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about the kidnapping investigation.”
    Frozen silence. The chief glared at the questioner, a young man (probably from New York or Philadelphia, Will thought) with plenty of guts and brass but not enough wisdom to keep his mouth shut. Small-town police chiefs, Will knew, usually weren’t troubled about maintaining good relations with the press.
    â€œTell you what,” the chief said. “We can do this my way, or we don’t have to do it at all. What’s it gonna be?”
    Dead silence.
    â€œFine. As I was saying, we have been conducting as thorough an investigation as possible. The FBI has been assisting us, and I would like at this time to introduce Special Agent Gerald Graham from the Pittsburgh office.”
    Jerry Graham! Will sat up. This had to be the same Jerry Graham he’d known in Bessemer fifteen years ago. More, even. They’d actually gotten to like each other.
    Yes, there he was. That’s Jerry, Will thought.
    Special Agent Gerald Graham walked in, still tall and lean, with the clear blue eyes, curly brown hair still thick but graying over the ears. In his charcoal suit and maroon silk tie, he could have passed for a stockbroker.
    Will hid behind the shoulder of the man in front of him. For some reason, he didn’t want Graham to spot him right away.
    The agent sat down in front of the mike. Will figured the FBI was really running things behind the scenes, that the introduction of the police chief had just been part of a charade.
    â€œGood morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Graham began. “I will tell you what I can. No more, no less. And I’ll ask that you use some discretion and remember that a little boy’s life may be at stake here.”
    May be at stake, Will thought. What’s Jerry saying? What’s he thinking? That the boy is dead?
    â€œNow then, just so you can get your facts as straight as possible, let us recap what’s happened to date.”
    Will was certain he detected an underlying contempt in Jerry Graham’s voice. Graham never had been a big fan of the press.
    The agent summarized the bare facts of the abduction. As he did, he quickly answered a question that had occurred to Will: Was there any possibility of collusion on the part of the chauffeur who had been driving the boy back to his mother? Or that one of the warring parents had taken the boy?
    The answers were no. Will wondered about that but had no reason to think Jerry Graham wasn’t being straightforward.
    Then Jerry Graham touched on the initial ransom note, demanding fifty thousand dollars; Will was familiar with that part of the case because he’d checked the wire service before leaving Bessemer.
    â€œWe have reason to believe that there was a high degree of planning,” Graham went on. “Naturally, we have been anticipating, hoping, that the kidnappers would follow through on their promise in the initial note—that is, that they would provide instructions for the safe return of Jamie Brokaw.”
    Chairs squeaked; throats were cleared. Everybody waited.
    â€œUnfortunately, that has not happened. Instead, just this morning, we received a second note.”
    There was a low muffled noise, not unlike that of a dog waking from a nap and shaking itself, as the reporters snapped to attention.
    â€œThis later note, also spelled out in newspaper lettering, gave a new ransom demand, in the amount of two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” Graham went on. “This note says that the boy is alive and well, and that instructions will be forthcoming for delivery of the ransom and release of the boy. That’s all I have to tell you. I’ll take questions now.”
    Will had been taking notes furiously. A big story was getting bigger, and he was both embarrassed and amused at the butterflies in his stomach. Could he still write a decent story? If he couldn’t, he would be the laughingstock of the office among the young reporters, who were