You want to see your kid alive again? Home and happy?” The amplifier had been connected and we all heard the ensuing conversation.īoston-accented masculine voice: “You Morry Franklin?” Our client nodded and staggered to his feet. “If it’s a ransom demand, keep them talking as long as possible. The FBI special agent in charge beckoned to Maurice Franklin. There must have been a dozen men in the room at that time and I think we all froze and stared at the shrilling phone. I was still trying to comfort him and the technicians were still at work wiring their black boxes when the telephone rang. “If a ransom demand is made, believe me, sufficient funds will be available.” “They’ll probably want a lot of money,” he went on, not listening to me.
“But we don’t yet know for certain he has been kidnapped.” Franklin,” I said as soothingly as I could. I don’t care what happens to me afterward.” “If Timmy’s been kidnapped,” he said, his voice thick, “and I get to them, I’ll kill them. He was a bulky man, massive through the neck and shoulders, with an indoor complexion made paler by stress. I assured him we stood ready to offer whatever assistance we could. I identified myself, expressed my sympathy and that of McNally & Son. While this work was in progress I went over to a couch where our client, Maurice Franklin, was sitting upright, gripping his knees with white knuckles. A third dingus was designed to trace the source of incoming calls within minutes, obviating the need of searching phone company logs. A voice-activated deck would make a taped record of all calls. One would amplify all telephone conversations so everyone could hear clearly both sides of a phoned dialogue.
Rogoff vouched for my bona fides.įBI techs were busily installing a variety of electronic devices. I arrived at the Franklin home to find the Feds in command and I was allowed entry only after Sgt. I thought I better put in a personal appearance to show the McNally & Son flag, so to speak, and offer what help I could. Finally, I learned later, the FBI was informed about noon that a possible kidnapping might be in progress. I knew he would attempt to trace Timmy’s movements after the boy left school, check hospitals, accident reports, and shelters for runaway children.
#Archy mcnally movie professional#
Al Rogoff of the PBPD, which heartened me since Al is an old confrere and I trust his professional expertise. Things took a more somber turn the following morning. I do not believe anyone was unduly concerned at that stage of the affair. The pater ordered me to liaise with the Palm Beach Police Department and keep him informed. In turn he called Timmy’s school, his friends, and then, becoming increasingly worried, phoned the police and my father, Prescott McNally, sovereign of our law firm. When Timmy did not return from school, Franklin’s Haitian housekeeper called him at work. I knew these details because Maurice Franklin was a client of McNally & Son.
His son, the kidnapped Timmy, was his only child. His wife had died of cancer the previous year. He owned a medium-sized pest control business and earned a steady annual profit, but nothing to justify a front-page article in The Wall Street Journal. Wrong! The boy’s father, Maurice Franklin, was moderately well-to-do but a Croesus he was not. I imagine the moronic thugs figured if the boy lived in Palm Beach his parents must have a gazillion bucks.
No cars or witnesses being nearby, the two improper Bostonians brought their rental car to a screeching h alt, grabbed the startled kid, and hustled him into the back seat, where he was threatened with instant annihilation if he uttered a single word or attempted to attract the attention of anyone to his plight. On the second day of exploration they espied a young lad trudging along by himself on the verge of South County Road. I’m sure visions of sugarplums danced through their tiny, tiny minds, each sweetmeat printed with a dollar sign. They slowly toured the boulevards and back roads of the Town of Palm Beach, marveling at the endless rows of mansions they passed. With no more planning they immediately launched their caper. The two wetbrains resolved to kidnap the young child of a wealthy Palm Beach resident, hold him or her just long enough to collect a sizable ransom, and then skedaddle northward. It wasn’t long before they were tapped out, a rapid decline of their operating funds accelerated by a visit to the casinos in the Bahamas.ĭetermined to avoid an ignominious and cash-poor return to their hometown, they decided a criminal enterprise in Florida was the answer to their financial problems. Even I can scarcely give it credence although I was witness to what occurred.Įarly in December two Boston villains decided to jaunt to south Florida to escape the rigors of winter and enjoy the sunshine and thong bikinis of Miami Beach. HERE’S AN ANECDOTE YOU may find difficult to believe. McNally’s Gamble, McNally’s Dilemma, and McNally’s Folly
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