Amanda looked from one to the other doubtfully. Finally she spoke, but with hesitation in her tone. “It was a cop who kidnaped me. A cop in uniform.”

Startled, Sanders turned to her. “A cop? Are you sure?” he said abruptly. “A real police officer? Not just someone dressed up in a rented uniform?”

Amanda cast him a withering glance. “He was in a bright yellow car marked ‘Metropolitan Toronto Police,’ and all that, with big red lights on the roof. Flashing. He picked me up on the corner of Mount Pleasant and Elm. He said that my parents—no, actually, he didn’t say—he just said that there had been an accident, and I was to go out to the airport with him.”

“Did you get a good look at him?” Sanders’ voice was hostile, challenging. “Would you recognize him again?” Eleanor glared at him.

Amanda paid no attention to the tone of his voice. “Yes. I’ll never forget that face, let me tell you. Anyway, I saw him again. He was the one that came along on the search party looking for me. That’s when I tried to run again, only I fell—again.”

“Are you sure he was the same one?” Sanders’ eyes never left her face.

“Positive,” said Amanda steadily.

“Really? Because you screamed when you saw Constable Collins out there, and he wasn’t the one who kidnaped you, was he?” Sanders’ voice bullied.

“I couldn’t see his face. My eyes were all blurry, and I just saw this uniform coming for me, and I screamed. I’m sorry. But I really did recognize the one who kidnaped me. His name is Rick. Or that’s what the other one called him.”

“Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” Sanders strode out of the room to where Dubinsky was lounging against the wall talking to Collins. “Ed, I want the names of all the people who were on the search party looking for the Griffiths girl this morning—all of them. Look for someone named Rick or something close to that. Fast.” Dubinsky headed off to the nearest phone.

Sanders stuck his head back in the door. “We’re on our way. Would you mind if Collins comes in and takes notes? I’ll put him where you don’t have to look at him.”

Amanda laughed, her voice clearer and more cheerful now. “No. That’s all right. I feel safe with Eleanor here.”

Sanders grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the bed. “You said ‘the other one.’ There were two men who kidnaped you?” Amanda nodded. “Did you recognize the other one? Would you know him again?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t really get a look at him, and I think he had a hat on most of the time—one of those tweed, checked sort of Irish hats. Most of the time I was asleep, or trying to pretend that I was, and I didn’t dare open my eyes and really look at him.”

“Maybe we’d better start right from the beginning and get it all down in order. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good. I’m thirsty, but my head is clear.” Amanda took a sip of the proffered water and started in on her long recital.

Most of the time the three people in the room listened in silence; the only interruptions were the scratch of Collins’ pen and his occasional request for repetition of a word. When she came to describe what they planned to do to her finally, however, Sanders made her go back several times. “And you’re sure they meant to kill you?” She nodded vehemently.

“Yes. They were quite clear that I mustn’t get too heavy a dose of whatever it was because that would kill me and the autopsy would show the wrong cause of death, but they certainly planned to kill me. They were going to bash my head in, was the way Jimmy put it.”

“Did either one of them try to attack you in a—” John’s voice trailed off at the poisonous look from Eleanor.

Amanda laughed. “Really, Eleanor. I’m not a baby. Yes. Jimmy tried.” She shuddered. “He was awful. But the other one—Rick—wouldn’t let him.”

“Well, at least the cop wasn’t a complete bastard, then,” murmured Sanders.

“Actually, it wasn’t that. He said that they’d be identified if they did.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Vicious and stupid.”

Amanda went slowly and carefully over the details until she got to her desperate escape. Aside from commenting that her mother would be furious because she’d certainly have to buy another school uniform, she hastily glossed over that awful night before the search party arrived.

“How did you know where to look for me?” she asked. “I mean, they could have taken me anywhere.”

“It was all that crashing around you did that put us on to it. A Mr. Cottrell who lives across the ravine heard a great deal of strange noise; he thought you were a pair of raccoons fighting. But when he heard on the six o’clock news that a girl had disappeared and that we were searching everywhere, especially the parks and ravines, he called us. Just in case. It was the first real lead we had, and so we tried it.”

“By the way—where was I?”

“I think you were about fifty yards from St. Clair Avenue. If you’d had a rock, you probably could have tossed it onto the bridge and hit a car.”

“No, I couldn’t,” said Amanda. “Not even to save my life.”

Dubinsky thrust his head in the door and beckoned. “I’ve got what you want, I think,” he said, looking down at his notebook. “There were nine people on the preliminary search party, as you know, and I’ve got all the names. But there was only one named Rick—a Richard Gruber, known as ‘Rick,’ usually. He’s with the uniform branch on nights, patrolling, these days. He turned up when the party was being organized, said that he had heard about it, had been looking out for the girl all night while on patrol, and wanted to volunteer for the extra shift to help. Nobody was very surprised, since a lot of guys feel pretty strongly about this sort of thing, and he went along in your group. That’s it. I asked them to get his file together.” He snapped his notebook shut.

Sanders, moved without hesitation into higher gear. “What I want now is a picture of him and about five other guys in uniform—all around the same age. And throw in a picture of Collins too. Bring them back here, see if we can get a positive identification. I’m going back to the school to clear up a few details. Call me if you get anything before I get back.”

“What do I do if she starts screaming when one of us walks in?”

“She won’t. Not now.”

Three people turned the corner and raced rapidly down the corridor. Kate Abbott was in the lead, with a tall, lanky man and a small determined-looking woman in full cry behind her. They swept into the room without a word; John stuck his head in after them and beckoned to Eleanor. She picked up her purse and raincoat and left Amanda to her family.

With unnecessary gallantry, John Sanders swept open the front door of the blue unmarked police car and helped Eleanor in. She lay back on the seat, head tilted, her chaotic red curls pouring over the headrest, eyes closed. “I’m taking you home,” he said. “Don’t worry, it’s on my way.”

“I’m not worrying,” she said. “I’m past worrying about anything right now except how long it’s going to take me to get into bed.” She yawned. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the school—to tidy up some details; then I’ll check up on this Rick and maybe I’ll get some sleep. Dubinsky can take over the rest.” Eleanor fought a brief battle to stay awake, lost, and sagged against the doorframe. The gentle bumping of the car as it hit a rough spot in her driveway woke her up.

“Omigod, we’re here. I’m sorry. I couldn’t manage to stay awake. I don’t know how you do it.” She sat up, shook her hair free of her coat collar, and tried to smile without yawning. Sanders leaned over and kissed her, lightly at first, then with sudden strength. Her body sleepily molded itself into the bends and folds of his, and she clung.

He finally pulled himself back, holding her away from him. “I feel like coming upstairs too. But I won’t.” He kissed her nose, still holding her away from him. “But I’ll call you later—or will you be asleep?”