Danielle Steel - Vanished

“Yes.” She couldn't say more. She could hardly speak now.

“Did Mr. Delauney beat you on any other occasion?”

“No, he did not.”

“And had you ever suffered mental illness before the incident of your son's death?”

“No, I hadn't.”

“Would you say you have recovered fully now?”

“Yes, I would.”

There was a brief pause as Palmer consulted some notes and then went on, “Mrs. Patterson, do you suffer from severe headaches?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And when did they start?”

“At …after …during my stay in Switzerland.”

“But you've had them since then?”

“Yes.”

“Recently?”

“Yes.”

“How recently?”

She almost smiled but she couldn't. “This weekend.”

“How many would you say you've had in the past month?”

“Maybe four or five a week.”

“As many as that?” He looked sympathetic. “And before your son's kidnapping? Just as many?”

“Maybe two or three a week.”

“Do you have other recurring problems from the past, Mrs. Patterson? Are you unusually shy or withdrawn, are you afraid of people sometimes? Are you afraid of responsibility … of being blamed for things?”

Tom Armour stood up again in an attempt to stop what was becoming a slaughter. “My colleague is not a psychiatrist. If he feels he needs one, he should call an expert witness.”

“Your Honor.” Bill Palmer approached the bench again, and then waved another piece of paper at Tom Armour. “This telegram is from Mrs. Patterson's doctor at the Clinique Verbeuf in Villars, confirming that she was indeed incarcerated there.”

“Objection!” Tom looked furious now, and she wasn't even his client. “Mrs. Patterson wasn't in prison!”

“Sustained. Mr. Palmer, please watch your language.”

“Sorry, Your Honor. She was hospitalized there for two years and two months for a nervous breakdown and severe depression. She apparently attempted suicide repeatedly and suffered from severe migraines. That was the official diagnosis. Dr. Verbeuf goes on to add that he is aware that her migraines have persisted and that at times of great stress like the present one, her mental health could be considered extremely fragile.” Without meaning to, the good doctor had killed her. And no matter what she said now, they would think her disturbed, and an unreliable witness. But Palmer wasn't through yet.

After the telegram from Dr. Verbeuf was admitted as Exhibit B, he went on with his questions. “Have you had an affair with the defendant since your divorce?”

“No, I have not.”

“Have you seen him in the past several months, or rather before your son was kidnapped?”

“Yes, I ran into him in church on the anniversary of our son's death. And the following day in the park.”

“Was your son with you on either occasion?”

“Yes, the second one.”

“And what was Mr. Delauney's reaction? Was he pleased to meet him?”

“No.” She lowered her eyes so she didn't have to look at him. “He was upset.”

“Would you say he was angry?”

She hesitated and then nodded. “Yes.”

“Did he threaten you in any way?”

“Yes, but I don't know if he really meant it.”

“And when was your son kidnapped, Mrs. Patterson?” If nothing else, he was making her out to be extremely stupid.

“The next day.”

“Do you believe that there's a connection between Mr. Delauney's threats, and your son's disappearance?”

“I don't know.”

And then he switched tacks again. “Have you kissed Mr. Delauney since your divorce from him, Mrs. Patterson?” She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Please answer my question.”

“Yes.”

“And when was that?”

“When I saw him in church. I hadn't seen him in almost seven years and he kissed me.”

“Was it just a peck on the cheek, or a kiss on the lips, like in the movies?” The audience tittered but Marielle didn't even smile. And John Taylor knew that Palmer had been talking to their driver, with his asinine tales about her “boyfriend.”

“It was a kiss on the lips.”

“And have you visited him in jail?”

“Yes. Once.”

“Mrs. Patterson, are you still in love with Mr. Delauney?” From then on, anything she said about him would be useless.

She hesitated again, and then she shook her head. “I don't believe so.”

“Do you believe he kidnapped your child?”

“I don't know. Perhaps. I'm not sure.”

“And do you feel responsible for that kidnapping in any way?”

“I'm not sure …” Her voice cracked as she said the words, and everyone in the courtroom was reminded of what the Swiss doctor had said, that under stress her mental health could be extremely fragile. Palmer had done exactly what he wanted to do with her. He had discredited her completely. She sounded mixed up and confused, unsure about Delauney's guilt, or her own, a woman who had tried to commit suicide several times, suffered from migraines and was probably responsible for her first child drowning. And if the defense wanted to use her now, she wouldn't do them any good, and Palmer knew it. It was exactly what he had set out to do, but he had wiped the floor with her in the process and John Taylor knew exactly who had helped him. It was Malcolm. And Taylor himself felt guilty for every call he'd made. But his had all been harmless.

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson,” Bill Palmer said coolly, and then turned to Tom Armour. “Your witness.”

“The defense would like to call Mrs. Patterson at a later time, Your Honor.” He wanted to give everyone time to cool down, especially Marielle, who looked as though she'd died as she walked off the stand, and the judge called a recess until after lunch at two o'clock that afternoon. But as she tried to leave the courtroom with Malcolm and the FBI surrounding her, she was mobbed by the press at the door to the courtroom. Charles had tried to catch her eye as she left but she was too sick to even look at him, and the press physically tried to pull at her clothes and shout questions at her as she fled the courthouse.

“Tell us about the hospital …the suicides …your little boy…. Tell us everything …come on, Marielle, give us a break!” Their voices were still ringing in her ears as they drove uptown, and John Taylor looked stonily out the window. Only Malcolm dared speak to her in a whisper, and she was startled by what he said.

“That was disgusting.” She looked at him, not sure what he meant, certain he meant the way Palmer had treated her, but she could see from the look on his face that he meant what he'd heard about her. He said not another word, and tears filled her eyes as they rode home. Once in the library, alone with him, she asked him what he meant, but he could only look at her with disdain now.

“Marielle, how could you?”

“How could I what? Tell him the truth? What choice did I have? He knew it all anyway. You heard the letters from the two doctors.”

“My God …the suicides …the migraines …two years in a mental hospital …”

“I told you all that in December.” And she had, right after Teddy was kidnapped. In fact, the next morning.

“It didn't sound quite like that then.” He looked genuinely aghast, and suddenly she was deeply embarrassed. She stared at the man she thought she knew, and ran upstairs to her own room, and locked the door. But a few moments later, she saw a slip of paper slide under the door. All it said was “Call your doctor.” She thought it was someone being wicked at first, and then she recognized John Taylor's handwriting, and she wondered why he wanted her to call her doctor. And then she knew. Somewhere deep inside of her, she knew. She ran to her address book, picked up the phone, and asked the operator to call the number. It was nine o'clock in Villars, but she knew that he was there round the clock because he lived there. And he was in, of course, and startled to hear from her.