In midtown Manhattan an office building was on fire; people trapped on high floors were being rescued by helicopter. A Wall Street billionaire, terminally ill with cancer, was being wheeled around the Bronx in an invalid chair as he handed out fistfuls of one-hundred-dollar bills. Every few minutes, from a trailing armored car, his supply was replenished.

Amid a scene of near-bedlam, Bert Fisher's phone call was routed to the same assistant news director as before who, on hearing who was calling, snapped, "We're swamped here. Make it short and quick!”

Bert did, at which the young newsman said incredulously, "You're sure? Absolutely sure? Do you have confirmation?”

"From the chief of police.” Bert added proudly, "He gave me an exclusive statement and, to be safe, I had him repeat it.”

The assistant news director was already on his feet, signaling to the news director, shouting urgently, "Line four! Line four!” He told an assignment editor at a desk beside him, "We need a camera crew in Larchmont fast. Don't ask me how to find one, just pull them off something else, anything else, and get them there.”

The woman news director was already listening to Bert Fisher. When she had made notes of the essentials, she asked him, "Who else has the story?”

"I was the first. Still am. But WNBC's man was arriving as I left.”

"Did he have a camera crew?”

"No."

The assistant news director crossed the newsroom to report, "I've a crew on the way, We pulled them from the Bronx.”

The news director spoke into the phone, instructing Bert Fisher, "Stay on the line.” Then to a writer at a desk nearby: "Take line four. It's Fisher, Larchmont. Get everything he has, then write it as our noon lead.”

At the same time the news director picked up a telephone connecting her directly to the network. Ernie LaSalle, CBA's national editor, answered and she told him, "The kidnap in Larchmont is confirmed. Half an hour ago unknown persons violently seized Crawford Sloane's wife, his son, and Crawford's father.”

"Good Christ !”LaSalle's shock and incredulity came down the line.”Has Crawf been told?”