Vanished

7

When news of Charles Delauney's arrest leaked out, the press went wild, and there were ten times as many reporters outside the Patterson home the next morning. Malcolm only went out under heavy police escort. The reporters hounded John Taylor now too, and the chief of police. They wanted to know everything. This was big news and they wanted the story. The heir to one of the most important fortunes in the country had been arrested for kidnapping…more than that, it was a crime of passion, a saga of revenge…the accused had been married to another scion's wife, and held her responsible for the death of their child. Despite all of John's efforts, word had leaked out, and the scandal was full-blown and out of control by Christmas. By then, Charles had been in custody at Federal Detention Headquarters for five days, and still there was no news of Teddy. Delauney still swore he had no idea where he was and had had nothing to do with it, which led John Taylor to fear that he had killed him. Much to his own chagrin, he told Marielle and Malcolm that on Christmas night. But he felt certain now that Delauney's stubbornness about the crime meant that he had done it as revenge, and Taylor thought it more than likely that he had killed him.

“Oh my God.” Malcolm's whole body swayed when Taylor told him, but this time Marielle held firm, and put an arm around him as though to soothe him. She hadn't had a headache in days, and her whole life centered around waiting for news of Teddy.

“I can't believe that,” she said quietly in answer to Taylor's news. “I can't believe we'll never see him again. No matter what Charles did, I can't believe he would have killed him.”

“Come to your senses!” Malcolm shouted at her in front of John Taylor. “When are you going to understand that the man took him as revenge for his own child? His child is dead and so is mine…” And somehow the way he said it told her in no uncertain terms that he blamed her. John Taylor heard the implication too, but there was nothing he could say to help her. He wanted to whisper to her, “Be strong,” or hold her for a moment before he left the room. But he could say nothing. He only squeezed her hand, imperceptibly, and then he left her with Malcolm.

Christmas didn't even exist for them this year, there was no exchange of gifts, of warm thoughts or feelings. There were no decorations put up anywhere, and Teddy's room was like a little altar to all they'd lost. They both seemed to go there constantly, to renew their hope and spirit. Marielle couldn't believe she'd never hold him in her arms again, couldn't believe he was gone… it wasn't possible…Charles just couldn't do it.

She lay awake all that night after John had gone, and she knew what she had to do. The next morning when Malcolm went out, to attend to some business, she ordered the car brought around and she asked one of the policemen to drive her downtown. They seemed a little startled at first, but after consulting with the sergeant in charge, they agreed to do it. They spirited her out the servants' door, in a black dress and hat and an old fur coat of her mother's, and the car plowed through the reporters outside the house, and headed downtown as Marielle sat shaking between two policemen in the backseat. She hadn't been out of the house since the kidnapping, and it was terrifying pressing through crowds, and being driven to a police station by four policemen. But she knew that this was something she had to do. No matter what they said, she had to see him.

He was being held at Federal Detention Headquarters and he had been there for six days. Formal charges had been made almost immediately, for kidnapping. Taylor was still hoping to get a confession out of him, or at least learn the whereabouts of the child, if they could force that out of him. But so far, he had given up nothing.

There was a handful of reporters on the front steps when she arrived, and as soon as they got a glimpse of her, they went wild, but her escort forced their way through, and a moment later she was inside, breathless and shaking. She explained whom she had come to see, and there were whispered conferences and murmurings. It wasn't a visiting day, and this was highly irregular, but she told them who she was and that she had to see him.

Finally one of the sergeants in charge took her in, and left her in a small bare room, and ten minutes later, they brought him to her. He was wearing rough pants, one of his own shirts, what looked like combat boots, and he had a week-old beard, and an expression in his eyes she hadn't seen in years, an expression of pain and sorrow that told her what she had come to learn even before she asked him any questions. He began to cry the moment he saw her, and the guard left them alone in the room as he took her in his arms and held her.

“I didn't do it, Marielle… I swear… I would never do that… I was crazy… I was drunk that day… I don't know…just seeing you there with him… it reminded me of Andre…”

“I know… I know…shhh… I had to talk to you.” She pulled away from him so she could see him, and she was glad she had come. She had needed to hear from him just what had happened. Slowly, he sat down, and she sat down across from him, and looked at him. How far they had come, and how much pain there still was between them. What happened?”

“I don't know. They said they found his pajamas in my basement. My God, Marielle…tell me you don't believe it's true…”

“How did they get there?”

“I don't know. I swear to God, I don't…I'm a fool… I was terrible to you… I was wrong… I was crazy…but I've spent the rest of my life trying to atone for it, I've never hurt anyone…I've fought for my friends, I was willing to die for their causes because I have nothing more to lose…why would I hurt him? Why would I hurt you? I've done enough to you, and by God…” He sobbed as she held his hands. “I still love you.”

“I know,” she whispered, she still loved him too. But she loved Teddy more. He was her baby. “But where is he?”

“I swear, I don't know.” He looked up at her then, his eyes clear and deep and true, and she believed him. “I swear, Marielle, even if they kill me. I promise you, I know nothing of the boy's kidnapping. I hope you find him, for your sake. In spite of everything I said so stupidly, you deserve to.”

She nodded. “Thank you.” How had they gotten into this? How had it happened?

The guard came back to them then, and he said she had to leave. She nodded and stood up, and Charles looked at her long and hard before he left her.

“Believe me” was all he said, and she nodded. It sounded like the truth. But if he hadn't taken the boy, who had? She was no closer to knowing anything than she'd been before she'd come. But at least she knew Charles Delauney hadn't done it. And as she left the tiny room, she was startled to see John Taylor coming toward her. He was FBI and not police and he had no business here, although she assumed he had come to see Charles, but he looked very stern as he led her to a private office.

“What are you doing here?” He seemed angry at her, almost the way Malcolm would have been, but she was glad she'd come anyway. It had been worth it.

“I had to see him.”

“You're a fool.”

She shook her head and knew she wasn't. “He says he didn't do it. And I believe him.” She had had to know, had to ask, had to see him.

“And what do you think he's going to say to you? That he killed him?” She flinched as he said the words, but he was angry at her for coming to see him. “He's not going to tell you the truth. His neck is in the noose and right now he's going to do anything he can to save it.”

“Why would he lie to me?”

'Why would he tell you the truth? There's too much at stake for him. Marielle, listen to me, stay away from here. Stay away from him. If we can, well find your son for you, but this man can do nothing for you. He's brought you nothing but pain…leave him alone…” It was not his place to say, but he knew she was being duped. He knew too much about Delauney now. The wildness in Spain, the crazed furies he indulged from time to time, the wild drunks, the rage…the fact that he had hit her when he had…the fact that he still loved her. He wasn't even sure he was sane. That was going to be looked into too. But he didn't want her any more hurt than she had been. And when the press got wind of this, they were going to have a field day. “Come on, I'll take you home.” She nodded, willing to go now. “And next time you want to do something like this, call me.”

“And what will you say?” She smiled as he led her away. He had the policeman start the car, and all they had to do was make a wild dash for it, with the photographers blazing. Later, there was one picture of her swinging into the car with John Taylor just behind her. “What would you have said if I'd asked you to bring me down here?” she asked as they settled back in the car, and he frowned.

“I'd have said no.” In no uncertain terms.

“That's why I didn't call you.” She smiled. But she was feeling relieved. She believed Charles. Maybe it wasn't all her fault. And John Taylor sat watching her, thinking that she was a terrific woman and how much he liked her. Much more than he should have.

“I'll take you out for a drive and give you a nice stern lecture next time you get an idea like that,” he said as though scolding a child.

“That's what I was afraid of,” she said quietly, and then said nothing more on the drive home.

As he watched her as they drove uptown, he felt distinctly sorry for her. He knew how desperate she was to find the child, and he was beginning to think they weren't going to. He had begun to feel that way in the Lindbergh case too, and he had wanted so badly to be wrong, but in the end he wasn't.

They ran in through the kitchen once she was home, and she thanked him for bringing her back. But Malcolm was far less grateful to him the following morning. The papers were smeared with Marielle's visit to Charles in jail, with photographs of her everywhere, and one of John with his arm around her as she got into the car.

When Malcolm came home he was livid.

“What was that about, Marielle?”

“He was shielding me from the press,” she said quietly. And he'd been right. The photographers had had a field day.

“He seems to be enjoying it. Was it his idea to take you to see Delauney?”

“No, mine. I ran into him there. And Malcolm…I'm sorry. I just had to see him… I wanted to hear what he'd say.”

“And did he tell you how he killed your son? Did he tell you that? Or did he cry about his own son?” Malcolm was raging.

“Malcolm, please…”

“Please what…your lover…your ex-husband, your whatever you want to call him takes my son and you want me to feel sorry for him? Is that what you did? Go to tell him how sorry you are for him? You know who I'm sorry for? I'm sorry for Teddy…our little boy who is probably dead somewhere, who may have been kicked or stabbed or broken or hurt…” She was screaming as she listened, her hands over her ears, unable to bear it a moment longer.

“Stop! Stop! Stop! She ran shrieking from the dining room and went to her own bedroom. It was too much to bear. Too much was happening. And everyone seemed to blame her. It was her fault for knowing Charles, for having been married to him, for not having been able to save her own child, Charles blamed her for that too, and now Malcolm blamed her for Teddy's kidnapping.

John Taylor came back to see her that afternoon, and was kind enough not to mention the furor in the press, but he didn't have any other news either. They were going to search Charles's house again, just in case. And this time when they did, they found one of Teddy's toys, it was a little teddy bear, concealed right in Charles's own bedroom. There was no longer any doubt at all. And this time, even Marielle believed them.