When the parents emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, the maid greeted them quietly. ``I'm awful sorry about what's happened,'' Selena said. ``Maybe today'll be a good news day.'' She charged off to the bedrooms.

Moll took his coffee into the nursery. During the night, a phone company technician had deadened the bells and installed red blinkers on the phones. Someone would have to remain in the office continually. McFeeley greeted the parents, then studied his notebook. He wanted to take the mother to headquarters at once and start her on the mug file.

``Sleep well?'' he asked.

Andrus did not answer him. His face was bloated with drugging, redder than normal. The woman had the glassy look of an invalid, as if she had not slept at all. ``Oh -- we managed,'' she said. ``I'm a little groggy. Did anything happen during the night?''

``Few crank calls,'' McFeeley said. ``A couple of tips we're running down -- nothing promising. We can expect more of the same. Too bad your number is in the directory.''

``Didn't occur to me my child would be kidnaped when I had it listed,'' Andrus muttered. He settled on the sofa with his coffee, warming his hands on the cup, although the room was heavy with heat.

The three had little to say to each other. The previous night's horror -- the absolute failure, overcast with the intrusions of the press, had left them all with a wan sense of uselessness, of play-acting. Sipping their coffee, discussing the weather, the day's shopping, Fritzie's commitments at the network (all of which he would cancel), they avoided the radio, the morning TV news show, even the front page of the Santa Luisa Register, resting on the kitchen bar. Kidnapper Spurns Ransom; Amy Still Missing. Once, Andrus walked by it, hastily scanned the bold black headline and the five column lead of the article (by Duane Bosch, staff correspondent -- age not given), and muttered: ``We a buncha national celebrities.''