Vanished

4

Marielle took Teddy to see Snow White the following afternoon. It was playing at the Radio City Music Hall, and they went to Schrafft's for hot chocolate afterward. It was a perfect afternoon for both of them. Teddy said he loved it when Miss Griffin had a day off, which made Marielle wish, more than ever, that she would leave them. It reminded her to broach the subject again with Malcolm. He still thought that Miss Griffin did the boy good, she instilled manners in him, and according to Malcolm, as far as governesses went, there was nobody like the British. But she was far from their minds as Marielle and Teddy drove home again, and that night she gave him a bath in her own enormous marble bathtub, and he loved it. They used tons of bubble bath and got it all over the bathroom, and Edith, the redheaded Irish girl, looked furious when she saw it. She was supposed to be baby-sitting for Teddy that night, but she had long since made other plans with Patrick. They were going to a Christmas dance at the Irish Dance Hall in the Bronx, and she had already gotten Betty, the young kitchenmaid, to agree to come up and baby-sit for him while she went out. And when she got back, she would slip a five-dollar bill into Betty's hand, get into the bed in the nursery spare room, and nobody would be the wiser. So she didn't appreciate the mess they had made, and the fact that she'd have to clean it up before she went anywhere, unless she could get one of the others to do it for her, which was unlikely.

Marielle had dinner with Teddy in the nursery sitting room that night, and she read him a story before he went to bed. Later she sang Christmas carols to him and stroked his hair, and he fell asleep as he lay next to his mother in his red pajamas. It was a far cry from his swift, brisk good nights, and the freezing cold open windows he experienced with Miss Griffin. And Marielle slid gently off his bed so as not to wake him.

As she walked back downstairs to her own rooms, Marielle wondered if she was spoiling him, as Miss Griffin said, and if she was, if it really mattered. Lately, Marielle had been spending more and more time with him, and she seemed to be having trouble keeping her distance. Her old fears about getting too close seemed to have been cast to the winds, and she thrived on being with him. And if she loved him too much, what harm could it do? What difference could it make? She was so lucky to have him. And she refused to let herself believe that anything could happen. Malcolm was right, she worried about too many things, and it was time she stopped it.

She went to bed with a copy of Rebecca, and Malcolm called her from Washington when he returned from dinner. It was after ten o'clock, and he said he had had a delightful evening. He had dined with Harry Hopkins, who would be replacing Daniel Roper as Secretary of Commerce in the next two weeks, although it was still very much a secret. Louis Howe, FDR's right-hand man, had been there too. And they had talked extensively about FDR's feelings about Europe. He was beginning to feel that war was inevitable, but he still hoped that with any luck at all, it could be avoided.

The German ambassador had told Malcolm how well things were going in Berlin. There was no doubt that the German army was stepping up its activities, but he assured Malcolm that his investments were safe there. And when Malcolm questioned him, the ambassador admitted that the business of Kristallnacht had been an embarrassment, but on the other hand what Hitler was doing for Germany industrially could change the entire world for the better. Malcolm was deeply excited to be involved, and he told Marielle that it had been interesting sharing some of the latest developments with Howe and Roper, and the men they'd brought with them. Malcolm colm said he could see an extraordinary future ahead for Germany and all her allies, and Marielle was touched that he had called to share his excitement with her.

He was going back to Germany again soon, and as usual, she was planning to stay home with Teddy.

“How was the movie, by the way?” He loved hearing about the boy. Next to Germany, the child was his greatest passion.

“Teddy loved it.”

“I knew he would. I hear it's terrific. Maybe we'll take him again.” Even though he was away more and more, he still liked doing things with them. She was so sweet to the boy, and it was obvious that despite her other anxieties, she was a good mother. Malcolm yawned then, and Marielle smiled. It had been a long day for him, and not as relaxing as hers, going to the movies, and giving bubble baths to Teddy. As they finished the conversation, she heard an odd noise in the hall, like someone bumping into things, and then footsteps on the stairs. She listened for a minute, but it was quiet again and she decided it was nothing.

“You'd better get some sleep,” she told Malcolm. “You must have a long day ahead tomorrow. Will you be back tomorrow night?” She had forgotten to ask him when he'd left, they had both been so busy.

“More like Tuesday. I may want to have dinner with the German ambassador tomorrow night, if he's free. We have meetings tomorrow afternoon, and we'll see then. But in any case, I think it makes more sense to come back on Tuesday. I'll call you tomorrow evening.”

“I'll talk to you then. And Malcolm…good luck with your meetings…” She felt grateful to him again suddenly. He had given her so much, and he asked for so little.

“Take care of yourself, Marielle. Well have a nice evening together when I come home.” And soon there would be Christmas. With Teddy, it was a magical time which meant a great deal to both of them. For Malcolm, never having had children before, it was like a whole new life, and he couldn't wait to give the boy his train, and show him the room that had been specially built to house it.

She hung up after the call from Washington, and lay in the dark for a long time, thinking about him, and his many virtues. But two hours later, she was still awake, she couldn't sleep thinking of Charles and what he'd said at the boat pond. And she prayed this didn't mean she was getting one of her headaches. It had been a difficult few days after running into Charles twice, and sometimes insomnia meant that the next day she would be felled by a migraine. She decided to get up, and with a small smile, she began to mount the stairs to the third floor, silent and barefoot. She was going to give him one more kiss as he slept, touch his hair, and just watch him for a minute before she went back to her own bed. She noticed that someone had dropped a towel on the stairs, and realized that one of the maids had been careless. That was probably the noise she had heard a while before, someone bumping the laundry down the marble stairs, and perhaps they'd run into some of the furniture and dropped some of the laundry. She picked the towel up, and walked down the third-floor corridor to the nursery door. There were three bedrooms off the nursery living room and hall, one was Miss Griffin's, one was a spare, and would have been for the second child they never had, and the largest was Teddy's. And as she crossed the living room on silent feet, Marielle heard a stirring somewhere, and assumed that it was probably Edith in the spare bedroom. She knew that Miss Griffin would be asleep in bed by then, back from her day off, but officially on Sunday nights, she was still off duty, so Edith was baby-sitting that night. But as Marielle took a step closer to Teddy's door, she fell over an unexpected obstacle and went sprawling across the nursery floor, and had to remind herself not to scream, so as not to wake Teddy. The object she had fallen over seemed large and soft, and as she sailed over it in her nightgown and bare feet, something touched her leg, and she let out a yelp of fear, and tried to jump clear of it before it touched her again. But the room was so dark, she could see nothing. And suddenly just near her, there was an ugly animal sound, and she was really frightened. Groping blindly along the wall, she found a table she knew was there, and switched on a light, wondering what she would do if she found herself face-to-face with an attacker. But she was not about to run from the room and leave her child unprotected. But what she saw as she turned on the light was not at all what she had expected. Betty, the second kitchen girl, was rolled up in a ball, her hands and feet tied with rope, and a towel had been shoved into her mouth and secured with more rope. Her face was red, and her cheeks were covered with tears, but she was able to make no sound other than a low moan as Marielle saw her.

“Oh my God…my God…what happened?…”In the shock of seeing the girl bound and gagged on the floor, she forgot to keep her voice down, or to worry about waking Teddy. Had there been a robbery? A fight? An intruder? What had happened? And what was this girl doing here? She worked in the kitchen. Marielle pulled the gag out of her mouth and fought to loosen her bonds, as she frantically asked her questions. But the knots were tight and the ropes strong, and for a moment she wondered if she would have to cut them as the hysterical girl screamed incoherently and at last Marielle was able to free her. “What happened?” she asked, shaking her, desperate for information. “Where's Edith?” And where was Miss Griffin? But the girl was still too hysterical to explain, all she could do was sob and flail her arms wildly. And then, feeling terror creep into her heart, Marielle leapt past her to Teddy's room and flung open the door. Her worst nightmare had come true. He was gone, and the bed was empty. There was no sign of him, no note on his pillow, no threat, no demand for ransom. He was simply gone, and the bed was still warm when she touched it. Her whole body began to tremble as she realized what had happened.

She ran back out to Betty then, still sobbing as she rubbed her hands and feet and gasped for air as Marielle began to shake her.

“What happened? You have to tell me!”

“I don't know… it was dark… I was asleep on the couch when they grabbed me. All I know is that I heard men's voices.” But where was Teddy, Marielle thought frantically…where in God's name was Teddy?

“What were you doing here?” Marielle was shouting at her and the girl was crying so hard she could hardly talk, but she knew she had to tell the truth now.

“Edith went out… to a Christmas dance…she asked me to stay with him…until she came back… I don't know what happened. I think there were a lot of them. They put a pillow over my face, and I smelled something terrible and then I think I fainted, and when I woke up I was tied, and they were gone, and that's all I know until you found me.”

“Where's Miss Griffin?” Had she taken the child? Was she capable of that then? Marielle ran to the governess's room, feeling more than half crazy. Her baby was gone…someone had taken him…and she didn't know who, or where he was…but in the back of her mind a voice began to whisper…had he meant what he'd said in the park? Had he taken him? Would he do something like that? For revenge? She felt sick as she tore open Miss Griffin's door, and found her bound and gagged with a pillowcase over her head and the smell of chloroform everywhere, and as Marielle pulled the pillowcase off, she thought the older woman looked as though she were dead, but she stirred, and for a moment, Marielle left her. She ran to the nursery phone, and rang for the operator, praying that they'd find him quickly. In a voice that sounded like someone else's, she told the operator who she was and that she needed the police at once.

“And what is the problem?” the woman asked.

She hesitated for only a moment, fearing the press, and then not caring, as her voice caught on the words. She had lost one child, and she knew she wouldn't survive the loss of another. “Please…please send the police at once…” She barely got the words out, and then regained her composure as she put words to every mother's nightmare. “This is Mrs. Malcolm Patterson. My son has been kidnapped.” There was a brief silence at the other end, and then the operator sprang to life, got the address from her, and Marielle set the phone down with trembling hands, and stared at Betty sitting on the floor terrified of what would happen now, certain that the boy's disappearance was in some way her fault. And for a long moment, Marielle only stood there…thinking of him, the tiny face, the soft curls she had stroked as she sang him to sleep only hours before. And now he was gone, at midnight.

She heard a groan from Miss Griffin's room then and hurried to her aid. She removed the gag from the governess's mouth, and then she called to Betty to help untie her. The older woman was dazed and she began to vomit from the chloroform they'd given her, but when she was finally able to speak, she knew no more than Betty about her assailants. They had come into the room while she was asleep, and she thought she'd heard two men's voices, or perhaps more, but they said very little, and then the chloroform overtook her.

As she listened to her, Marielle felt numb. It was as though she were listening to a story that had happened to someone else. It was difficult to absorb what had happened. Then she heard the front doorbell ring, and hurried downstairs, still in her bare feet and her nightgown. She came down the marble stairs like a ghost in a dream, and Haverford was wearing a dressing gown and looking puzzled. He'd been asleep when the police came, and he was in the process of assuring them that all was well and there must be some mistake because they weren't needed.

“A practical joke perhaps, some mistake…” He looked grave, as though they had committed some frightful faux pas. But as she flew down the stairs toward them, her hair loose, her face pale, it was clear that there was no mistake, and the three police-men in her front hall and the butler stared up at her in amazement.

“There's no mistake.” She looked at them as she stood in their midst, suddenly shivering, as Haverford went to find her a coat with which to cover herself. “My son has been kidnapped.' They followed her rapidly upstairs to the nursery, with Haverford just behind them. He stopped in her room to find her slippers and dressing gown, and he was shocked when he reached the nursery and heard the two women's tale. There was no mistake. The child had vanished. One of the two policemen took notes, while the other two conferred, and one of them reached for the phone. Kidnapping was no longer just a state offense, ever since the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby. It was federal now, and the FBI would want to be in charge of the investigation.

The man who appeared to be in charge spoke to Marielle first, and urged everyone else not to touch anything in the room, if possible, for fear of disturbing fingerprints the kidnappers may have left there. Everyone nodded, Betty continued to cry, and the governess still looked desperately unwell as Haverford went to call the doctor.

“Was there any ransom note? Any message left anywhere in the room?” The senior officer asked, he was an Irish policeman in his early fifties. He had five children of his own, and the prospect of losing any of them at any time filled him with terror. He could just imagine how she felt, and as he looked at Marielle he wondered. She seemed so calm, so cool, so totally in control she was almost frozen, and yet her hands shook terribly, and her whole frame trembled even in the warm dressing gown Haverford had brought. Her feet were still bare, her hair loose, and her eyes had the wild look of someone who does not quite understand what has happened. He had seen it before, many times, at fires, in an earthquake once, during the war… at murders… it was a kind of shock that set in to numb the mind and the soul, but sooner or later, no matter what she did; it would hit her. Her baby had been taken.

She explained that there had been no note, no message at all, no sign of anything except the empty bed and the two women bound and gagged by their attackers. He nodded, made notes, and the others called for more police. In half an hour, the house was ablaze with lights, and two-dozen policemen were searching the house inside and out, for clues of any kind. But so far, there was nothing.

The servants were all awake and lined up now, as Sergeant O'Connor questioned each of them, but no one had seen anything, or knew anything at all. And then suddenly Marielle realized that both Patrick and Edith were missing. She had never trusted them, and suspected they hated her, whatever their reasons. And now she wondered if their hatred would lead them to take Teddy. It was difficult to believe but anything was possible, and everything was worth looking into. She signaled their absence to the police, and a description of them, and of Teddy, was put out on the police radios.

“The quicker we find him, the better it is,” Sergeant O'Connor explained. He didn't tell her that it gave them less time to do damage to him, to spirit him too far away, or worse, to kill him. Even then she remembered only too well that the Lindbergh child had most likely been killed the night they took him.

The sergeant warned her too that putting a bulletin on the police radio meant that the press would arrive soon, but if putting a police bulletin out for the child could mean finding him at once, she knew it was a risk well worth taking. She also knew she had to call Malcolm before he heard it on the radio or read it with his morning coffee, but the house was already swarming with police, and the FBI arrived before she had time to call him. It was all like a nightmare, or a very bad film, police running up and down stairs, throwing open windows, pulling back drapes, moving furniture, tearing up the garden, putting searchlights into bushes, stopping pedestrians, and questioning the servants. It was totally frantic and unreal, and through it all she had a continuing sense that it really hadn't happened. It was all a bad dream, and she would awake in the morning. It would turn out to be one of those terrible nightmares she had with her migraines.

“Mrs. Patterson.” Sergeant O'Connor was standing next to her, surrounded by half a dozen men in dark suits. They all seemed to be wearing hats, save one, who was apparently their leader. He was about forty or forty-two, tall, lean, serious, with brown hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to run right through her. He looked hard as steel as he stared down at her, and he looked as though he always got what he wanted. “Mrs. Patterson.” Sergeant O'Connor spoke to her as gently as he could in the confusion. “This is Special Agent Taylor. He's with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and he's been assigned to your case.” Her case…what case?…what had happened? Where was she? Where was Malcolm?…and where was their baby?…

“How do you do.” She shook his hand woodenly while he watched her, and like the rest of him, his eyes were cool. He gave away nothing as he listened to the few details she gave him. He'd been on the Lindbergh case too, but it was too late by then. It had all been so botched by the time they brought in the FBI, and in the end it didn't make much difference. Kidnapping was his specialty, and at least now they could get in on it from the first. But so far there was very little to work with. The chauffeur and maid had disappeared, and there was an all points bulletin out on them, but other than that, there was nothing. No ransom notes, no clues, no fingerprints, no description of the men, nothing at all except their M.O., the chloroform and the fact that the child was gone. He'd heard it all, but what intrigued him was this woman. There was something absolutely terrified in her eyes, as though at any moment she would lose control, and her hands shook visibly, but other than that she seemed completely calm and collected, and she was painfully polite and deliberate when she spoke. But for a moment, he was almost afraid she would snap and go crazy. She was barely hanging on by her fingernails, he knew. And she was genuinely terrified. Yet through it all, standing there in her nightgown and robe, she looked like an empress at a ball, quiet, aloof, and unbelievably pretty.

“Is there somewhere quieter for us to talk?” he inquired, looking around at the police tearing her house apart, while the servants stood by and watched them.

“Yes.” She motioned him to Malcolm's study. It was a handsome room, filled with rare books, leather couches and chairs, and the huge desk Malcolm worked on, the desk where he had sat only that morning. The sight of the room reminded Taylor that he hadn't seen her husband. He asked her about it, as she invited him to sit down, She sat down, shivering, on one of the couches as she answered.

“He's away. In Washington. I spoke to him about two hours before I discovered…before I went upstairs…” She could not bring herself to say the words that Teddy had been kidnapped.

“Have you called him yet?” She shook her head, looking deeply troubled. How would she tell him?

“I haven't had time to call him,” she said softly, suddenly feeling it was all her fault.

He nodded, watching her, deeply intrigued by this woman. He came from a totally different world, and he had never met anyone quite like her. So distinguished, so polite, and at the same time so warm and gentle.

He had grown up in Queens, and came from a desperately poor family. He'd been in the Marines, in the big war, and came out and joined the FBI right after. He'd been with them now for twenty years, and he had just had his forty-second birthday. He had a wife and two kids, and he loved them deeply, but as he sat facing her, trying to concentrate on the case, he had to admit to himself, he had never seen a woman like this one. Even in her nightclothes, she looked aristocratic and dignified. Her face was so innocent, her eyes so full of pain, that all he wanted to do was put his arms around her.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Patterson.” He had to force his mind back to the case, for her sake. “Tell me about it again, exactly the way it happened.” At first he just closed his eyes and listened to her, and then from time to time he'd open his eyes and watch her face, as though to see if there was some discrepancy there, something wrong, some untruth, the kind he had an uncanny sense for. But there was something different here, no lie, but some intangible terror. He waited until she was through, and then he asked her, “Is there anything else? Anything else you might have seen, tonight, or in the last few days…anything that frightened you, or that might make sense to you now, in light of what has happened?” But she shook her head again, unwilling to share her private terrors with a stranger. “Is there anything you'd like to share with me, anything you want to say, before the rest of the world gets in on this…even your husband?” At other times, he had asked women about boyfriends, lovers, friends, but somehow here it seemed wrong. She didn't feel like that kind of woman…to him, she looked like the kind of woman you wanted to die for. “Is there anyone in your life, or even from your past, who might want to do something like this to you…anyone you can think of?”

There was a long, long silence this time, and then she shook her head with a look of visible pain. “I hope not.”

“Mrs. Patterson…think carefully…your child's life may depend on the information you give me.” And as she thought of him, her heart turned over. Was it possible that she was still willing to protect him now?…could it even be him?…but could she take the chance and not tell Agent Taylor? Before she could say another word, Sergeant O'Connor knocked briefly and walked into the room to announce that the maid and driver were home, and the child wasn't with them. “Where are they?” The FBI man looked annoyed. He had sensed that she was wrestling with herself, and had been about to tell him something important.

“They're in the living room, and John…” He looked conspiratorially at him, and then apologetically at Marielle. “They're drunk as skunks, the pair of them, and she's wearing one hell of a ball gown.” He glanced at Marielle again. “I'd bet my bottom dollar it's yours and you don't know she's got it.” But all of that seemed unimportant now. The question was, where was her son, and who had him?

“Take them to the kitchen and give them as much black coffee as you can get into them till they puke, and then call me.” The policeman nodded and disappeared, as John Taylor turned his attention back to the child's mother. And then the officer returned again, as though to tell her something.

“Mrs. Patterson, we called your husband.” She wasn't sure whether to thank him or not. She felt guilty for not calling him herself, but relieved too. She had wanted to spare him the shock of hearing it from a stranger. There was no way to gentle this news, and all she could think was how much he loved Teddy.

“What did he say?” She looked terrified, as the inspector watched her reaction.

“He was very upset.” He glanced at John, and didn't tell her that her husband had cried openly on the phone, but he hadn't asked to speak to his wife. O'Connor thought that was strange, but between people of their kind, sometimes things were different. He'd seen it all before, everything from kidnappings to murders. “He said he'll be here in the morning.”

“Thank you.” She nodded as he left the room, and she looked at the FBI agent again, and as he watched her, he knew that there was more than she had told him. He wondered how straightforward he could be with her, if she would lie, or swoon, or attempt to leave the room in a rage, but she did none of those, she only listened to him. And watched him. He was a powerful, compelling, very handsome man in a rugged way, but she wasn't paying any attention to his looks, only to what he was saying.

“Mrs. Patterson, sometimes there are things we don't want to say to people we don't know, things we don't want to admit about ourselves or people we love…but in a case like this, it could make all the difference. I don't need to tell you what's at stake here. You know… we all do. Will you please give it some thought, and see if there's anything else you want to tell me?” But before she could say anything, he left the room, and promised to come back as soon as he'd spoken to Patrick and Edith. And she sat there in Malcolm's den, wondering how much she should say to him, but knowing that she had to trust him.

Both Patrick and Edith were still very drunk when he walked in, but they were coherent enough to know where they'd been, what they'd done, and who they'd been with. O'Connor wrote it all down as Taylor talked to them, and Patrick acted outraged that an APB had been put out on him, he said it could ruin his reputation, which neither O'Connor nor Taylor cared about for a single moment. They both suspected he could be a nasty piece of work, given the chance, as could Edith.

“Why were you out with him tonight?” Taylor asked her as she crossed her legs and tried to look sexy in the dress she'd stolen. It was the one Marielle had worn the night before, to the Whytes', and she had asked Edith to send it to the cleaners. She was planning to send it to them, but she had worn it first, as she had with lots of other gowns before. She just hadn't had the courage to “borrow” the ermine. “Weren't you supposed to be on duty?”

“Yeah, so what?” Patrick said. “What difference did it make who sat with the kid? So if she'd been there she'd have wound up gassed and all trussed up like a chicken. What for? For the lousy salary they give us?” He was still too drunk to realize that what he said could damn them both, but Edith was sobering fast and looking very nervous.

“I didn't know… I should have… I guess… I just thought it being almost Christmas…”

“Where did you get the dress?”

“It's mine.” She tried to brazen it out. “My sister made it.” Taylor nodded understandingly, and then sat down across from her, as though he knew her better than he did, and had no intention of buying her story.

“If I ask Mrs. Patterson to come in, will she agree with that, or is the dress hers?” The girl bowed her head and started to cry in answer, as Patrick became increasingly belligerent.

“Oh for chrissake, you sniveling bitch, cut it out… so what… so you borrowed her dress. You always give 'em back. Shit, you'd think we was working for the Virgin Mary. And listen,” he waved a finger menacingly at John Taylor, “don't you buy any of that holy Madonna crap from her. Twice this week I seen her with her boyfriend. Once she even took the kid, so don't you go insinuating it was us. You talk to her and ask her about the guy she was kissing in the church on Friday, and in the park yesterday, with Teddy.” Nothing registered on O'Connor's face as he made a note of it, and John Taylor stared at him with silent interest. He knew that if he kept his mouth shut, there would be more, and he was right, there was, less than a minute later. “The guy looks like a lunatic if you ask me, ranting and raving at her, shouting, he looked like he was threatening her, then trying to kiss her. Poor Teddy looked scared out of his wits he did, if you ask me, the bastard is crazy.”

“What makes you say that he's her boyfriend?” The voice was cool, but the eyes were icy. “Have you seen him with her before?”

Patrick thought about it and then shook his head. “No…just the other afternoon in church and yesterday in Central Park. But she could have seen him other times, and he really seemed to know her. She don't always let me drive her.”

“Does she drive herself?”

“Now and then,” he thought it out again, “she goes for walks sometimes. But she don't go out much.

Feels sorry for herself a lot, I think. She gets a lot of headaches.” It was certainly an interesting portrait he painted. Somehow, John Taylor had gotten the impression she was stronger.

“Have you ever seen her with other men?” He seemed sorry to admit that he hadn't, except this one. And then Taylor threw him a curve, with a question he didn't want to answer. “Have you ever seen Mr. Patterson with other women?”

There was a long, pregnant pause, when Patrick looked at the still sobbing Edith. She was sure she was going to lose her job over the dress she had taken. She was far more concerned with that than the disappearance of the little boy when she was supposed to have been there to watch him.

John Taylor repeated the question again, in case Patrick needed to be reminded. “Have you ever seen your employer with another woman?”

“Not that I can remember…” And then, “…except his secretaries of course.” But that was all information Taylor knew he could delve into later. The matter of the boyfriend, however, did intrigue him. She seemed too cool for that, too smart, too clean, and too decent. But you never knew, and now he certainly had to ask her. He hated these things, forcing answers, causing pain. But the entire situation that had brought him here was painful, and if he could help find the boy for them, then it was worth it.

He stood up and looked at the driver he had come to loathe in a single moment. They were a slimy pair.

But instinct also told him that it was unlikely they were involved in the kidnapping. It was possible they'd taken a bribe, had left a door open somewhere for a hundred bucks, but he wasn't even sure they'd done that. They were just out, taking advantage of their employers, in a purloined dress, a borrowed car, having shirked their duties to the child, but he doubted if there was more to it than that. Lucky for them, or he'd have been glad to nail them.

He went back to the library after telling O'Connor to let them go. He'd interrogate them again in the morning. They had both already insisted that they'd seen nothing unusual that night, or in the days before. The only thing unusual, Patrick repeated, was Marielle's meeting with her “boyfriend.”

“What did you make of that?” O'Connor asked in an undertone before Taylor left the kitchen.

“It's probably all lies, but I'll ask her.”

“She don't look the type.” O'Connor shook his head. Maybe the boyfriend had taken the kid. It was certainly a possibility if she was involved with someone other than her husband. And you never knew. It was always the quiet ones who surprised you.

“No, she doesn't look the type,” Taylor agreed almost sadly. But if it was true, he was even more anxious to talk to her before the return of her husband. As he walked into the library, he saw her sitting there, almost as though she hadn't moved, but she seemed to be shaking harder than ever. The house was warm, but she was clearly in shock, and in spite of himself, he felt sorry for her.

“Would you like a drink, or a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” she said sadly. “Did they know anything?” she asked him hopefully, but he shook his head. “Do you think it's possible they took him and left him somewhere, and came back?” It was a thought she'd had while he was talking to them, and she was anxious to share it.

“Possible, but not likely. I'll see them both again tomorrow morning. But I think they've probably just been out dancing and drinking.” Like her, he was disappointed. It would have been so simple if they had him.

“Neither of them is very fond of me.” Few people were, in Malcolm's house, but she was embarrassed to say it. Malcolm was their only boss, as far as they were concerned. No matter how kind she'd been to them, they were still cold and rude and surly, and more than they knew it, it hurt her.

Being married to Malcolm wasn't always the easy life it appeared. There had been many long nights when she'd been unhappy and lonely. There'd been years of them now, and yet she was faithful to him, and honorable, decent, and a good mother to Teddy. But no one gave her credit for that. Sometimes, she thought, not even Malcolm.

Taylor was watching her face then, and wondering something. “Why do you think they don't like you?” It wasn't that he disagreed with her, he had seen the hatred in Patrick's eyes, and the look on Edith's face when she talked about her dresses.

“I think they're jealous. Most of them have been here since before we were married. I was an intruder, as far as they were concerned. They had their arrangements with my husband, and suddenly there I was, and they didn't want to be bothered. Everyone has an angle in a house like this, something they're doing, something they want, something they shouldn't have done, but did, and they don't want to get found out. I'm a headache for them, and they don't like it.” Something about what she'd just said reminded him about her headaches. It was an odd thing that had stuck in his mind, and he couldn't help wondering, in light of everything else the driver had said, if she and Malcolm were happily married.

“Maybe you're right.” The investigator from the FBI was noncommittal. “What about what I asked you before I left the room?”

“I can't think of anything else.” She was still struggling with her conscience and her terrors, and her unwillingness to believe that Charles would take Teddy, no matter what he had said. He couldn't have meant it.

“You're sure?” Two uniformed policemen wandered by, and Taylor gave them a high sign and asked for a cup of tea for her, and coffee for himself, if they could find it. It was three o'clock in the morning by then, and just watching her shiver made him feel cold and tired.

“Do they have any news at all?” She had to fight back tears as she asked, and he shook his head. She still couldn't let herself believe that if she went upstairs, she wouldn't find Teddy. He had to be there…but in her heart, she knew he wasn't.

“Mrs. Patterson,” he said slowly, after the tea had arrived and the policeman who'd brought it had left again, leaving the library door ajar. Taylor stood up and strode over and closed it. “I want to tell you something your driver said. I want to discuss this with you myself. Because if the press get hold of this, it's going to make a hell of a story.” She knew before he said anything what the story was going to be, and maybe in some ways it would be a relief to tell him. “Mr. Reilly says you have a 'boyfriend.' “ His face was without expression as he said the word, and Marielle smiled. It was so absurd that she had to smile, but she also knew how vicious Patrick was, and she could imagine the story.

“That's an interesting term.”

“Is it accurate?” She could feel him pressuring her. He wanted to know everything about her, for the sake of her child's life. And if he had to, no matter how pretty he thought she was, he would be ruthless.

She sighed, and looked at him. “No, it's not accurate.” It was almost funny to even think of Charles as her “boyfriend.” “He's my ex-husband, and I hadn't seen him in almost seven years until two days ago. We ran into each other at Saint Patrick's Cathedral.”

“Was the meeting prearranged?”

She shook her head solemnly, and the way she looked at him, he believed her. Her eyes were full of grief, and he sensed that behind the new sorrow was old grief.

“It was totally coincidental that we met. He's been living in Spain…fighting against Franco.”

“Oh Christ, one of those.” Taylor took a long sip of coffee. It had already been a long night, but he needed to be alert as the night grew longer. He wanted to talk to her himself, and to hear her story before her husband came home. “Is he a Commie?”

She smiled again. That was another funny word to apply to Charles, although nothing was funny now. Now that Teddy was gone, nothing would ever be funny again… or happy… or nice… or even worth staying alive for…but he would return. It would be different this time. It had to be. The story would have a happy ending. “I don't think he's actually political. He just spends his life tilting at windmills. He's an idealist and a dreamer and writer. He's gone to Pamplona to run with the bulls. He's close to Hemingway. I think he just saw a fight in Spain, and he went to fight it. I don't know. I haven't seen him in years. I haven't spent any real time with him since 1929… I haven't seen him at all since 1932 when I came back to the States, and married Malcolm.”

“And why now? Why is he suddenly here? To see you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Family obligations. His father is very old, and probably dying, or close to it.”

“Did he call you when he arrived, or write to you?” She shook her head. “Do you think he followed you? Is he angry at your remarriage?”

She sighed and looked at the inspector long and hard. ^£? don't know if he has followed me, I don't think so. He hasn't called…and yes… I think he is angry at my remarriage…and about Teddy… he didn't know. I told him on Friday that I'd remarried, but I didn't…say anything…about Teddy. And then yesterday, he saw him.”

“Yesterday?” John Taylor looked intrigued as she continued.

“In Central Park. We went to the boat pond, but it was frozen.” Taylor nodded and wondered about the second meeting.

“Did you agree to meet him there?”

“It was coincidence again. His home is just outside the park, at the level of the boat pond.”

“Did you want to meet him there?”

“I never thought about it.” She looked straight at him, and she was still trembling.

“Did you think about him?”

She nodded, her eyes boring holes in his. She had thought about nothing but since she'd seen him at Saint Patrick's.

“Don't you think that two coincidental meetings is a bit much to believe after seven years? You don't see him in seven years, and suddenly there he is twice in two days. Don't you think he was looking for you on purpose?”

“Perhaps.” It was possible. She had asked herself the same questions.

“Did he want anything from you?” Taylor's eyes searched everything about her.

She hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes… he wanted to see me.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure… to talk… to talk about things that no longer matter. It's all over now…it's gone… it was a long time ago. I've been married to Malcolm…my husband… for six years…” Her words drifted off as she looked sorrowfully at John Taylor. He had come into her life at a terrible time, and she barely saw him. She saw his face and heard his voice but she didn't know who he was, she didn't know anything. She felt numb, and desperately frightened every time she thought of Teddy.

“When were you married to him?” His voice droned on, gentle but ever probing.

“In 1926…when I was eighteen…” She looked at him very hard then, and decided that she had to tell him. “My husband doesn't know about this, Inspector. He believes that I 'misbehaved' in Europe when I was eighteen. I think my father implied to all his friends that I had a 'serious flirtation with an inappropriate suitor.' Nothing more. My father was a dreamer. The truth was, as my father well knew, that I was married for five years, and we lived in Europe. I tried to tell Malcolm that when he asked me to marry him, but he didn't want to hear it. He said we each had a past, and it was better left untouched and undisclosed. What he had heard was the story my father had circulated to save himself embarrassment, I don't think he ever admitted to any of his friends that Charles and I were married. We lived in France…” There was a faraway look in her eyes…”And we were very happy.” She looked even more beautiful as she said it.

“And what changed that?” His voice was deep and husky as he asked, trying not to be distracted by her.

“A number of things.” She was evading him and he immediately sensed it. Only one thing had happened to shatter their dream. One thing. One hideous afternoon, from which neither of them had ever recovered.

“Mrs. Patterson…Marielle… I need to know what happened… for your sake… for Teddy's.” What he said went straight to her heart, and tears filled her eyes as she looked at him.

“I can't talk about it now. I never have…” except with her doctor at the clinic.

“You have to.” He was determined and powerful, but she continued to resist him.

“I can't.” She got up and walked around the room, and for a long time she stood and stared out the window. There was darkness outside, and somewhere out in that darkness, there was Teddy. She turned to look at the inspector then, and he had never seen so much pain in his life. More than ever, he wanted to reach out and touch her.

“I'm sorry. I hate doing this to you.” He had never said that to anyone before, but he had never felt like this about any woman. There was a purity and a gentleness to her, and at the same time a fragility that genuinely scared him. “Marielle.” He allowed himself the use of her first name without even asking her, but he had to do everything he could to bring her closer. “You have to tell me.”

“I have never told my husband…perhaps if he knew… if he had known…” Perhaps there would never have been Teddy, or even a marriage.

“You can tell me.” He wanted her to trust him.

“And then? You tell the press?” Her eyes bored into his, but he shook his head slowly.

“I can't promise you anything. But I give you my word. I'll do my damnedest to keep your secrets, unless they mean Teddy's safety. Is that a deal?”

She nodded in answer, and looked away again out into the garden. “We had a son, Charles and I… a little boy named Andre…” She could feel her throat tighten as she said his name. “He was born eleven months after we were married… he had shining black hair, and big blue eyes. He was like a little angel… a little fat cherub, and we adored him. We took him everywhere.” She turned to look at John again, suddenly she had to tell him the story. “He was so beautiful, and he was always laughing.

Wherever we went with him, people knew him.” John was watching her as she spoke, and he didn't like the look in her eyes, or the way she told the story. “Charles adored him…and so did I…and one year we went to Switzerland for Christmas. Andre was two and a half years old, and we had a wonderful time, playing in the snow. We even built a snowman.” There were tears beginning to slide down her cheeks, tears of pain, and he didn't interrupt her. “One afternoon, Charles wanted to go up the mountain to go skiing, but I wanted to stay in Geneva. So Andre and I took a walk around the lake, we talked and we played, and the lake was frozen, and there was a group of women and children, and we stopped and chatted. And I was talking to one of them, about little boys his age…” She could barely speak now, but she still went on, fighting for air as she struggled with each word. “You know how women are, they love to talk about their children, so she and I were talking about how mischievous two-year-old boys are, and as we spoke… as we spoke…” she touched her eyes with a trembling hand, and without thinking, he reached out to her, as though to help her on, and she clung to his fingers “… while we were talking, he ran out on the ice with some other children, and then suddenly, there was this terrible…terrible…” She could barely go on, the room seemed so airless, but John squeezed her hand as tightly as he could and she continued. She was unaware of him now, she was lost in a time that had almost killed her.

“…There was a terrible crackling noise… almost like thunder…and the ice cracked…three of the children fell in…one of them was Andre… I rushed out on the ice, with the other women, and people were shouting. I was the first one to reach the hole…I got both of the little girls out… I got them,” she sobbed… “I got them…but I couldn't get him… I tried… I tried so hard… I tried everything I could… I even climbed into the water, but he had slipped under the ice, and then I found him…” Her voice was distorted by pain, and as he listened John Taylor was crying… “He was all blue, and he lay in my arms so tiny and cold and so still… I tried everything… I tried to breathe for him, I tried to warm him…the ambulance came and we took him to the hospital, but…” She looked up at John, seeing him again then, and they were both crying for the little boy who had died beneath the ice in Geneva. “They couldn't save him. He had died in my arms, they said, when I first pulled him out…but he wasn't even breathing then…how could they know when he died?” And what did it matter? “It was all my fault… I should have been watching him, and I wasn't. I was talking to those damn women…about him…and then he was gone…one moment of talking to them, and I killed him…”

“And Charles?” He had asked the key words, and he had barely recovered from what he'd just heard, but he could see there was more from her face, still ravaged by the story she had just told him.

“He blamed me of course. They kept me in the hospital, and I wanted to be there anyway…with Andre…they let me hold him for a long, long time. I held him so close to me, I kept thinking that if only I could get him warm again, but of course…” She sounded a little mad, as she went on with the story.

“What did Charles do when he got to the hospital?” His voice was gentle. He had asked an important question, and she looked at John Taylor without seeing him as she answered.

“He hit me…hard…again and again…afterward…they said… I thought… it didn't matter…they said that when I jumped into the ice…”

“What did he do to you, Marielle?”

“He tried to beat me… he said I'd killed Andre, that it was all my fault… he hit me…but I deserved it…and…” She gulped on a terrible sob, and made a sound that he had never heard another human make, it was a keening of pain that was almost like baying. “… I lost the baby…” She looked up at him again, and this time, he put an arm around her and pulled her close to him to let her sob against his shoulders. He held her against his chest, and stroked her hair without thinking.

“Oh my God.” He suddenly understood. “…You were pregnant…”

“Five months… a little girl…she died that night, on the same day as Andre.” She sat then for a long time, in silence, crying quietly, as John Taylor held her.

“I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry for what happened to you…and to put you through this now.” But he had had to. He had to know what she was hiding. He had seen it in her eyes, but he hadn't known it would be like this.

“I'm all right,” she said quietly, and in a way she was, but in another way, she wasn't. She had suddenly remembered that Teddy was gone…and that added to the others made it too much. That was why John Taylor had to find him. “I wasn't all right then. For a long time. I guess… I guess you'd call it a nervous breakdown, or something more. I suppose Charles went more than a little mad too. They had to tear him off me that night, and he collapsed at the funeral, I was told. I don't know…they wouldn't let me go. They put me in a private clinic in Villars, and I was there for twenty-six months. Charles paid for it, but I never saw him. They finally let him come to see me before they let me go, and he asked me to come back, but I couldn't. I knew we both thought that I had killed our child, if not both of them. Not only had I let Andre drown, but I had jumped into the icy water and killed the baby.”

“And what were you supposed to do? Let him drown?”

“No, I did what I had to do, but it took me two years to figure that out, and it's taken me another six to live with it since then. I think that,” she began to cry harder again, “I decided…when Teddy was born that God had decided to forgive me. I had a terrible time getting pregnant with him, and I always thought I was being punished.”

“That's crazy. You were punished enough. What did you ever do to deserve that?”

She smiled sadly at the man she had just shared her life with. “I've spent most of my life trying to figure that out.” He touched her hand again, and poured a small amount of brandy into the cup of tea she'd been sipping. He had helped himself to one of Malcolm's decanters, and he still had a hard time believing she'd never told her husband. What a lonely burden she'd had to live with, no wonder she suffered from migraines.

“And the meeting in the church?” But he had figured that out now.

“It was the anniversary of…the children's death. I always go to church and light candles for them, and my parents. And suddenly there was Charles, rather like a vision.” Taylor wondered if it was a welcome one. He was fascinated by her now, and all she had been through, and yet she had survived it. She was much stronger than she looked, and much deeper.

“Are you still in love with him?” He wanted to know now.

“Yes, I suppose part of me always will be.” She was so honest with him, so open, there was something about her which seemed so fair. It made his skin crawl now when he thought of the chauffeur's accusation that she had a “boyfriend.” “But that part of my life is over.” She sounded as though she meant it.

“Is that what he wanted? For you to come back to him?”

“I don't know. I only saw him at Saint Patrick's for that little while, and we were both upset. He kept telling me it wasn't my fault, but I know he always thought it was. He accused me of murdering our son, of being negligent…” She looked away from John again, and this time he forced her to take a sip of the brandy, “The truth is that I was. I was a twenty-one-year-old girl, and I made a terrible mistake. I talked to that woman for only a moment, and he was gone… I'm surprised Charles is willing to forgive me at all, given how he felt about me then.”

“Are you sure he has?”

She looked honestly at the inspector. That was the big question. “I don't know. I thought he had when I saw him at Saint Patrick's on Friday. I told him I was married again, and I think he was surprised, and perhaps not pleased, but he seemed to accept it. But the next day, when we saw him at the park… he was furious about Teddy, furious that I have another child…and he doesn't. He said I didn't deserve it, and I felt as though he were threatening me, but I think they were just words. He said he could take the child, in order to make me come with him.” John Taylor had just heard the music he wanted to hear, and he was almost sure they had their man now. All they had to do was find him. Thank God she had confided in him. With any luck at all now they'd find the boy, and they could lock her ex-husband up and forget him. As sorry as he felt for her, with all she'd been through, Taylor felt far less sympathetic for Charles, who had beaten her up in the hospital when she was pregnant, and instead of consoling her, had accused her of murdering their children. He had left her in a hospital for two years, and had somehow let her carry the burden for the rest of her life that it was her fault their son had died. As far as John Taylor was concerned, the guy deserved to be punished.

“Do you think he was serious when he said those things?”

“I'm not sure. I just don't know. I can't imagine him harming anyone, least of all a child. But I'm not sure how angry he still is, and I was afraid not to tell you what had happened.” In the end, it had turned out to be a blessing that the chauffeur had accused her of having a boyfriend.

It was six o'clock in the morning by then, and there were no further developments, no new clues about Teddy. But the information she'd just given him would go far. He carefully wrote down Charles's name and address, and promised to have a discreet talk with him in a couple of hours. If he was satisfied with his alibi, and believed what he said, the matter of Charles Delauney would be closed, and nothing more needed to be said. But if not, he would have to act on what he found. Secretly, he hoped that he was going to find something. If nothing else, the guy was a fool, and he had clearly threatened her. It was entirely possible he had taken the boy, even as revenge for the children he had lost and because he still blamed her for their deaths, or just because he misguidedly wanted to draw her to him. But he had promised her not to tell the press, or the FBI, or Malcolm, until he had spoken to Charles Delauney. It was the best he could do for her, and she appreciated his efforts.

It was almost seven o'clock when they left the library, and it was still dark, as they stood in the front hall and talked for a long time. He looked down at her, wishing that he could promise her he would find Teddy. If nothing else in this life, she deserved it. He had a feeling that her marriage to Malcolm Patterson was nothing more than an arrangement. All she had was Teddy, and he was gone. And Taylor could sense how much she adored him. It was clear that she was never going to return to Charles, wisely so as far as Taylor was concerned, but she really had no one in her life to help her. It was impossible to understand how the boy had disappeared at midnight that night, without a trace or a sound. He had simply been taken from his bed with his red pajamas on…and vanished.