Danielle Steel - Vanished

“All I want is for my son to come home.”

“Do you accept the possibility that he may have killed him?” She closed her eyes as she nodded, and then opened them again, wondering how she was going to survive the trial. The past two and a half months had been a nightmare. The newspapers were hounding them night and day, and almost every day there were photographs of them, or Teddy, or Charles, on the front pages. She couldn't even listen to the radio anymore without hearing tales about herself, or Charles, or Malcolm, most of them untrue, and many of them filled with imaginary scandal. She was supposedly seen dancing everywhere, Malcolm was divorcing her, Charles had escaped, Teddy had been seen. It was endless and totally untrue, and perfectly awful. And William Palmer was part of the nightmare. “You understand that this man may have killed your son, yet you're not certain that you believe he is guilty. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she finally spat at him, “yes, that's correct…. No …” She changed her mind again, “I think he did it.” Palmer looked deeply annoyed as she turned and stood up and walked across the room, struggling with her own feelings. “I am not entirely sure that Charles Delauney kidnapped, and possibly even killed, my son. But I believe it is possible because of the pajamas and the teddy bear.”

He smiled a small wintry smile at her. “That's my job, isn't it? Why don't you have a little faith in me, Mrs. Patterson, and let yourself be convinced. Your husband believes Mr. Delauney is guilty, you know.” He was trying to soothe her. But she already knew what Malcolm thought, and why. He also thought it was all her fault, and that wasn't true either.

“He doesn't know him as well as I do.”

“I suppose not. But Mr. Delauney beat you when you were pregnant, didn't he?”

She didn't answer for a long moment, as she stared out at the garden, wishing that she would see her son there. “More or less. I'm not sure I'd call it that. He hit me …but he was beside himself with grief….”

“And didn't he kill your unborn child as a result?”

“I don't know. But he's not going on trial for murdering my baby.”

“No, but perhaps for murdering your son. And if he could do it once, perhaps he could do it again.”

“That's ridiculous. The two cases are entirely different.”

“Are you defending him, Mrs. Patterson? Will you defend him at the trial?” That was what he wanted to know. He wanted to know just where she stood before she hurt his case, and he was already more than a little worried.

“That's not my job, Mr. Palmer. I'm not here to defend anyone. All I care about is my son.”

“And all I care about is justice.”

“Then justice will be served.” She looked at him long and hard, and he was serious and unhappy when he left her. Patterson was right, she was unpredictable and unreliable, emotional, and he was beginning to wonder if the chauffeur was right after all. Maybe she still was in love with Charles Delauney. Maybe they'd been having an affair. Maybe there was more to this than met the eye. But his investigators had turned up absolutely nothing unsavory about her. The worst thing anyone could say about her was that she spent too much money on clothes, but Patterson didn't seem to mind that.

When Palmer left that afternoon, John Taylor had arrived only moments later. Visiting her had become part of his daily routine now. He enjoyed talking to her, or sometimes they just sat quietly over a cup of coffee. He liked just being there, somewhere near her. Sometimes he'd spend hours at the house pretending to keep an eye on his men, just so he could be around when she came downstairs. It was like being a kid again, but they'd smile at each other, or steal a look, or she'd bring him a sandwich, and he'd put a hand out quickly and touch her. He loved the smell of her, and the softness of her skin, and if he was very lucky, and no one was around, he might even have the chance to kiss her. He was dying to go outside with her, to go for long walks in the spring, or just go to the movies with her and eat popcorn. But they couldn't go anywhere. The moment she opened her front door, she was like fresh meat in a pool of sharks. They had to stay inside, and hide, and talk. And it always intrigued him how seldom he saw Malcolm when he was at the house. The man was never there, but that suited John Taylor to perfection.

“How's it going?” he whispered as he took off his coat. He had seen Bill Palmer leave in a cab when he got there. “Palmer treating you okay?”

“I think he's disappointed I don't want to see Charles electrocuted. Or at least I'm not enthusiastic enough about it.”

“I worry about that too,” John said to her, touching her arm as they walked to the library. “What can I say to convince you?”

“Show me evidence …show me my child …”

“I wish I could. But are you really convinced he's innocent?”

“No,” she admitted to him. “The trouble is I'm not a thousand percent convinced he's guilty either. I think he did it, but I'm not totally sure.” She agonized about it sometimes, glad she couldn't be on the jury.

“Once we found the pajamas, it was open and shut, and you know it.” But he also knew she didn't want to believe the child was dead, and not finding him suggested that, as they all knew. Maybe denying Charles's guilt meant believing Teddy was still alive. Maybe she couldn't afford to believe the truth. And sometimes John wondered if they'd ever find him. He had hated finding the Lindbergh child, hated telling them, hated what it must have done to them. Having children of his own, it didn't even bear thinking. And now maybe Marielle would have to face that too. All he could hope for her was that it had been quick and painless.

“The trial's going to be awful, isn't it, John?” she asked him over the coffee that Haverford had brought them. Even the old butler had grown fond of him. He was nice to Marielle, and it was comforting having him around. It made everyone feel safe to have him at the house. And only a couple of cops suspected that his interest in Marielle was something other than business. But they were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. So far, their secret was safe, but their feelings for each other seemed to be growing. They were still trying to live from day to day, concentrating on Teddy and the trial, but they each knew that the time would come when they'd have to face each other and their future. But for the moment, neither of them had to make any decisions. Instead, they continued to focus their attention on the trial which lay before them.

“I think it'll be rough, to be honest with you. I think they're going to drag out a lot of history that could be very painful,” John told her quietly, over his coffee.

“I can hardly wait.” She knew what he meant, and she also knew that Malcolm had treated her like a criminal ever since they had arrested Charles Delauney. It was as though he believed she had been in league with him, or that somehow she had provoked him into kidnapping Teddy. There was no getting close to him again, no reaching out to him, he had cast her adrift in a sea of loneliness and terror.

“Have you heard from Bea Ritter again, by the way?” She was the spirited young redheaded girl who had championed Charles's cause, and she was driving them all insane. She had mounted a campaign in the press to defend him. She called John Taylor every few days, his defense attorney, the investigators, the U.S. Attorney, and she knew Bea had called her several times, but she no longer took the calls. She had nothing more to say to her, and talking to her always made Marielle nervous.

“I think she called yesterday.” And then, suddenly, she looked at John in amusement. “Is she in love with him?” She was actually a very pretty girl, and she was about Marietta's age, but she had enough energy and fight for ten men and John found her exhausting.