“Not good. What makes it even more galling is that the book is a pack of lies.” He took the slim advance copy of the memoir from his suit jacket and handed it to her. “I read it last night. Most of it is nothing more than Malone boasting about his life of crime, mixed with vitriol against our family. He still claims innocence and that the real kidnappers planted the bills from the ransom payment in his room. The only new information is that Malone finally admitted he is a thief and was planning a midnight heist of a jewelry store around the time William disappeared. What he writes in chapter five has a ring of truth to it. Start on the second paragraph.”

Gwen didn’t even want to touch the book, but she swallowed her distaste, opened it to the marked page, and began reading.

New York in February can be bitter, and the winds sweep through the city, sending sleet and misery straight into a man’s soul. I remained at my post, hour after wretched hour, watching and learning the behavior of the night watchman who patrolled the streets around the jewelry store.

The time was ripe for a heist. It was a week after someone had kidnapped the Blackstone boy, and the police were distracted searching for him. That meant the night patrols were thin, and there would never be a better time for a late-night robbery. After a few more nights of careful observation, I would make my move, and my beloved Ruby would never need to work another day in her life.

I was half-frozen to death when I got back to my boardinghouse. In those days the rooms didn’t have heat, but it was always warm in the boiler room. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I hobbled on frozen feet to the boiler room to thaw out. That was the plan, but a gang of tough-looking men were already in there. They had a little kid with them, about the same age as the missing Blackstone boy, held up close to the furnace.