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The couple in my office clearly met my preferred criterion of senior citizenship. Mr. and Mrs. Doters were in their seventies and looked like the archetypical grandparents. I hoped they did not have a cat in a tree or a dog that had strayed. They didn’t. Their grandson, three-year-old Aloysius – I hoped they called him Al – had been kidnapped three days before from their car in the parking lot of the Electronics Emporium.
“We were picking up a new giant TV.” (No doubt for Aloysius.) “We are old and it was heavy, so we both went in to carry it. We left Aloysius in the car. We were only a few minutes, but when we returned, he was gone.”
“This is really a matter for the police,” I said, passing the buck in a perfect spiral. I wondered if kidnappers are ever violent.
“Oh, we told them, but they’ve made no progress, so we’ve come to you,” said Mrs. Doters.
“We’ve received a ransom note,” added Mr. Doters. “Here’s a copy.”
I read it: “We have yer grandson. Yooll get him bak sayf iff yoo leeve $25,000 in kash in unmarked bills in a bag in the garbaj payl in front of Capone’s Store on Main Street Saterday at midnite. No triks, no cops.”
Obviously the note was written by someone pretending to be semi-literate, or a high school graduate.
Mrs. Doters began to weep. To save my supply of Kleenex, I agreed to take the case. I learned that Al’s most loved toy was a big red bear which he called “Lovums”, and his favourite treat was Snackies. I took the Doters’ address and phone number.
After they left, Hank and I discussed the case, mostly by thinking out loud.
“People kidnap children for one of two reasons,” I said, “occasionally because they want a child, but usually for money, and they have to be careful to demand enough to make the crime worthwhile, but not more than the victims can possibly pay.”
“Sometimes people kidnap dogs or cats too,” Hank reminded me.
“That’s true. Someone stole Elizabeth Barrett’s dog Flush, but somehow Robert Browning got it back. The poet as detective.”
“Have you ever thought of writing verse?” asked Hank. “The detective as poet.”
“I couldn’t even find a rhyme for ‘love’ or ‘sing,” I confessed. “But what do kidnappers do with an abducted child? Children can be bored at home with their toys and pets, but in a new place with strangers, they are likely to become very restless, and there is nothing more difficult to contend with than a restless child.”
“That’s true,” said Hank.
That thought gave me an idea. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
