Vanished

13

The trial went on for weeks after that, as Hitler seized Memel on the Baltic. The trial seemed to have pushed the world news off the front pages, in New York anyway. But Britain and France had announced that they stood ready to support Poland. And at the end of March, much to Charles's chagrin, the Spanish Civil War ended at last, when Madrid fell to General Franco. There were over a million dead by then, in three years an entire population had fallen. It was a tragedy to Charles, as he knew it would be to his friends in Europe. The fight was over. The war was lost. But Charles Delauney had his own war to fight now, the battle for his survival.

Marielle never heard from Bea Ritter again after her late-night visit. But she continued to read her articles in the paper, and was touched by her sympathetic viewpoint.

Predictably, there had been a huge hue and cry in the press about Malcolm and Brigitte for several weeks, but despite constant inquiries, Marielle stayed aloof about it, and made no comments. She and Malcolm had scarcely spoken to each other in weeks, and she had only seen Brigitte once since then. The girl had covered her guilt by looking haughtily at Marielle, and clinging to Malcolm, as though trying to prove that she was the winner. It seemed a poor defense to Marielle, and she didn't envy her awkward position. She felt betrayed by their lies, and Brigitte's false kindness, but she was hardly even angry anymore, or even jealous. He hadn't been hers in a long time, but she was deeply hurt by Malcolm's long-distance deception. Her only attempt to discuss the matter with him had been rebuffed, and Malcolm had pretended to be “outraged.” He told her that after her behavior with Charles he owed her no explanations, which told her absolutely nothing, except to confirm his guilt. But that fact had already been established.

She reminded him coolly that if he continued to stay at the apartment with the girl, the press would continue to hound them. After that, she noticed that he stayed at their house again, and not at Brigitte's apartment. But in spite of that, she still scarcely saw him.

The tension between them was unbearable, but so was the trial, as a trail of expert witnesses, detectives, and irrelevant people took the stand, endorsing Charles's guilt, and one by one being attacked by Tom Armour.

It was three full weeks before the defense had their chance. And Tom Armour called Marielle as his first witness. At first he led her across the same terrain carefully, rebuilding her where Bill Palmer had destroyed her. And the portrait that began to emerge at his hands was far different from the one colored by Malcolm and Bill Palmer. Instead of a mentally ill invalid, a woman not to be trusted with her own child, he showed more clearly what had really happened, how destroyed she had been at the death of her son, and the loss of her baby, and then her husband. Tom Armour admitted openly that Charles had been more than a little crazy, and had treated her badly. They were both racked with pain, he explained, and there was not a dry eye in the courtroom when he asked her to describe groping for Andre beneath the frozen ice of Lake Geneva. She explained how she had been able to save the two little girls, but not her own son, because he had slipped farther under the ice, and how he had lain lifeless and gray in her arms when she found him. She had had to stop several times as she described the scene to him, and then the hospital that night and losing the baby. In one fell swoop, they had lost their family, and Charles hadn't been equal to it, Charles even more than she. Then she had snapped, and all she wanted for months afterward was to die and be with her babies.

“Do you feel that way now?” Tom asked her quietly, as several jurors blew their noses.

“No,” she said sadly.

“Do you believe Teddy is still alive?”

Her eyes filled with tears again, but she went on, “I don't know… I hope he is… I hope it so much…” She looked at the press then and into the courtroom. “… If anyone knows where he is…please, please bring him home… we will do anything…just don't hurt him…”A photographer ran up, and a camera exploded in her face as she said it, and the judge ordered the bailiff to throw the photographer out of the courtroom.

“And if anyone does that again, you'll go to jail, is that clear?” Judge Morrison boomed as Marielle regained her composure. He apologized to her, and she waited for Tom's next question.

“Do you believe that Charles Delauney took your son?” It was a dangerous question, but he wanted the world to know what she thought because he didn't think she was convinced that he took him.

“I'm not sure.”

“Do you think he would do a thing like that? You know him better than anyone here. He has loved you, and hurt you, and cried with you…he's even hit you… he has probably done worse things to you than to anyone he knows.” Charles had admitted that to Tom himself, and yet what Marielle had told Tom of him told him that Marielle did not believe him guilty. “Knowing what you do of him, Mrs. Patterson, do you believe that he took Teddy?”

She hesitated for an eternity, and then finally shook her head and dropped her face into her hands, and Tom Armour waited.

“Are you still in love with this man, Mrs. Patterson?”

She looked at Charles sadly. What terrible things had come to them. What misery they had shared, and yet long ago, they had been so happy. “No,” she said softly. “I love him. I probably always will. He was the father of my children. I loved him very much when I was young…but now… I am only sad for him, and if he has done this terrible thing, then I hope he returns my son safely. But I am not in love with him anymore. We've caused each other too much pain for too long.” Tom Armour nodded, and he respected her more than she knew. She was one hell of a terrific woman. She had held up under questioning, shared her guts, her life, her soul, she had lost two children to the hands of fate, and now one more, and she was still standing. He admired her more than anyone he had ever met, but nothing showed in his face as he went on with his questions.

“Have you had an affair with Mr. Delauney since your marriage to Mr. Patterson?”

“No,” she said calmly.

“Have you had an affair with anyone? Have you ever been unfaithful to your husband?” He looked her straight in the eye, and as her eyes met his, they did not waver.

“No, I have not.” It was true. She had kissed John Taylor but that was all, and by now her marriage was over.

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson, you may step down. I have no further questions.” He helped her from the stand, and, feeling drained, she went back to sit down, but she didn't have the beaten feeling she'd had when she'd been interrogated by Bill Palmer.

Tom called Haverford to the stand next, their butler. He described her as decent, fair, and intelligent, a woman of integrity, and a true lady, he said proudly, which touched her. He said she'd been wonderful to her son, and he, Haverford, had always been shocked by how badly she was treated by Mr. Patterson's servants. It was as though everyone felt they owed nothing to her, and only to Mr. Patterson. Haverford himself felt that Mr. Patterson never stood behind her. He acted as though she was not in charge, and simply a guest, and that was how she was regarded. He said Miss Griffin had been abominable to her, the housekeeper was worse, and Edith stole her clothes, and everyone, including Mr. Patterson, knew it. He said that all of the servants ridiculed her in the kitchen.

“Are you saying there was no respect for Mrs. Patterson in her own home?” Tom Armour pressed him, to make sure the jury understood it.

“I am, sir,” Haverford said, looking dignified in a dark suit that had been tailored for him in London.

“Would you say that her own behavior led to that attitude, Mr. Haverford? Is she, as has been suggested in this courtroom earlier, an irresponsible, weak woman, essentially without merit?” The old butler bristled visibly at the suggestion, thinking Tom had misunderstood him.

“What I said, sir, is that she is one of the finest people I've ever known. She is wise, kind, fair, decent, good, and after what she's been through, I don't see how anyone can call her a weak woman.” It was Miss Griffin who had had the vapors and fainting spells, and had to have tablets prescribed by her doctor, ever since the kidnapping.

“Would you venture an opinion as to why no one in the Patterson household respected her then? Was there any logical reason?” Bill Palmer started to object, and then decided it wasn't worth the trouble. The old man was harmless.

Haverford nodded, anxious to tell the jury. “Mr. Patterson let us know early on that…”he tried to remember the exact words, but couldn't “…she wasn't all there, well, not precisely that. But he told us she was very frail and very nervous. And he implied that her orders were to be listened to politely, but basically disregarded. Said she didn't know anything about running a house, and later, about children. That let all of us know where she stood with Mr. Malcolm.” It led Marielle to know it too, as she listened. But she still didn't understand why he had done it. He had made her an object of disdain and ridicule right from the beginning. Maybe he just wanted to keep control of everything, and there had never been a real place for her in his house, except as Teddy's mother, and even at that, they hardly let her be useful.

“Were you aware of Mr. Patterson's affair with Miss Sanders?” Tom asked him then.

“I was, or at least I suspected it,” Haverford said with an air of frigid disapproval.

“Did you ever mention your suspicions to Mrs. Patterson?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Haverford.” Tom offered his witness to the prosecution, but Bill Palmer chose not to ask him any questions. He didn't consider him of any importance. But Marielle had been touched by his testimony, and so had the jury.

She felt avenged somehow after what he'd said. But it was embarrassing to hear it all spelled out, and also comforting to realize that what she'd felt was real and not delusions. What she still didn't understand was why Malcolm had undermined her with everyone. There had to be a reason. Or was it that he'd been in love with Brigitte almost since the beginning? Was he trying to get rid of Marielle? Did he hope she'd run away, or just give up and leave Teddy with him? She would have died first. But why humiliate her, lie to her, cheat on her? Why bother to marry her in the first place? Had it all been a lie from the beginning? But remembering their sweet, early days, she couldn't believe that.

The next witness Tom called to the stand was Brigitte Sanders. And there was a considerable stir in the courtroom as she came forward. She was a beautiful girl, there was no denying that, and there was an air of definite sexuality about her, more than Marielle had ever noticed before. Perhaps it was because she had nothing to hide now. Their secret was exposed, and in some ways, Brigitte seemed proud of it. She wore a sleek black dress, and Marielle noticed that it looked expensive. Her hair was perfectly coifed in the familiar bob, and she wore the usual bright red nails and lipstick. And everyone agreed that she was very striking. She made Marielle feel like a small brown wren in comparison, but what she didn't understand was how cold Brigitte seemed, how calculating, and how hard she seemed to everyone in the courtroom in comparison to Marielle. Tom Armour thought she was unbearably German in her manner. And there was an insolent tone to her voice as she answered his questions. It was a style Marielle had never seen her use before, and she wondered if she was feeling defensive, now that the secret was out, and she'd been exposed to the whole world as Malcolm's mistress.

She admitted that Malcolm spent most of his evenings with her, and some nights, and said that he had never been happy with his wife, and he had married her only to have children. What she said gave Marielle a jolt, and she wondered if it was true. Was that it then?

“She couldn't even do that easily,” Brigitte said with derision. Gone the warmth, the concern, the Kindness she had always shown Marielle, and Teddy. She was ready to tell all, and Malcolm looked strained as he watched her.

“Would you care to explain that last remark, Miss Sanders?” Tom asked politely.

“It took her a long time to get pregnant.” Tom Armour refrained from suggesting that perhaps Mr. Patterson was spending too many nights at her apartment. “In fact, he was so tired of waiting, that he was thinking of divorcing her right around the time she got pregnant.” There was a murmur in the crowd, and Marielle cast her eyes to the floor, as the judge rapped his gavel. She could feel herself blush, as she sat next to John Taylor. He didn't move, or say anything, but he felt sorry for her, knowing how private she was, and how discreet. This couldn't have been easy for her.

“Were you already involved with Mr. Patterson then?” Tom Armour asked Brigitte, but for a long moment she didn't answer. “Should I repeat the question? May I remind you that you're under oath?”

“Yes, I was,” she said a little less brashly.

“When exactly did that begin?” Marielle held her breath, she was curious now, as they waited for the answer.

“Two months after they were married. In February.” And Marielle thought she knew when. It was the first business trip he had taken without her. He hadn't waited long. And it was then that he had become particularly chilly. She had thought for a while that it was his disappointment because she wasn't pregnant, but he was already under Brigitte's spell, and apparently he had stayed there.

“Weren't you very angry that he was married to her, and not to you?”

“No, I…” She looked vaguely discomfited by his questions. “I knew he wanted a child, and he…Malcolm…Mr. Patterson…has always been very generous with me.” So they'd heard. Tom didn't press her about why he wanted Marielle's baby and not Brigitte's. He asked her instead if Malcolm had promised to marry her if he divorced Marielle, and she hedged by saying that they had never discussed it, which Tom thought was unlikely. It was obvious that something had been said, as she glanced at Malcolm.

She explained that they traveled everywhere together, particularly to Germany, where Mr. Patterson did a lot of business. She said it did not embarrass her to be his mistress. But she said it with a defiant air, and Tom Armour was not completely sure that he believed her.

She said that she was very fond of the child, and Malcolm adored him, that it had almost killed him when the boy was kidnapped. She also said that she hardly ever saw Marielle with the child. “She was always in bed with a headache.” She had the same unpleasant, disrespectful tone that the servants had used when talking about Marielle. Not one of them, except Haverford, had spoken of her kindly.

Brigitte left the stand with a great show of legs and a good swing of her behind as she walked past Malcolm, and he looked away and pretended not to notice. And after that, for almost a week, the proceedings got back to normal. More forensic experts were called, more detectives. No fingerprints had been found at the scene, no evidence that could be tied to Charles, only the pajamas and the toy found at his house, and Tom Armour maintained that they could easily have been planted. No one at the Delauney home had seen the boy, and Charles's alibi for the night of the kidnapping was airtight. It was difficult to pin on him, and finally, at the end of the fourth week of the trial, he took the stand, and as he walked to the witness box, there was not a sound in the courtroom.

Charles Delauney looked gaunt and serious as he solemnly took the oath and promised to tell the truth, glanced nervously at the jury. Tom Armour had already walked him through everything, and he had tried to warn him of every possible pitfall.

Tom asked him where he had been for the past eighteen years, while he lived in Europe. He explained that he had lived in France for years, and for the past several years Spain, while he fought against Franco.

“Did you serve in the Great War too, Mr. Delauney?” Tom asked and Charles said he had. He looked very handsome and very pale and suddenly much older than he had when Marielle had seen him in Saint Patrick's. It had been a hellish four months for him, ever since he'd been arrested. And his attorney had just told him his father was fading fast, to add to his problems. “How old were you when you volunteered?”

“I was fifteen.”

Tom nodded approvingly. “And were you wounded in the service of your country?”

“Yes, at Saint-Mihiel. And after that, I came back here to go to school for three years. But I went back to Europe in 1921. I went to Oxford, and Italy for a while, and then I moved to Paris.”

“Is that where you met your wife, the current Mrs. Patterson?”

“That's right.” He glanced at her and in spite of himself he smiled, and she looked so worried. She wasn't sure what she wanted to happen anymore. She wanted justice for him, and her little boy, and she wasn't sure which, if either of them, would get it. “I met her in 1926. She was eighteen, and we were married at the end of that summer.”

“Did you love her, Mr. Delauney?” Tom looked at him as though it were an important question. “Did you love your wife?”

“Yes… I loved her very much…she was so young…she was wonderful…like a bright, beautiful spirit. Everything was new and exciting to her…” His mind drifted for a moment and then he looked at Tom apologetically and spoke very softly. “We were very happy.”

“And you had a baby?”

Charles nodded. “A little boy…Andre…we'd been married for almost a year when he was born. He was very special.” All children were, Marielle thought to herself…Teddy was too…they all were.

“Would you say you were extremely close to the child?”

“Yes.”

“Unusually so?”

“Perhaps. The three of us were together all the time. We traveled quite a bit, and I was writing, and at home. Marielle was wonderful with him. She took care of him entirely herself.”

“With no governess?” Tom interrupted him.

“She didn't want anyone to help her.” Marielle smiled at the memory. Life was so much simpler then, without people like Miss Griffin.

“So the three of you were very close. Extremely so?”

“I suppose you could say so.”

“Would that have made the shock of losing him even more traumatic, do you think?”

“I suppose it must have been. And we were both so young… we just fell apart. I blamed her and she blamed me…and none of it made any difference.”

“She blamed you?”

“Not really… I meant about the baby…but the truth was, Marielle blamed herself and I was so hard on her,” his voice caught, filled with guilt, even now, and he looked her in the eye across the courtroom. “I was wrong. I knew that afterward. But by then, I couldn't reach her…she wouldn't see me. And the doctors thought…they thought it would upset her if I came to visit her at the clinic.”

Tom wanted to take the bull by the horns so there were no secrets from the jury. “Did you hit her the night of your son's death, Mr. Delauney?” He spoke in terrible tones and Charles looked miserable as he nodded.

“I did. I was crazy that night… I had just seen him…and I couldn't believe she had let that happen to him… I wanted to break something…to die… I slapped her hard…” The memory and the sound of it would haunt him forever.

“Did she lose the child as a result of that?”

“No,” he shook his head with an anguished look at her. “The doctor said the baby was already dead when she arrived at the hospital. The exposure to the icy water had killed the fetus. But they hadn't told her.” Marielle gulped on a sob as she heard the words, she hadn't even known the baby was dead, all she had known was that she had lost it that night, in the midst of all the horror.

“Did you hold her responsible for losing both children then?” Tom Armour went on relentlessly with his client, and Bea Ritter winced as she listened to him, but she knew it all had to be exposed if they were going to save him. Like a terrible wound that had to be excised and cleaned if they were going to save the patient.

“Yes,” Charles Delauney whispered. “Yes…and I was wrong. It wasn't her fault. But it was too late by the time I knew that.”

“Would you have killed her that night, if you could have?”

“No!” Charles looked horrified. “I never wanted to hurt her. I was just so hurt myself.”

“Did you have to be pulled away from her, when you were slapping her, or did you stop of your own doing?”

“I stopped myself, and then I left her there, and went out and got drunk all night. And when I came back in the morning to tell her how sorry I was, she was in surgery. She had lost the baby. And she never recovered after that. I never really saw her, or talked to her, or spoke to her sensibly.” Tears were sliding down his cheeks and Marielle's as he testified.

“Did you attend your son's funeral?”

“Yes.”

“Did your wife?”

He shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. “No. She was too ill. She was still in the hospital in Geneva.” Which was different from the Clinique Verbeuf in Villars everyone knew by now.

“Have you ever wanted other children, sir?” Tom asked him, and Charles shook his head very quickly.,

“No. I have no desire for any more children. That's one of the reasons why I've never remarried. I feel that I had my son, and he was taken away from us. I have spent my life in other pursuits, writing about things that seemed important to me, fighting for causes that I believed in, because I have less to lose than some men, if I'm killed no one will mourn me. I have led my life freely. With a wife and children, I couldn't do that.”

“Do you resent people for their families?”

“No,” Charles said calmly. “I never have. I have made my choices and lived by them.”

“Have you ever wanted to return to your wife?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “Before she left the hospital, I asked her to come back to me, but she wouldn't. She said she would always feel responsible for what had happened, and she didn't believe that I no longer blamed her.”

“Were you in love with her at the time, Mr. Delauney?”

“Yes, I was.” He wasn't ashamed to say it.

“Was she still in love with you, in your opinion?”

“I believe so.”

“Are you still in love with her today?”

“Yes, I am,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I always will be. But I understand that our lives have gone in different directions. I don't even think we would suit each other anymore.” He smiled gently at her from across the courtroom. “She doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who would be happy camping on a mountainside, while her husband fights in the trenches.” There was a common smile around the courtroom. Few women were aching to do that, save one, who would have followed him in a moment to any mountainside of his choosing.

“How long had it been since you'd seen her when you ran into her in Saint Patrick's Cathedral last December?”

“Almost seven years.”

“And were you deeply moved to see her?”

“Very much so. It was the anniversary of our son's death, and it meant a great deal to me to see her.”

“Was she happy to see you, sir?”

“I believe so.”

“Did she lead you to believe that she would be willing to see you again?”

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “She said that she couldn't because of her husband.” It was in sharp contrast to Malcolm's testimony about his love nest with Brigitte. “She was very firm about it in fact.”

“And were you angry?”

“No, I was sorry. All I could think of then was the past. And what we had had, and I wanted to see her.”

“Did she tell you about her son?”

“No, she didn't, and I was shocked when I saw him the next day. I was terribly hung over from the night before, and still pretty drunk, and I was angry at her for not telling me about him the day before. He was a very nice-looking little boy. And I said a lot of very stupid things about her not deserving him. I think I was talking more about myself in my drunken haze, but in any case, I behaved very badly.”

“Did you threaten her?”

“Probably,” he said honestly.

“Did you mean it?”

“No.”

“Did you call her and repeat the threats, or had you called her before?”

“No.”

“Have you ever threatened anyone with physical harm and acted on it, ever, at any time in your life?”

“Never.”

“And was this time any different? Did you act on those threats, Mr. Delauney?” Tom's voice was getting louder and stronger in the courtroom.

“No, I did not act on those threats. I would never have hurt her or the boy.”

“Did you take Theodore Whitman Patterson, the Patterson's son, from his home on the night of December eleventh of last year, or did you hire or conspire with anyone to do so?”

“I did not, sir.”

“Do you know where the boy is?”

“No…I'm sorry, I do not… I wish I did…”

“Were his pajamas and a toy of his found in your home a week later?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea how they got there?”

“None whatsoever.”

“How do you think they got there, Mr. Delauney?”

“I don't know. I thought they must have been planted.”

“Why do you think someone would do that?”

“So that I pay for the crime that they did, that's the only reason I can think of.”

“Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“No.”

“Do you have any enemies at all, anyone who has sworn to do you harm?”

“No…maybe only General Franco…” There was a communal smile.

“Are you a Communist, Mr. Delauney?”

“No,” he smiled, “I'm a Republican, or I used to be. Actually, I suppose I'm more of a free spirit.”

“Do you belong to the Communist party?”

“I do not.”

“Do you hold a grudge against Mrs. Delauney…Mrs. Patterson now, for leaving you? Or against Mr. Patterson for being her husband?”

Charles looked at him man-to-man across the courtroom and he wanted to spit on him, but he controlled himself as he addressed the court. “From what I've heard in this courtroom, he doesn't deserve her. But I have no grudge against him, or against Marielle. She has suffered enough in this life. She deserves better than either of us, and she deserves to have her child back.” There were tears in her eyes as she listened to him. He was a decent man, he always had been. She didn't believe now, as she heard his words, that he could have taken Teddy. And Tom Armour was praying that the jury felt the same way she did.

“Are you guilty of the crime of which you're accused, Mr. Delauney? Think carefully, and remember that you are under oath. Are you in any way involved in the kidnapping of the child in question?”

Charles looked at him solemnly, and shook his head slowly. “I swear that I had nothing to do with it.”

Tom Armour turned to the prosecution then. “Your witness, Mr. Palmer.”

The prosecution attempted to make mincemeat of him, to make him say he had lied, to make him look even worse for hitting Marielle after their child's death. But it was all out in the open now, there were no dark secrets anymore, and he stuck rigidly to his story. He continued to say that he had nothing to do with the kidnapping, and no idea how the pajamas had turned up in his basement. There had been no forensic evidence of the child there at all, no skin, no nails, no hair, no other clothing, no sign that he had been anywhere near Charles Delauney.

His testimony took an exhausting two days, and at the end of it, the mystery still wasn't solved, but Charles had remained adamant till the end. He wasn't guilty. The only real question was had he convinced the jury?

Malcolm left the courtroom separately that day, and Marielle stopped at church on the way home. She wanted to pray for a merciful outcome to the trial, whatever that would be, and for her little boy. Easter had come and gone, and other children had hunted Easter eggs and played with little chicks, and at home Teddy's nursery was still empty. It tore at her heart to go there, and yet she found some reason to every day, to look for something, to put something away, to fold some small item of clothing. Miss Griffin had long gone, still staying with her sister in New Jersey, and the housekeeper had told Marielle recently that Miss Griffin was taking a job in Palm Beach soon, with a new baby. How lucky for her, Marielle thought…how lucky to have a baby to go on to. But there were no new babies for her, and all she wanted was little Teddy. Her heart ached when she thought of the silky hair, the firm little cheek, the sweet lips kissing her, and he was gone now…vanished…probably forever. She was trying to accept that, day by day, but thinking of him even made Malcolm's betrayal less important.

She knelt at the altar of Saint Vincent Ferrer church for a long time, and finally John Taylor came and knelt beside her. He had been in court with her every day, and yet there was so little he could do, so little they had found. There had been nothing new in the case since they'd found the pajamas and teddy bear at Charles Delauney's.

The closing arguments in the case were the next day, and he felt totally helpless. He thought Delauney had done well on the stand for the last two days, it even made him think twice, but Taylor still believed him guilty.

He put a gentle hand on Marielle's arm. She had gotten thinner lately and she looked so pale, but she seldom had her appalling headaches. “Ready to go home?” She sighed and then nodded. Sometimes she wanted to stay here, on her knees forever, begging Him to bring Teddy home. She had been asking for months now.

She was quiet on the way home. The press were still thronging her door, but Taylor was adept at dodging them and getting her in through the kitchen. It was odd to think that the trial would soon be over. The police were going to stay on with them for a while, and the FBI was certainly going to check in from time to time, but there had been no leads, no calls, not even the crazies calling at midnight. There was no reason to stay there anymore. It was over. All that remained now was to see what the jury did with Charles Delauney. He wondered if that was troubling her now too. He knew she still cared about him, probably more than she admitted.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asked quietly when they got home, and she looked up at him gratefully and nodded. In the end, she would be left with no one. She and Malcolm were through, Teddy was gone…and if they executed Charles there would be no one left in her world who had ever loved her. It took her breath away when she thought about it sometimes, and Taylor knew she was having a hard time. He gently touched her arm and then her cheek. “Hang in there…it's not as bad as it feels sometimes.” But they both knew this was about as bad as it got. He watched her walk slowly up the stairs, her head down, and suddenly he began to worry. What if she did the kind of crazy stuff she had done years before? He wondered if he should stay, or follow her upstairs, but one of the cops told him that Malcolm was upstairs, so Taylor just told him to keep an eye on her, and he went back to his office.

When she left John, Marielle went upstairs to Teddy's room. She sat down in a rocking chair, and closed her eyes. It was dusk outside, and there were a few stars in the sky, she could just see them through his bedroom curtains. She thought of the nursery rhymes they had said, the songs she had sung him the last night she put him to bed, and as the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, she heard a noise and turned to see her husband.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

“I came here to be closer to Teddy.”

“It won't do you any good,” he said evilly, “he's dead. Thanks to your ex-husband.”

“Why are you so cruel?” she dared to ask him this time. “And how can you be so sure he's dead? How do you know he won't come home to us sometime soon?”

Malcolm Patterson stood looking at her coldly. The mask had fallen since the trial had begun. He had lost his cover, and he no longer cared. He was going to divorce her. “If he comes back, Marielle, he won't come back to 'us,' or to you, you're not fit to be his mother.” It was exactly what Tom Armour had seen coming. He had consulted on the Vanderbilt case, and he knew just how those cases were built. And that's just what he saw Malcolm doing. The testimony from the nurse, the maid, the telegram from the mental hospital, all of it showing that she was unfit…just in case they found him.

“Who are you to decide that?” Marielle said sadly. “And why do you hate me so much?”

“I don't hate you. I have nothing but contempt for you. You're weak…and you let that Communist into our life to steal our son and kill him…”

“You know that's not true.” She had never moved from the rocking chair as he approached her.

“You're a fool, Marielle. A fool, and a liar.” His eyes blazed, but so did hers. “How do you expect anyone to respect you?”

“And Brigitte?” she said quietly. “Is she so much better?” The affront of it still hurt her. She realized now too that he had undermined her for all these years. But why? Why did he hate her? Had he done it for himself or Brigitte?

“Brigitte has nothing to do with this. We should never have gotten married.”

“Then why did we?” She no longer knew. She no longer understood anything about him.

“Perhaps if I'd met Brigitte before you, we wouldn't have. But I met you first. And I so desperately wanted to have children.” After two barren marriages, Marielle had seemed to be the answer to his prayers. And she had been so young, so helpless. He had liked the fact that she was alone in the world. She was his to control, and he liked that. In truth, he hadn't even minded about her history at the sanatorium. It would only serve to make her more dependent on him.

“Was it all about children then? About having a son?”

“Perhaps.” She'd been used. That's all she'd been. A tool to give him a baby. But there had been more, she knew it, and he did too, whether he admitted it or not. In the very beginning, for a short time, she had been sure that he loved her. And then…there had been Brigitte. Now she understood it.

“And what will you do now? Marry Brigitte and have more children?” He didn't tell her that Brigitte was unable to have children, and theirs was a genuine passion.

“What I do now is none of your business, Marielle.”

“I'll move out as soon as the trial is over,” she said calmly. But she was going to take Teddy's things…she had to take them with her… in case he came home again… for the first time in years, she began to feel the same confusion she used to feel at the clinic in Villars…that same strange pain somewhere in her head that made it impossible to think, or decide anything… all she could think of now was Teddy.

“Where will you move to?” His eyes seemed to take in her energy.

“It doesn't matter. I'll give the FBI my address, so they can find me… in case…when they find him.”

He looked at her scornfully. She was going crazy again. He could see it. And it never dawned on him that he had driven her to it.

“They're not going to find him, Marielle. Ever. Don't you understand that?”

“I'll stay at a hotel.” She ignored his question, and looked away, as Malcolm watched her. He had already told his lawyer how much money he was going to give her. He was going to buy her off, and she was probably going to wind up in an institution. Once he was gone, and Charles was executed, and she understood that she would never see the child again, it would probably kill her.

“I'm leaving on a trip anyway. You can get organized then.”

“Where are you going?” Her voice was very faint, as though she had to concentrate, and her hands were shaking.

“That's none of your concern.”

Suddenly, as she listened to him, she felt rising panic. Who would take care of her when he was gone?…who would help her take care of Teddy? But suddenly she knew she didn't need anyone. All she needed was time to recover from what had happened. She realized what was happening to her, and wrestled with all her strength to fight the demons. She made a superhuman effort to stand up quietly, and went downstairs to her own room. He could do anything he wanted. But he couldn't take away the memories of the child she had loved, or how much she had loved him. And knowing that, she suddenly knew she could survive it.

John Taylor called her that night. He was worried about her. He knew the toll the trial was taking. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. It was rough today.” And Malcolm had been even rougher. She was exhausted as she spoke to him, but she was also happy to hear him.

“It's going to be worse for the next few days. The closing arguments and the verdict are going to be killers. You just have to stay calm, Marielle.” And he would be there with her.

“I know…I'm all right…John, there's no news of him, is there?… I mean, of Teddy?”

“No,” he said softly, “there isn't.” He knew she was coming to terms with it now. After four months, there was really no hope, and he knew it. “I'll tell you if anything happens.”

“I knew you would.”

“Marielle…” He knew the phones were tapped but he wished he could tell her how much he loved her.

“I know…it's okay.” Her voice was so small and sad and he ached for her as he longed to hold her. But she sat alone in her bedroom with two lonely tears rolling down her cheeks. They were tears of exhaustion, as much as sorrow.

“Just be strong for a few more days. Maybe we can spend some time together when this is over.” He knew how badly she'd need to get away. He was afraid she'd break again, and she had come close to it that night, but she hadn't. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he said softly.

“Good night,” she whispered, and then she hung up the phone. And as she drifted off to sleep that night, Bea Ritter was thinking about calling Tom Armour.