The Abduction

Friday, May 3, 3:30 P.M.

Jimmy Yates was an active 12 year old. A tall, slim towhead, Jimmy was on his way home from his piano lesson, his

usual Friday afternoon activity. Other afternoons baseball occupied his time but Friday afternoons were reserved for piano,

his second love.

As he strolled along Yancey Street in St. Louis, daydreaming, as was his custom, a car pulled up to the curb next to him.

The driver leaned across the front seat, opened the passenger side window and called out, “Hey son, can you tell me how to

get to Third Street?”

Not sure what the man had asked Jimmy moved closer to the car. When he reached the edge of the sidewalk the back

door of the car flew open, a man and a woman jumped out, grabbed Jimmy and pulled him into the back seat. The man

wrapped his arms around Jimmy and held him while the woman put a piece of tape on Jimmy’s mouth and a bandana over

his eyes. Together, with Jimmy struggling to get loose, they tied his hands and feet securely. Jimmy didn’t stop fighting even

then, he threw his head back and forth trying to butt one of his captors.

As this was going on in the back seat the driver pulled away from the curb and drove out of St. Louis. When he reached

the suburbs he left the main highway and followed a secondary road to an old abandoned farmhouse set back from the road

about 200 yards. Here the kidnappers dragged the still struggling youth inside and handcuffed him to an old iron bedstead.

They also put handcuffs on his ankles.

“Whew! No one told us we would have a rasslin’ match to get him here.” This from the younger of the two men, Jared

(Juke) St. John, a swarthy, muscular man in his mid-thirties. “I thought you said this would be a piece of cake.” The latter

statement was addressed to the older man, a clean-cut, professorial looking man in his early fifties.

Donald Sanderson, the leader of the group, was a brilliant man. A former professor, with a PhD in chemistry, he had

planned this caper down to the last detail. He obviously had not anticipated the fiery response they had received from their

abductee.

“Murphy’s Law, number 27, if you try to capture a buzzsaw make sure the switch is turned off. Perhaps we should have

given him the needle right away, as Pat wanted to. Now Pat, I’m going to make our first phone call; if the boy gives you any

more trouble give him a shot.”

“Okay Don,” answered the woman. “We’ll take care of him.” The woman, Patricia (Pat) O’Hara, 29, an attractive former

exotic dancer, was Donald Sanderson’s mistress. She had never before committed any major crime and was in this affair

only for the excitement it created.

Friday, 4:30 P.M.

The phone rang at the Yates’ residence. When a woman answered the caller asked to speak with Wilson Yates.

“Just a moment, I’ll get him,” the woman responded.

When Mr. Yates picked up the phone the caller came right to the point. “Mr. Yates, listen to what I have to say. I will say it

just one time and will not repeat it.”

At this point Mr. Yates interrupted, “Who is this?”

“Do not interrupt,” said the caller. “I’m calling to tell you your son Jimmy has been kidnapped and will be returned to you

when you meet my ransom demands. I want you to return to your laboratory and obtain a copy of the formula for your D16

nerve gas. I will call you tomorrow and inform you how you can exchange the formula for your son. Do not call the police if

you ever want to see your son again.” The caller then hung up before Mr. Yates could say anything else.

When he realized the caller was no longer on the line Mr.Yates stood there bewildered for a moment and then decided to

tell his wife about the call.

Wilson Yates, at 38, was the opposite of his wife in build and temperament. He was tall, balding, and had an athletic

build that was beginning to deteriorate from a desk-bound existence. As the chief chemist at Sanford Pharmaceutical

Company in St. Louis he spent most of his time either at his desk or in the laboratory and had little time for exercise. His

most recent accomplishment in the chemical field was the development of a highly secret nerve gas which the government,

in all its wisdom, had labeled D16.

Wilson’s wife, Frances, 36, was a short, slim brunette whose main activity was bustling about involved in civic affairs,

when she was not attending church or PTA functions. Where Wilson tended to be calm, even phlegmatic, in response to

stress situations, Frances was usually more emotional and at times distraught in the face of stress.

Knowing this characteristic of his wife Wilson approached her cautiously to break the news. “Frances, there’s

something I need to tell you that is going to be very stressful. Before I do, please sit down.”

When she was seated Wilson informed her of the call he had just received. He sat next to her and took her hand.

“I was told not to call the police but I think we should anyway. The police are very experienced in handling situations such

as this and I’m sure will be very discreet in their approach.”

“I don’t know,” Frances answered, struggling to maintain control. “If the kidnappers find out they may kill Jimmy.” At this

she began to sob. Wilson immediately pulled her to her feet and held her close in his arms.

“We are going to need their help,” he explained. “I can’t answer the ransom demands. The kidnappers want me to get

them the formula for something I developed at the lab. The formula is no longer in my hands, it’s in a computer file in the

main office. It’s completely out of my reach and it’s not the type of information I carry around in my head. There’s no way I

can access the computer to get the information; it requires an entry code that is as secret as the formula itself is supposed to

be. Which makes me wonder how they are aware of its existence.”

“Wilson, you must get your hands on the formula,: replied Frances. “Jimmy’s life depends on it.”

“I will do my best, but I know it’s impossible. The company isn’t going to help me and I can’t let them know anything.

Security is so rigid at the company that I probably couldn’t even get into the office, never mind the computer. Our only

answer is to call the police.”

With a sigh Frances answered, “I suppose you’re right; but until we get Jimmy back I’m going to worry.”

Wilson kissed Frances and squeezed her hand before reaching for the phone.

Friday, 5:30 P.M.

“Hello, Police Headquarters, how may I help you?”

“This is Wilson Yates, I live at 4359 Dinerney Street. I just received a phone call telling me my oldest son has been

kidnapped. I would like someone to come to my house immediately and unobtrusively, to help start a search for him.”

The policeman at the other end answered, “There will be someone there within ten minutes, Mr. Yates. Please keep

your phone line open and stay indoors.”

Within ten minutes an unmarked police car drove into the driveway. A man and woman in plain clothes walked up to the

door where Wilson Yates met them.

“Mr. Yates,” said the man, “I’m Lieutenant Simon and this is Sergeant Thomas,” indicating a young, attractive black

woman. The lieutenant was a man in his late forties, heavily built and had a nose which showed that at one time he had been

a boxer.

Wilson took the two officers into the den and introduced them to his wife, who was sitting there red-eyed with a

distraught look on her face.

“You did the right thing in calling the police,” said Lieutenant Simon. “Now, can you give me the particulars on the phone

call you received? Exact words if you remember them.”

Mr. Yates considered for a moment or two then said, “It was a man that called, the voice sounded like he was an

educated person. He said he had something to say which he would say one time only and would not repeat it. He then

proceeded to tell me my son had been kidnapped and that he would be returned to me if I met his ransom demands. Then

he said I was to return to my laboratory; I might mention here that I am the chief chemist at Sanford Pharmaceuticals. I was

to obtain for him the formula for a top secret substance which the lab developed recently under my supervision. He ended by

saying he would contact me tomorrow to arrange the transfer of the formula for my son and that I was not to call the police if I

ever wished to see my son again.

“He didn’t give me the chance to tell him that I don’t have access to the formula. It is locked up in a computer file I can’t

access. I discussed this with my wife and she agreed I should call you.”

“Believe me, Mr. Yates, you made the right decision. Can you tell me where your son had been and what route he might

have taken on his way home? This would give us a starting point from which to begin our investigation. Also, I need a

description of your son and a picture if possible.”

While Wilson Yates outlined the route Jimmy usually took home from his piano lesson Frances took a framed picture

from a book case and removed the photograph enclosed. This she handed to the lieutenant with the comment, :”it was taken

about three months ago.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Yates, I’ll have a team get on this right away. Please keep your phone line open. We’ll send a

technician out to attach a tracing device to your phone; that way we may be able to locate the source of his next call.

Sergeant Thomas will be my liaison with you. And don’t get discouraged, we will have all our resources working on finding

Jimmy.”

Friday, 7:00 P.M

Pat O’Hara decided it was time she checked on what her charge was doing. When she opened the door to the

bedroom where they had handcuffed Jimmy he was nowhere in sight. At this she panicked and went screaming into the next

room. “Juke, Juke, he’s gone. We’d better go find him.”

Juke came running from the yard where he had been taking a nap. “Wadda ya mean, he’s gone?”

Pat answered, “I just looked in his room and he wasn’t there.”

Juke ran to the room with Pat right behind him and looked inside. The handcuffs were still attached to the bedframe, but

no Jimmy. “How did he do that?” yelled Juke.

“You search the house and I’ll look in the cellar,” said Pat. “We have to find him before Don returns.” As soon as she

finished saying this they heard a car door close and Donald Sanderson walked in.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“The boy’s gone,” said Pat. “He slipped out of his handcuffs.”

“He what?”

“We’re going to find him, don’t worry,” Juke replied.

The three of them searched everywhere intensively, including the cellar and could find no trace of the boy. By this time

Sanderson was fuming. “How could you have let this happen?”

“He won’t get very far,” stated Pat. “He still has cuffs on his ankles and he’ll either have to hop or crawl to get anywhere.”

“I’ll take the car and go cruise the neighborhood,” said Sanderson. “The two of you radiate out from the house into the

fields around us. We have to find him before it gets dark or give up on the project.”

While this conversation was going on Jimmy was lying under the bed with a huge grin on his face. As soon as his

captors left the house he crawled out from under the bed and began to crawl very slowly to the front door.

Pat and Juke circled the house in opposite directions, increasing the size of their circle each time. As Pat was making

one of her circuits she saw movement near the front door and called out to Juke. “I think he just came out of the house. I’m

going to the front door, you go in the back door. Grab him and hold him and I’ll give him a shot.”

When Pat arrived at the front door it was wide open but there was no sign of Jimmy. She stopped and listened and

heard a sound coming from the area of the bedroom. Rushing there she arrived just in time to see Jimmy’s feet

disappearing under the bed.

“Juke, he’s in the bedroom,” she called. “You come grab him while I get a shot ready.”

Juke appeared instantly, reached under the bed and grabbed for Jimmy’s feet. The boy continued to put p a battle.

Each time Juke got a hand on one foot the other foot smashed against his fingers causing him to lose his grip.

Finally, in an exasperated tone, he yelled at Jimmy, “You’re being so difficult it’s making me do everything the hard way,

which will be much harder on you in the end. Why don’t you give up and save yourself a lot of grief?”

“I’ll never give up,” Jimmy yelled back. “Do what you want but you have to catch me first.”

At this Juke took a rubber encased pipe out of his pocket and crawled under the edge of the bed. As he did so he

began flailing the cash in Jimmy’s direction, occasionally striking the boy and causing him to yelp.

“Are you ready to give up?” snarled Juke.

“No,” was the defiant answer.

Juke crawled further under the bed and was rewarded for his efforts by being kicked in the knee. Again he swung his

weapon in the boy’s direction and this time grinned when he heard a loud thump followed by a quick intake of breath. He

moved in closer and swung again. This time the yelp came because Pat had managed to approach from the other side of

the bed and jab a needle in Jimmy’s buttocks.

In a few minute the drug had subdued Jimmy enough for Juke and Pat to drag him out and lay him on top of the bed.

Here they examined the handcuffs from which Jimmy had escaped and found nothing wrong with them. The boy’s wrists,

however, were raw and red where he had worked himself loose.

Pat made the comment, “I guess handcuffs won’t work on him because his hands are as small as his wrists. Let’s

handcuff his ankles to the bed this time and have another shot ready just in case.” Juke nodded his agreement.

As she was saying this Sanderson entered the bedroom and exclaimed, “Thank God you found him. I’d hate to think that

all those months of planning was a waste of time. Did you give him a shot?”

Pat answered in the affirmative and then explained what conclusions they had come to about his wrists, and the decision

to handcuff his ankles instead.

Friday, 8 P.M.

Sergeant Thomas returned to the Yates’ home accompanied by a tall, slim man she introduced as Sergeant Corielli.

“Joe is our expert on electronics. He’s going to set up a listening device which will be connected to your phone. Then, when

the man calls again, we can record his message and at the same time try to trace him. Joe will return in the morning and

stay with you until the next phone call, if you have no objections.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Yates indicated they had no objections Sergeant Corielli went back outside and returned with a large

tool box and the electronic devices he needed to install.

While he was doing the installation Sergeant Thomas brought up the subject of the ransom demand made at the time of

the first phone call. “You mentioned that you can’t access the computer but we would like you to go through the motions as if

you are actually obtaining the formula. You’ll need to go to the lab and come back with some-thing to give him that

resembles the real thing, as a fallback in case he gets back to you before we find him. Can you do that?”

Wilson Yates agreed he could do that and would go to the lab first thing in the morning. “I’ll need to find some way of

getting security to let me in. I don’t suppose you can help me with that?”

“No,” replied Sergeant Thomas. “The kidnappers may have an inside person at the lab, perhaps in security, who would

inform them as soon as it was known the police were involved. You’ll have to make it on your own. We will have someone

on duty outside your house as a precautionary measure. I think you should know we called in the FBI and also that we have

started canvassing the area to see if we can find any witnesses to the abduction.”

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