It all added up. Carrie's implication that her brother was like an accountant, but not. The all sports station and Helena's note pad. Captain Bitterman's suspected gambling and his eagerness to do a favor. "Arnold Post is a bookie," you deduce.

"Yeah," the chief snarls. "I oughta shoot Bitterman for holding back. But that doesn't change the fact that we have a kidnapping on our hands. Treater, his partner, runs the sports book for northern New Mexico. Allegedly. He's on his way down to Santa Fe now with the ransom. I'm partnering you with Night Sky on this. You two show up at the Hacienda del Monte. They're expecting a second call from the kidnappers."

When you arrive, John Night Sky is outside cottage 18. He's examining the spot where the Mercedes had been parked. "The car drove away last night, like Miss Hiss said." Before you can ask, he straightens up and explains. "There's dew on the tread marks. Let's go talk to them."

You can hear Glen Treater before you even knock on the door. "Why the hell did you call the police?" he screams. A woman is sobbing in the background.

As expected, you are not met with warmth. Treater stands blocking the doorway, about your height, but bulky and menacing. You hand him a card. "We don't need cops," he brays. "I'll handle this my way."

"You don't have a choice," Night Sky answers. "It's a reported crime." He points to the holstered gun slung under Treater's arm. "You have a permit for that?"

"She made a mistake. There was no kidnapping call. Right, Helena?"

Helena wipes her eyes and her face turns hard. "There was a kidnapping. And, like it or not, you're going to pay up. The money comes from the partnership account. Half of it is Arnie's. If you don't go along, I'll sign his name and get the money myself. I'll tell you right now, when Arnie comes back and finds out you wouldn't pay his ransom, it's not going to be a pretty sight."

"Okay, okay," Treater mumbles.

And then the phone rings. You all exchange glances. Treater picks up the receiver in the living room. You and Night Sky listen in on the bedroom extension.

It's a man's whisper. "Is this Treater? You have the money? The quarter million?"

"Yeah, scumbag. You work for Nabokov, don't you? Look. You return Post in one piece or the Albuquerque cops'll get so many tips about your set-up -- "

"Shut up," the whisper demands. "You'll drop the money off tonight." Then he goes on to explain the details.

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