Vanished

15

Judge Abraham Morrison rapped his gavel and called the court to order at exactly ten-fifteen the following morning. Tom Armour was looking particularly bright-eyed in a starched white shirt and a dark blue suit and a new tie, and he had actually gotten up fifteen minutes early to shine his shoes. He liked to look his best at the end of a trial when it really mattered. And Charles was looking very sober in banker's gray and a tie of his father's.

“Well be hearing closing arguments today, ladies and gentlemen,” the judge explained to the jury. They had been staying at the Chelsea Hotel for the past month, and it had to be wearing thin. Some of them were beginning to look very peaked.

But as the judge spoke to them, Tom Armour stood up and asked to approach the bench, which he did, in the company of Bill Palmer.

“What is it, Counsellor?” the judge asked him with a frown, in an undertone.

“New evidence, Your Honor, and a bit of a problem. May I see you in chambers?” The judge looked anything but happy. They were almost ready to wrap it up, and now they were talking about new evidence. What the devil did that mean?

“All right, all right.” He waved them in, and they were there until eleven-thirty, arguing with each other and the judge. He was perfectly willing to let the man testify, but he was not willing to give him amnesty. If what he said was true, planting the pajamas in Charles Delauney's home was a federal offense, and he probably had additional knowledge about the kidnappers that he was concealing.

“I say, arrest him,” Palmer said, hands down.

“I can't violate my source,” Armour told him.

“What if he's lying?”

“What if he isn't? If he planted the pajamas and the bear, then Delauney's not guilty.”

“For chrissake. Who is this guy?” Palmer almost shouted.

“I can't tell you till we come to an agreement.”

The judge looked miserable by the time he'd heard them both out, and he was anything but happy with the deal they finally came to.

“I'll give you forty-eight hours to check this out, to find out if it's bogus or not. Use the FBI, the Marines, the army. I don't give a damn what you do, but see if you can't get me more than this. And I won't promise the man anything. Check it out, find out what's going on. But in forty-eight hours, you'd better be back in this courtroom with evidence, or I'm citing you for contempt, and I'm throwing your hot tip in jail. You got that?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Tom Armour was beaming. He had two days to work a miracle, but maybe Bea's friend would help him.

“Are you amenable to a two-day recess, Mr. Palmer?” the judge asked.

“Do I have a choice?” Palmer looked annoyed but resigned. He'd been all prepared to give it his best shot with his closing.

“Not really.” The judge smiled at him, and Tom laughed.

“Then I agree, don't I? This better be good. Personally, I think it's all a crock. Delauney's guilty as hell, the lousy Commie bastard.”

“Don't talk about my client like that,” Tom Armour said sternly.

“Then don't take people like him as clients.”

The three men walked back into court, and the judge explained to everyone that there was possible new evidence and court was adjourning for a two-day investigation. Court would reconvene again on Friday. He thanked everyone for being there, and court was duly recessed, as Tom whispered to Charles and explained what had happened. And as soon as he stood up again, he signaled to John Taylor.

“Can I see you for a minute? We need help.”

“Sure.” Officially, the way things had worked out, John was there to help the prosecution. But he was actually there to help all of them, by finding Teddy.

“Can we go somewhere quiet for a few minutes?” He left Charles then, to be taken back to jail, and followed Taylor to an empty office.

“What you got?”

“I'm not sure. But I think it's a good one.” He explained the source to him, and what the man had said. “He's scared out of his mind. He took the dough from whoever left it for him, and he's an accessory now, or at the very least he'll get an obstruction of justice. He's got a record an arm long, the guy's on parole, and he's scared shitless to come forward.”

“At least he's not dumb. Who is he? Maybe I know him.”

“You probably do. But you've got to guarantee me amnesty for the guy if I tell you.”

“I can't guarantee you shit, Armour. But I can guarantee you I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't share what you've got with me. We're not just protecting your client's ass here. We're looking for a four-year-old boy, who may or may not be dead by now, and if he isn't, he's in one hell of a lot of dan-

“I know that, dammit. But you can't blow my source. He also thinks the boy is still alive. You've got to promise me you're not just going to go and nail him.”

“I'm not going to nail him. I want to talk to him. If you want, you can come with me. Who is he?” Armour was still worried he was going to get the guy in trouble.

“His name is Louie Polanski,” Tom said hesitantly, praying Taylor wouldn't bust him.

“Louie? Louie the Lover? Hell, Louie and I go back years. I sent him to the joint fifteen years ago when I was a kid myself… I saved his life. His mob buddies were trying to kill him then, and we gave him a nice cozy cell and protection for about five years. He loves me.” John Taylor was actually grinning.

“Are you serious?” Tom looked startled by the story.

“He'll talk to me. I swear it.” And when Tom called Louie again, he was waiting by the phone, and he agreed to meet with Tom Armour and John Taylor.

They met at one o'clock in an Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village, it was run by the mob and had been a speakeasy for years, and Taylor knew it well, although it was new to Tom Armour. The man they met was short and obese, bald, and sweating profusely. He was a nervous wreck when he talked about what he'd done, but he actually seemed genuinely pleased to see John Taylor.

“I never shoulda done it. It was crazy. But it was so damn much money, and it sounded so easy.” And it had been. Until now.

Taylor looked at Tom. “Who the hell would have paid him that much to frame Delauney? Somebody really has it in for your client.”

“I wish to hell I knew who,” Tom said sourly.

“The word is, the kid's still alive, but I don't know where, or who's got him,” Louie said in a whisper, glancing over his shoulder.

“What makes them think so? Can you find out?” Taylor was suddenly all business.

“I'll ask. But I think someone's keepin' it real quiet. There's a lot of money changed hands, and they must have hired good ones, because no one's talkin'.” Except for Louie, thank God. Taylor found himself praying that Louie's pals were right, and that Teddy was still living.

“You have any idea where he is? Any hint? Any clue? Anything we can go on?”

“Maybe he's already out of the country.” They had thought of that. But for months they had held a tight rein on the ports and the airport, and even the frontiers into Canada and Mexico. They had closed down everything tight, until very recently. By now they figured that Teddy was either dead, or no one was going to try moving him out of the country. But that suddenly made John wonder. The pressure on the ports had been lightened only the week before. It was worth another look. He looked at Louie with an interested expression.

“You just gave me an idea, Louie. I love ya.”

“Yeah? Then what are you gonna do for me? Listen…I'll give the money back… I only spent ten grand. You can have back the other forty. Give it to the FBI, Christ, give it to the judge. But shit, I don't wanna do more time for a lousy pair of kid's pajamas.”

“Tell you what.” Taylor looked at him seriously. “If we find anything, I'll make a deal for you for helping us find the kid. If we don't find him, you could be in deep shit. But I'll do what I can. I'll call you.”

“Yeah… let me know…” Louie the Lover looked nervously at Tom, and John Taylor went to make a phone call.

“Thank you for talking to us,” Tom said quietly. “This could mean my client's life.”

“Yeah,” Louie smiled nervously, “and my ass. But… eh… I don't like to see people hurt a kid. Stinks. You know what I mean. Like the Lindbergh thing. I was in the joint then, doing time for a little bank robbery. Made me sick, guys like that…killing a baby.”

“Do you think they could have killed him?” Tom felt sick as he thought of it, not just for his client. He had come to admire Marielle through the trial, and he couldn't bear the thought of her going through that. Especially not after the other children she'd lost, and what she was facing with Malcolm.

“Hard to tell,” Louie answered seriously. “Sometimes when there's a lot of money involved, it could go either way. And word on the street is, this one's a big ticket.”

“I wish I knew who did it.” He knew for certain it wasn't Charles Delauney. He had believed him before, but now he had no doubts whatsoever. But if it had been this professionally done, he also wondered if they would ever find out who had done it. Or find poor Teddy.

And when Taylor came back, he looked grim.

“What's up?” Tom asked him.

“I don't know. Maybe it's a wild-goose chase, but we're going to tear the port apart for the next few days. You never know what you're going to find there. But I hear we've got ten freighters and six passenger liners to pull apart. That ought to keep us busy for a few minutes. And Louie, you do your stuff too, and see what you hear.” And if nothing else they could get a statement from him about planting the bear and the pajamas. But Taylor knew it might prove not to be that easy, in the end, to protect him. “I'll call you.”

“Thanks for lunch.” Louie looked at both of them, and he wasn't sorry he had come. If they found the kid, maybe it would be worth it. A man had to do something he felt good about once in a while, even if it cost him.

And as they left the restaurant, Taylor slipped into a phone booth, and made another call. He called Marielle at the house, he hadn't wanted anyone to hear him. “Hi there. It's me.” He knew she'd recognize his voice. “Will you meet me at the same church we went to yesterday, say… in twenty minutes?”

“Sure,' She sounded surprised. And when he met her there, she'd come alone. She'd slipped out the back door, and walked down the street like anyone else before anyone noticed. She was wearing a scarf over her head, a wool jacket, and dark glasses.

“Is something wrong?” She looked worried, and he smiled to reassure her.

“No, but I'm going to be very busy for the next couple of days. If you don't see me, don't be worried.”

“Does it have to do with the new evidence they mentioned in court this morning?” She seemed surprised. She had seen him literally every day since the night of the kidnapping. He was her only support now.

“Yes, it has to do with that.”

“Is it…does it have to do with Teddy?”…had they found him… or worse, found his body? But she didn't dare ask him.

“I don't think it has to do with anything, but we're checking it out. Don't worry about it, I'll let you know if anything turns up,” he assured her. He didn't want to raise her hopes, it wasn't fair to do that. “But I want to ask you a question first. Something my office turned up accidentally this morning.” It was what had led him to think of the port, that and something Louie the Lover had said. The two together had started a bell ringing in his head. Before that, he just figured it was a mistake, or something she hadn't told him. “Are you and your husband going anywhere in the next two weeks?”

“Malcolm? He's hardly spoken to me in weeks, and last night he told me he was going to divorce me.” But she didn't look upset. She was taking it all pretty well considering what she'd been through.

“Nice guy. So you're not planning a trip with him?” He was sure she wasn't, but he'd had to check it.

“No. Why?” She looked puzzled.

“You don't think he'd plan a little honeymoon, to try and patch things up?”

“Not with me anyway. He told me his lawyer would call me.”

“When was all this?”

“Last night, after church,” and then suddenly she remembered something he'd said in Teddy's bedroom. “He said he was going away. Is that what you mean?”

“Maybe.” But he didn't tell her that Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm Patterson were booked to sail on the Europa. He could only assume that Malcolm was taking Brigitte and planning to pass her off as his wife. It had been done before, and on shipboard, people tended to be pretty discreet. Nice little trip he'd planned for himself, while Marielle was waiting to hear from his lawyer. What a bastard. “Anyway, I just wondered. I figured it was a mistake.”

“Did you think I was planning to slip out of town?” She smiled, but even when she smiled her eyes were sad now. She had been through too much in the past four months. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but it didn't seem the time or place to him and he was busy.

“Don't plan on leaving town without the FBI on your heels, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Actually, that sounds very appealing.” She smiled as they walked out of church. “When will I see you again?”

“As soon as I can get away. Ill come by the house, or I'll call you. Or I'll see you in court on Friday morning.” He smiled gently and put an arm around her shoulders.

“Take care of yourself.” He knew that when he wasn't busy, he would worry about her every moment. He followed her most of the way back to the house, and then watched as she ran up the street to the Patterson mansion. He took a cab then to his office.

And for the next two days, Marielle didn't hear from anyone. Malcolm went down to Washington to see the German ambassador and Brigitte went with him. Tom Armour had his hands full with polishing up his closing arguments and keeping Charles calm. He was a nervous wreck about what was going on, when Tom told him at least some of Louie's story. If he'd known all of it, Tom knew he'd have gone completely crazy. But he knew Louie had planted the bear and the pajamas. What he didn't know was that Louie might not be willing to testify, if the FBI wouldn't promise him amnesty and protection.

“But that proves I'm innocent,” he almost shouted at Tom.

“I know. But the guy has to be willing to come forward.”

“What's his name?” As though it mattered, but Tom Armour smiled.

“Louie the Lover.”

“Great. Just the kind of guy I need in my corner.”

“Listen, my friend, if he planted those pajamas and is willing to testify to that fact in court, he's exactly who you need in your corner.”

“How the hell did you find him?” Hope was beginning to dawn but he knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. A lot of things were going to have to happen right before he could be acquitted, and if Louie the Lips, or whatever his name was, disappeared, Charles was as good as dead, and he knew it.

“Actually, I got a hot tip in the middle of the night, from a friend of yours, or an admirer anyway.”

“Who's that?” Charles looked intrigued.

“Beatrice Ritter,” Tom said noncommittally.

“She's quite a girl, isn't she? Lots of spirit,” and then Charles looked pensive. “Sometimes she reminds me of Marielle when she was young. She was such a fireball then, so full of life and fun and mischief. I guess life kicked it out of her after that.” He looked sad. “Or maybe I did.” She was so serious now, so beautiful and kind, and so quiet. And yet there was a side of her that wanted to laugh and have a good time, and be happy again. Tom Armour could see it when he talked to her. “Do you think she'll ever recover from all this?” He asked Tom as though he knew her, but Charles had come to recognize that his attorney had a good instinct for people.

“I think she will. I don't think she'll ever be the carefree young girl of her youth that you describe, but few people are by the time they reach thirty. She'll get over it, but it'll still be there. She'll go on, because she's strong.” But he sighed then, she deserved a lot better than she'd gotten.

“How come you're so happy most of the time?” Charles teased him. They had become friends in the last four months, Charles respected Tom, and Tom liked him.

“Just stupid, I guess.” But he had had his share of tragedy too. He had told Charles early on, when Charles had told him about Andre. Tom had lost his wife and baby daughter ten years before in a car accident, right after he finished law school. Oddly enough, it was the same year Charles had lost Andre. And he had never remarried either. But he was crazy about his work, and he figured one day he would, when he had time…when he wasn't defending lunatics like Charles Delauney…when he felt brave enough to love someone again…but for Tom Armour, that time hadn't come yet.

Tom had a hell of a time keeping Charles distracted for two days and Charles kept asking Tom if there was any news from John Taylor. But there wasn't. Tom was anxious to hear from him himself, and he had only dared to call once, and was lucky enough to find him in the office. And Taylor sounded exhausted.

“Hell man, do you know what it's like to tear apart sixteen ships? We've torn up the whole fucking port, what do you mean ‘Hurry up’?” And they had asked for the same cooperation from the Port Authority in New Jersey, but it was easier for them. All they had in port at the moment were tankers. But Manhattan was a snakepit, and all the foreign ships were furious to be searched, until they heard what it was about, then they were a little more willing to cooperate, but not much. The news of Teddy's kidnapping was old, and in spite of the trial, people had already begun to forget, and stop caring. And the inconvenience of a major search, with all it involved, was monumental. They had even checked out the Europa, which Malcolm was sailing on later, but it was clean. And the Germans had been highly annoyed to have their ship searched.

“I told you. I'll call you if we get anything. I haven't been in my office since last night, and I only came in to take a shower because I couldn't stand myself anymore. You got any complaints, Mr. Armour?” Taylor was sharp, but Tom knew he didn't mean any harm, he was just tired.

“No complaints, just a nervous client.”

“Tell him to keep his pants on. We're doing our best. And will you do me a favor?” He hesitated and then decided to ask him.

“Sure. Shoot. What is it? Call Louie the Lover?” He smiled and Taylor laughed.

“No. Marielle Patterson. She must be a wreck, wondering what's going on. I didn't tell her about Louie getting fifty grand to plant the pajamas. I just told her we had a new lead. I didn't want to get her excited.”

“Sure. What'll I tell her?”

“I don't know…” Taylor hesitated, and Tom found himself wondering what his interest in her was, but he told himself he was too suspicious about everything, he was turning into a real bastard. “Just make sure she's all right. Patterson's giving her such a hard time. He's divorcing her, you know.”

“Swell guy.” Tom was disgusted, but not surprised to hear it.

“That's what I said. He doesn't know how lucky he is. But I think he's going to get what he deserves with little Miss Krautland. Underneath all that blond hair, she looks like one tough cookie.”

“May I quote you, Special Agent Taylor?” Tom laughed, and Taylor chuckled tiredly in answer.

“Anytime, Counsellor.”

“You've got to admit, the little kraut looked cute on the stand though.” They both laughed and Taylor went back to work reorganizing his agents. They had already torn apart twelve ships and they had four to go before the next morning.

Tom managed to call Marielle, as he'd promised Taylor.

“Is there something particular going on, Mr. Armour?”

Marielle sounded really worried. “I keep thinking they've had some kind of information about…about…” She was afraid to say it. “I keep worrying that they're going to find Teddy's body. I guess we should know if… I don't know which is worse, not knowing, or finally knowing that it's over.” Either one sounded pretty awful to Tom. He still remembered finding out about his wife and the baby. It had been beyond bearing. But this had dragged out for so long, maybe it would be a relief to finally know if he was gone, instead of just having him disappear into thin air, and never know. It had taken them two months to find the Lindbergh baby.

“I hope we'll have good news for you soon.”

“Do you know what it is they're doing?”

He didn't want to tell her they were turning the port upside down, looking for Teddy. “I think they're just looking into some final evidence before we close. It'll all be over tomorrow.”

“How's Charles taking it?”

“Actually…” Tom leaned back in his desk chair and smiled. She had a nice voice, and he liked talking to her. He liked everything he'd seen of her during the trial, but he hadn't let himself think about her before, except in relation to his client. “Actually, he's driving me crazy, to tell you the truth.”

“That sounds like Charles.' And then she grew serious again. “Is he very worried?”

“As worried as he should be. This new evidence may be of some help to him though. We're hoping so anyway. The FBI is checking it out for us. We'll let you know if we hear anything at all.”

“Thank you.” She wasn't supposed to be on their side, but there didn't seem to be sides anymore. There was just everyone searching for the truth…and for Teddy.

The next two days seemed endless to her with Malcolm away, and John Taylor gone to help with the investigation. Suddenly, she had no one to talk to, and with Malcolm gone, the house seemed unusually quiet. It made her start to think about what she would do when she moved out. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do, no family to turn to. In some ways it worried her, but she wasn't as frightened as she might have been years before. He didn't frighten her anymore. Suddenly, she didn't care about him at all. All he had done was hurt her.

Bea Ritter called her once too on the second day of the recess, but she didn't say what the investigation was about either. She pretended not to know, and she didn't admit that she had brought the tip to Tom Armour. She just called to say hello, and see if they had any more leads about Teddy.

“No, nothing. Have you seen Charles again?”

“A few days ago. He's incredibly tense since they're so close to going to the jury.” And she was praying they wouldn't have to.

But by midnight that night, nothing had changed. There were two more ships to go through, and one of them was refusing. It was German and they claimed they didn't have to submit. It took another eight hours to get a court order to force them. And at ten o'clock the next morning, as Judge Morrison called the court to order, John Taylor was boarding the last ship with the Coast Guard, the Port Authority, and the FBI, and he was sure they would find nothing. But if nothing else, he had to do it for Marielle. He called Tom Armour from the dock, just before he left for the courtroom.

“Well?”

“We got nothing. We came up empty. No Teddy, no more tips, no one will talk, no one knows anything. We touched base with every one of our informants. Nothing. And Louie the Lover's not answering his phone. I think he's scared. He may have run out on us.” Taylor had nothing but bad news for him.

“Shit. What am I supposed to do now?”

“You close your case, just like you were going to do two days ago.”

“But he didn't do it, dammit, man. You heard the man. Someone paid him fifty thousand big ones to plant the kid's pajamas.”

“Yeah, I know. But who's going to testify to that? You, or me? Hell, it's hearsay.”

“You can't do this to me!” Tom was practically in tears, but Taylor was too tired to care. He still had one last ship to tear apart, and he was almost too exhausted to do it.

“Fuckin' A, man, I haven't slept in two days and I've been all over every slimy rotten ship in this port,” and a few fancy ones too, but they all looked the same to him by now, “and I haven't turned up shit. I think your guy probably didn't do it, but I can't give you the goods to get him off with, and we don't have the kid. What more can I tell you?”

“I'll ask for a mistrial.” Tom's voice was shaking he was so upset. But so was Taylor. No matter how hard they pushed, no one was talking.

“A mistrial based on what?” Taylor asked tiredly as his men started boarding the German ship to look around, but their hearts weren't in it anymore. They knew they weren't going to find the boy. Either he was gone, so well hidden he would never be found, or he was dead and buried somewhere and wouldn't turn up for years. “How the hell are you going to get a mistrial?” Taylor repeated when Tom didn't answer.

“I don't know…give me time…can you give me any reason at all to ask for another recess?”

“None at all. And if Louie doesn't surface soon, the judge is going to have your ass and mine to replace him.”

“Yeah. I know that.”

“I'll send a message to you in court with one of my guys, after we check this ship, but don't get your hopes up.” Tom's hopes were already dashed and he dreaded telling Charles that Louie the Lover had vanished.

“He what?” Charles shouted when Tom told him.

“He's gone,” Tom whispered tersely as they walked into the courtroom.

“Son of a bitch. How could those assholes have let that happen?”

“Keep your voice down.” The judge was rapping his gavel. “He had a lot to lose. He could have gone to prison for what he did. And he's on parole with a rap sheet as long as your arm. It's a rotten thing to do, but you can't really blame him.”

“The hell I can't. They're going to execute me for this.” Tom's eyes were like rocks, and there was a pain in the pit of his stomach.

“I'm not going to let that happen to you.” Tom tried to sound confident but it was not what he felt as the judge asked him and Bill Palmer to approach the bench with a look of suspicion.

“Well, Counsellor? Your new evidence? Do we have a witness?”

“No, sir, we don't,” Tom Armour said grimly. “The FBI have been investigating this lead and several others for two days, and so far they've gotten nowhere.” He was brutally honest and the prosecutor looked pleased.

“And your informant?” the judge asked, looking displeased with Tom.

“Has vanished, Your Honor. For the moment.”

“I can't believe you've wasted two days of the court's and the taxpayers' time, Mr. Armour.” The judge was rapidly sliding from displeasure to fury.

“We had to check it out, sir. I was even hoping to ask for a further recess. But…”

“Don't even consider it, Counsellor.” He glared at both of them and waved them back to their seats. Bill Palmer was looking extremely happy, and he glanced at Malcolm sitting staunchly in the courtroom, with Marielle next to him, very still and quiet. They never spoke in court. The judge rapped his gavel again, and told Bill Palmer to make his closing statement.

Tom Armour couldn't believe this was happening. They had almost had the key to it in their hands, and they had lost it. Charles looked as though he was near tears, and Bea Ritter was frantically wondering what had happened, but there was no one to tell her.

In his closing arguments, all of Bill Palmer's statements were predictable, and ugly. He reminded the jurors of every ugly thing Charles had ever done, every stupidity, every weakness, every threat, every drunken binge, every minor, or major, act of violence. His attack on Marielle, his wanton destruction years ago, at nineteen, of a neighborhood bar in Paris. All of these were the early signs, according to Bill Palmer, of a lack of control, a self-indulgence, a tendency to violence that would eventually lead him to kidnap and kill little Teddy. His violence at war, his thirst for killing which had led him to the Great War at fifteen…His leaning to Communism, which had taken him to Spain…and the threats he had made in Central Park, which had been carried out only thirty-six brief hours later. And the little red pajama suit found in his basement, a sign that he indeed had kidnapped Teddy. The man was a kidnapper, the prosecutor raged across the courtroom, and he had almost certainly killed this helpless baby. And as he said the words, and looked at the jury, and then around the courtroom, there was a small flutter, and brief thumping sound. Finally, after all that had come before, it had been too much for her. Marielle Patterson had fainted.