Vanished

“If he were innocent … if we found Teddy again,” and he still hoped they would, but he doubted it now. It had been too long. It was beginning to seem too much like the Lindberghs. “Would you go back to Charles?” He had wanted to ask her that for days. He wanted to know, because in his heart of hearts, he knew she still loved him.

“I don't know,” she said honestly. “I don't think so. I couldn't. There's too much pain between us. Think of what we would feel when we looked at each other every morning. If he's innocent, and Teddy comes home again …Charles will never forgive me for this …” She looked up at him, and John was annoyed.

“Everything that goes wrong in the world is not your fault. You didn't make those threats in the park, he did. He's the damn fool who either did it, or put himself in a hell of a spot for shooting his mouth off. Last time I looked, all you did was go to the park with your boy. This is not your fault, for God's sake, just like Teddy's kidnapping isn't …and the other boy's drowning wasn't …stop believing all the shit these jerks give you.” She smiled at him. She loved him for believing in her, and protecting her, and caring about her, and trying to find Teddy. But she wondered what else they would have when this was over. Probably very little. They would be friends, but they had met at a time that, for her, would be forever painful. But he was worried about something else now, since listening to the last few days' testimony in court. He knew what Patterson had up his sleeve now. If they found the boy, he was beginning to suspect that Patterson was going to sue her for custody and divorce, and accuse her of being an unfit mother. That's what the mental instability was all about, and the testimony by governesses and maids. John Taylor already saw where Malcolm was leading, but he didn't want to scare her. And maybe it would never happen. Maybe they would never find Teddy.

“Take care of yourself,” he whispered as he hurried down the front steps a little while later, wishing he could kiss her. And as Marielle went back to her room, she correctly assumed that Malcolm was with Brigitte.

He didn't bother to come home that night, or to call. The pretense was over. She wondered where they were staying now, to avoid the reporters who were hot on their trail for a story. She wondered too how often his calls to her had come from Brigitte's apartment. It was amazing how little she had known about her husband. She had thought him so respectable, so kind, so gentle with her, and instead he had been building a case against her for years, he had always known about the hospital and Charles, and he had cheated on her for years with Brigitte. It was not a pretty picture. She was still thinking about it when the phone rang as she lay in the dark at ten o'clock. She almost didn't answer it, thinking it would be him. But there was always the possibility it would be a call about Teddy. She knew the police still in the house would pick it up, but nevertheless she wanted to listen. She was startled to hear Bea Ritter asking the policeman to put the call through to Marielle and he wouldn't.

“It's all right, Jack. I have it. Hello?”

“Mrs. Patterson?”

“Yes.”

“This is Bea Ritter.” Even her voice sounded nervous and energetic. She was an excited little woman full of life and the pursuit of a great story. But Marielle had wanted to thank her anyway, for the surprisingly decent article about Marielle's performance in the courtroom. She thanked her, and the little redhead sounded embarrassed. “They really did a job on you. It made me sick to watch it.”

“At least I didn't get carried out of the court the way the others said I did.”

“They're a bunch of jerks. If it doesn't happen the way they want it, they make it up, I don't do that.” And then there was a pause. She had half expected not to get through to her, and now they were suddenly talking like old friends, but she was scared and this was important. “I'm sorry to call so late … I wasn't sure how to get through to you …Mrs. Patterson, can I meet you for a little while?”

“Why?”

“I have to talk to you. I can't tell you over the phone. But I really have to.”

“Does it have to do with my son?” Was there a tip? … a chance … a hope …she almost felt her heart stop.

“No. Not directly. It has to do with Charles Delauney.”

“Please don't ask me that. Please …you saw what they did to me yesterday … I can't help him.”

“Please …just listen … I want to help find your son's kidnapper, and Charles isn't it. I believe that.”

“Does he know you're calling?”

She blushed beet red at her end of the phone and shook her head. “He hardly knows me. I've been to see him a few times, but he's terribly distracted. But I think he's innocent and I want to help him.”

“I want to find my son. That's all I want,” she said sadly.

“I know …so do I …you deserve it …please see me …just for a few minutes.”