Word: ranging
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...loaded the originally requested $4.6 million in the back of a station wagon. It was stuffed into black plastic garbage bags. He drove to a parking lot at Kennedy Airport, then, while FBI agents observed from a distance, walked to the specified phone booth. At 8:10 the phone rang. Using the Raven identification, the caller directed Bronfman to another phone booth, in the KLM Royal Dutch Airlines section of the terminal. He waited an hour with no further word. At 9:30 p.m., the kidnapers called the Yorktown house, telling the family to get Bronfman back to the first...
Despite the plea, there was no response all day. Bronfman, restive under the strain, went back to the original J.F.K. phone booth, pacing back and forth outside it for hours. Finally, the phone rang. "Not tonight ... tomorrow ... tomorrow," said a voice. One of the conspirators had apparently been scouting the terminal area and had seen Bronfman there. The arrangements were confirmed in another Raven call to Yorktown. The drop would be at 8 p.m. Friday night, same place. "No cops. No feds," warned the caller...
...Where is he?" asked an angry kidnaper in an early-morning call to the Yorktown house. "He's f----d up again." A family spokes man told the caller that Bronfman was where he was supposed to be, waiting at the Burger King. Soon a phone rang in a booth near the hamburger place. Bronfman was told to drive to a nearby location, park, and stay at the wheel...
According to D.A. Gold, the investigation began last November when a "disgruntled employee" of the plant rang the bell on Good Humor. Sleuths looked into the matter, but, says Gold, the company began destroying records of coliform counts, and the plant was closed on April 28, less than two weeks after Gold subpoenaed its papers. Attorney St. Clair maintains that it was shut for economic reasons: "It was kind of out of date." Good Humor now supplies its markets from plants in Chicago and Baltimore...
...went to an all-night gas station and asked if we could stay there, but the attendant kicked us out, saying there was "some kind of monastery or something" up the road a bit. The monastery turned out to be a seminary for Jesuit priests and when we rang the doorbell at 12:30 in the morning I was sure--visions of medieval churches offering sanctuary to knights errant--we'd found a place to stay. But the priest who answered the door said he would have to ask his boss--the priest in charge of the seminary. Bill didn...