Vanished

8

In mid-January, preparations for the trial were under way, and there was still no news of Teddy. It had been three and a half weeks since he'd been gone, and Malcolm had gone back to Washington for a few days to attend a joint secret session of the House and Senate Committees on Military Affairs, and to see America's ambassador to Germany, Hugh Wilson, who was home for a brief visit.

Marielle was alone in New York, in the house surrounded by guards, and it had been almost a week since she'd seen John Taylor.

She was going through some papers one afternoon, trying to keep her mind off Teddy, and stay out of his room. She couldn't bear listening to the radio anymore. Either it was news of the trial, which rattled her, or she heard Teddy's favorite broadcasts, like The Lone Ranger, which made her cry and depressed her. And Marielle had come to hate the sight of Shirley Temple because she reminded her of Teddy. They had finally sent Miss Griffin off for a brief vacation to see her sister in New Jersey. She too was almost hysterical by then. And it was a relief not to have to look at her when Marielle went upstairs. Now she could be alone in his room, with his clothes, his toys, the little things he'd used, like his hairbrush. Sometimes, she just stood there for hours, and touched them, or sat in his favorite chair, or lay on his bed, trying not to think of his last night there.

Haverford appeared in the library that day, as she put away the last of her papers. His eyes were gentle and kind. He felt desperately sorry for her, although he would never have said it.

“There's someone here to see you. A Miss Ritter. She says she has an appointment.”

“I don't know anyone by that name.”

“Yes, you do.” At the sound of the words, Marielle turned, and saw a young woman enter the room where she was working. She was small and had red hair and was about Marielle's age, and she looked familiar but Marielle couldn't place her. And for an instant, she found herself praying that this would be some kind of threat, or extortion request, someone who could lead her to him, but those hopes were almost dead now. The ransom had never been picked up, and was still sitting in the locker in Grand Central Station.

“Who are you?” Marielle looked puzzled, and Haverford stood ready to defend her. And then suddenly Marielle knew. She recognized her as the reporter who had forced her way into the house early on, and the girl looked suddenly frightened as she glanced at the butler.

“May I talk to you alone?”

“No…”I'm sorry…you can't.” Marielle sounded far braver than she felt. The girl seemed very bold and sure, and Marielle was being very careful.

“It's important, please…” the young woman begged. She was wearing another of her incongruous outfits.

“I don't think so. How did you get in here?”

“We made an appointment for this afternoon.” She tried to brazen it out but Marielle knew better. She hadn't had an appointment of any kind in over a month, except with investigators and policemen.

“I'm sorry, Miss…”

“Ritter. Beatrice Ritter. Bea.” She smiled, trying to find some hook into Marielle, something that would catch Marielle's interest enough to ask her to stay, but Marielle knew better.

“…you'll have to leave…” For an instant, the girl looked bitterly disappointed, and then she nodded.

“I understand. I just wanted to speak to you about Charles.” The sound of his name was like an electric current in the room and Marielle stared at her.

“Why?”

“Because he needs you.” It was all much too complicated to discuss with a stranger.

“Madam?…” Haverford looked at her inquiringly, and she didn't know why, but she decided to let the girl stay, if only for a moment. She nodded, and he left the room, but he alerted two policemen as he left and Marielle saw them near the doorway.

“I don't understand why you're here. Did Charles send you to see me?” She had heard nothing from him since her visit to the jail, not since they found the bear that had finally convinced her he was guilty.

But Bea Ritter wanted to be honest with her, and realized she had to make her point quickly, before she was asked to leave. Charles had told her himself that Marielle would never see her. “I'm with AP. And I don't think he did it. I want to see if I can help find out who did. I want to know if you'll help me.” It was as clear and concise as she could make it.

“I'm afraid I don't agree with you, Miss…Ritter.” She groped for her name. “I didn't think he did it either, but two things have been found now to link him to my son, the pajamas my son was wearing when he left, and his favorite teddy bear. And no one else has come forward.” Marielle had no doubts now.

“Maybe the real kidnappers are afraid to, or have good reason not to. There has to be some reason.” She was so convinced of Charles's innocence. She had spent hours with him, and she could not believe him capable of the crime. But Marielle no longer believed in his innocence. She stood up quietly, wanting the girl to leave her.

“I'm afraid I can't help you.” Her eyes were too full of pain, her heart too heavy. She didn't want to listen to this girl plead for Charles. All she wanted was her son back.

“Do you believe he's capable of it?” She had to know. She wanted to know if Marielle believed him. But Marielle was afraid of what this girl would put in the papers.

“I do believe he's capable of it. There's simply no other answer. And he threatened to do it.” She was finally convinced, even if this young woman wasn't. After all these years, her heart had finally hardened to Charles Delauney.

“He was drunk.” It was obvious that she'd talked to him, and Marielle was annoyed that she was so persistent. She was bright and strong and incredibly determined. She wore her hair in a short bob, and she was wearing a cheap navy blue coat and dress, and a ridiculous hat with a red flower, but in an odd, perky way, she was pretty.

“Being drunk is no excuse. I'm sorry…” She walked to the door and Bea Ritter didn't move.

“Mrs. Patterson, he loves you…” The words stopped her in her tracks, and Marielle turned to stare at her in anger.

“Did he say that to you?”

“It's obvious.”

“It hasn't been obvious to me in years, and I don't want to hear it.” She was finally very, very angry at him, and mortally wounded by what he'd done. But Bea Ritter refused to share Marieile's point of view.

“He's innocent.” She was so determined, so sure, that it almost haunted Marielle as she listened, but she didn't want to be haunted by Charles again. He had taken her baby.

“How dare you say he's innocent! If he is, where's my child?”

“He doesn't know. He swears.” Her eyes never left Marieile's face. “If Charles knew, he'd tell us.”

“You don't even know him.” But she knew him better than Marielle thought. She had spent hours with him, in the jail, after bribing two policemen. At first it was just a story, an interview, but for some odd reason, she believed him. She was sure he was telling the truth, and she had promised herself that she would do everything she could to help him. In fact, she had gone to Tom Armour, at his request, and begged him to represent Charles. The two were acquaintances from years past, but until that point, Armour had refused all of Charles's letters and phone calls. It was Bea who turned the tide, who begged on his behalf, who convinced the young criminal attorney that Charles was in fact innocent, in spite of how grim things looked against him. And she had reminded Tom that if he didn't take the case, and Charles lost, he would be put to death… an innocent man. She insisted that Tom could make all the difference. Thanks to Bea Ritter, Tom Armour had finally agreed to represent him.

“Will you help me?” Her eyes begged and Marielle didn't want to hear her, just as Tom Armour hadn't wanted to, but he had. Bea Ritter was uncomfortably convincing.

“Find my son and I'll believe you,” Marielle said coldly.

“I'll try.” Bea Ritter finally stood up. “May I call you if anything comes up?” Marielle hesitated, and then in spite of herself, she nodded. “Thank you.” Bea stood for a moment, looking at Marielle, as though wondering about all she'd heard, and then she thanked her again and left, as Marielle watched her.

Marielle was still sitting at her desk, thinking about her unhappily, when John Taylor arrived with the U.S. Attorney. He was a tall, thin, spare, somewhat frightening-looking man, who seemed absolutely certain that Charles Delauney had kidnapped her child, and what's more, he was certain he had killed him. Marielle flinched as she heard the words, and John Taylor ached as he watched her. It was a far cry from Bea Ritter's plea to help him.

The U.S. Attorney told her they had scheduled the case for March, and he explained to her that they expected a guilty verdict, and hoped for every possible cooperation from her and her husband.

“What does that mean, Mr. Palmer?”

“It means that I expect you to be at the trial, to sit there and make the jury care. We want them to know what losing your boy has meant to you, so they convict Mr. Delauney. And if we're lucky, and can prove or even imply that he crossed state lines with the boy, we'll get the death penalty, Mrs. Patterson, and nothing less!” The way he said it made her shiver. He also made her feel that he was going to try to convict Charles on the emotions of the case, more than the evidence. And it worried her to be put “on display” during the trial. Taylor didn't like it either, but he understood it. William Palmer was a highly respected prosecutor, but not much of a human being. “Of course, if we find your son by then, we'd like to see him in court too, but only briefly.” Marielle sat there thinking that she would have loved that. If only they would find him and he could be there.

“Anything else?” She was being flip with him because what he was saying was so awful, but he didn't seem to get the point as he stood up and prepared to leave her.

“We'll let you know.” He readjusted his glasses, stared at her as though evaluating how good a witness she'd make, and picked up his briefcase. “I'd like to see your husband when he gets back from Washington, if you'd let him know.”

“I'll tell him.” He left and Taylor stayed on, and she sighed as they sat down on the couch. It had been an endless month, a hideous time, and they still had no idea what had happened to Teddy. There had been no calls, no tips, only a few bum leads, and a handful of crackpot sightings from New Hampshire to New Jersey.

“He's sweet.” She was referring to the U.S. Attorney, and Taylor laughed as he lit a cigarette and watched her. She was a good sport, among other things, when life wasn't crushing her to extinction.

“He's better in court than in the drawing room.”

“Lucky for him.” And then she looked inquiringly at John. In an odd way, they had become friends. Sometimes she felt as though he was her only ally. “I imagine the trial will be really awful.”

“It'll be rough. And they'll bring out things you won't like… at least the defense will, maybe your time in the hospital, or something like that. They have to do what they can to discredit you.”

“Why? I'm not accusing Charles.” Although most of the time she now believed he did it. It was only now and then that she had doubts about Charles's guilt. She told him then about Bea Ritter.

“Stay out of it. You'll only get hurt. Whatever the press gets hold of, they're going to twist and use to stab you in the back with.” She agreed. But what if the girl in the funny hats was right? She was so smart and so intense and so earnest. “I don't know what to think sometimes,” she admitted to John dejectedly. “And what difference does it make anymore? Teddy's gone. The rest is all so unimportant.” Her eyes were so big and sad as she said it. She had lost three children in one short lifetime.

“It isn't unimportant to Charles. His life is at stake. He's going to be clutching at straws for his survival.”

“Who's his lawyer?”

“He picked a good one. A man named Tom Armour. Smart, young, he can be brutal in court, but if anyone can save Delauney's neck, he will.”

“I don't know if I'm glad or not. I don't know what I think anymore. Malcolm says he did it. And when they found the bear…” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away. “But I don't know…when I went to see Charles, I believed him when he said he didn't. But if he didn't, where is Teddy?” It was the one question no one could answer, and as he watched her, he felt so drawn to her, he could hardly listen to her questions. He had never felt like that about anyone, not even his wife, and certainly not the women he usually dealt with in investigations, but there was something about her that just drove him to distraction. Something so vulnerable and soft that all he wanted to do when he was near her was reach out and touch her.

“I wish I knew the answer to that,” he finally said, but his eyes caressed her as they sat on the couch and it grew dark. It was another cold night, and she was alone, as usual. Malcolm was away, and in spite of the police everywhere, the house seemed so empty and lonely. He wished that he could take her to dinner somewhere, somewhere where there was noise and laughter and smoke and music. He wished he could take her away from it all, from men who beat her and broke her heart, and others who ignored her. He knew more about Malcolm Patterson now than he cared to know, and one thing he knew for sure was that Marielle was getting less than she deserved from everyone. And John Taylor wished that he could make things different. “I wish I could make all of this go away for you, Marielle.” It was an unprofessional thing for him to say, but it really touched her.

“That's sweet of you. So do I, I guess… I used to believe that difficult things happened for a reason. I'm not sure I believe that anymore. Too much has happened to me.” It was impossible to believe that through totally unforeseeable and hideous circumstances, the woman had lost three children. “Do you have children?” She knew so little about him, and yet she had known for a month now that she liked him.

“Two. A girl fourteen and a boy eleven.” And then, suddenly he was sorry he'd said it, but she seemed peaceful as she nodded.

“Andre would have been eleven”…and the little girl eight…the baby who died without ever taking a breath, and with no name…just baby girl Delauney.

“Jennifer and Matthew.” He filled in to distract her.

“Do they look like you?” She was smiling, enjoying just talking to him about normal things, not kidnapping and murder.

“I don't know. People say he does. It's hard to tell What about you? What do you like to do when life is normal?”

She smiled at the question. “I like to swim, and go for long walks, and ride… I like music… I used to paint years ago, but I haven't in years…” Not since the hospital, but she didn't say that. “I like all the silly things I used to do with Teddy.” Everything always came back to that, in the end, it was all she could think of. “We saw Snow White, the day…the day he…”

“I know,” he said softly. He remembered. She nodded then, feeling sad, and he put a hand on hers, and she looked at him wondering why he cared, why he was so nice, but she was grateful that he was there. He always seemed to be there when it mattered. “Marielle…” He spoke her name softly, and the air seemed not to move between them, and then without saying anything, he leaned toward her and kissed her. She felt her whole body melt close to him as he took her in his arms and held her close, and all she could think of was the power of him, the excitement and the strength, and the kindness. She didn't know what to say to him when he pulled away from her and they both looked surprised, but it was obvious from her face that she was happy.

“I'm not sure what to say now…except that you mean a lot to me…and I'm not sure I could have survived all this without you.”

“I want to be there for you…” He wanted to give her more than that, but he didn't know how to say it. He pulled away slowly, and sat back against the couch, wondering at what he had done, and why, except he knew he'd had to do it. He could never have given her any of the things she had. All he could give her was the one thing he knew she didn't have, and hadn't in years: love. And one thing he was sure of, Malcolm Patterson didn't deserve her. She was looking at John quietly, and she looked more peaceful than she had in a long time, as she touched his hand and then kissed it.

“Do you love your wife?” She wanted to know, more out of curiosity than anything else. She wanted to know him better. And he could never be anything less than honest with her. He hesitated and then nodded.

“She's very lucky.” But he didn't want to talk about his wife with her.

“I haven't been able to think about anyone but you since the night I met you. All I wanted to do that night was put my arms around you.” They exchanged a long intense look, and then each knew what the other was feeling. They didn't even need the words. All they needed was each other. And they both knew he could lose his job over what he was doing…and his wife…but the truth was, he didn't care now. All he wanted was to be with her, to take care of her, and protect her as no one else had. Marielle was drawn to him too, but she couldn't imagine what would happen. They were both married, whether happily or not, and however angry Malcolm was at her now, she couldn't leave him after losing Teddy.

“What's going to happen to us?” she asked softly.

What do you want to happen, Marielle?” His voice was deep and gentle.

“I'm not sure.” She looked worried. She didn't want to hurt anyone, not John, or his wife, or even Malcolm.

John touched the silky cinnamon-colored hair. And the truth was that he was ready to leave Debbie for her, but he knew that if he told Marielle that, it would frighten her and make her feel guilty. He didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep, yet he wanted her so badly. He wanted to be with her, to help her, to hold her, to give her everything she'd never had before. He wanted all of her…her soul…her life…and her body…

“You haven't had a hell of a lot of lucky breaks, my friend.” He said it with a rueful smile, and more kindness in his eyes than she had seen in a lifetime.

“No, I guess you could say that…Teddy was one of them…and now you…maybe that's all you get…maybe all you get out of anything worth having is a few years, a few days… a few moments…” She had had Andre for a brief two years… Charles for three…Teddy for four…maybe that was it…maybe that was all… Maybe there was no forever.

“You don't ask for much.”

“I haven't had much choice.” She looked him in the eye and he leaned toward her and kissed her again. This time it took their breath away, and he wasn't sure he could restrain himself much longer.

“I want you to be happy…” he whispered heatedly, but she looked at him sadly. Even though he had given her so much joy in these few precious moments, she didn't expect more, and she wanted him to know that. And all she wanted right now was to find Teddy.

“This has been such an awful time…” she said softly.

“I know.” He took her hand in his own, wishing he could solve all her problems. Maybe in time…but he shuddered to think what would happen to her if they never found the boy, or they only found his body. “You have to be very strong, Marielle.” He knew she was already. “I'm here to help you.” And then he had a thought, because in truth, she asked so little of him. “Why do you ask so little of everyone? Why are you so decent?” Therein he knew he had found the key. That was why they all hated her. Because she expected nothing of them, because she gave without wanting anything in return, and it all made them feel so terribly lacking. She was too good, too kind, too pure, and too willing to endure the pain they gave her. “Don't be so good…even to me, Marielle…don't…” He kissed her again, and she kissed him hard this time, and finally she stopped and pulled away with a small smile that made his heart turn over as he watched her. With all her dignity and gentleness, she still exuded an aura of passion, and she was driving him crazy.

“If we don't stop soon, we're going to have a serious problem.” She looked at him knowingly as she said it.

“I'm not so sure that isn't what I want,” he answered hoarsely. And she was sure it was what she wanted. She hadn't made love to a man in three years, and the sinews beneath his shirt looked powerfully appealing, but they also didn't need that kind of complication at the moment, and they both knew it.

“When this is all over, you and I are going to have a serious talk, Mrs. Patterson. I don't know what's going to happen. But I do know I'm not going to let you off the hook so easily then.” He had never felt like this about anyone, not even his wife, and he wasn't willing to give that up now. The moment he had met Marielle, he had known his life was about to change forever. But he also knew that what he owed her now was to find her son, and if he couldn't do that, to at least help her through the trial and see Charles Delauney convicted.

“Would you like something to eat before you go?” she offered, but he shook his head.

“I have to get back to the office,” he said reluctantly, hating to leave her. He seldom went home before ten o'clock. Because he really didn't want to. He had told Marielle he loved his wife and he did… he had… he used to…But the truth was, he loved his kids more, and that and their religion kept them together. “Ill call you tomorrow,” he whispered to Marielle, wondering if she'd regret what they'd done, what they'd said, and if she'd be embarrassed, but there was a look of contentment in her eyes when she stood up, and she looked at him strangely.

“I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. I just feel peaceful.” As though something very special had happened. And he felt it too. Something right. Something good. Something they both needed and wanted. But would they ever be allowed to have it? It was still too soon to know the answer to that question.

“Good night, Mrs. Patterson,” he said softly, brushing her lips with his own before they left the room and were under the scrutiny of the policemen still assigned to her home night and day. “Good night, Marielle…” he whispered. She smiled as she walked him to the front door, and a few minutes later, she walked quietly upstairs to her own room. It was the first time in a month she had smiled, it was so wonderful to feel loved and wanted again, even if only for a moment.