Eyes of the Innocent

by Christopher Wright

  Chapter 13

  Zoé pointed out that it was going to be difficult getting a cab with Matt so wet. As he squelched his way across the grass, with Zoé and Valdieri keeping him an embarrassed company, he became aware of someone following. A few people had given him curious glances already, but he hoped none would be inclined to follow.

  He turned to see the so-called expert in tracing lost people hurrying towards them. "I still want to help," the man gasped. Clearly his security work didn't require fitness. The man was overweight by quite a few pounds.

  Matt waited for the man to catch up. Quite why the security guard was so interested he had no idea, but perhaps every bit of help would prove useful in getting their baby back safely.

  Valdieri didn't seem so keen on engaging the man in conversation. "You have to leave us," he said. "The New York police are already on it. So please just move along."

  Zoé looked agitated. "No, no, if this man can help, the least we can do is to let him help in the search."

  "I agree," Matt said. He bit his lip as a sudden idea occurred to him. "We don't have any money," he said. "There's no reward."

  "Hey," said the man who seemed to have recovered his breath, "that never even crossed my mind. If I can help, I will. No reward. Agreed. But first..." He pulled Matt and Zoé to one side. "Before I do anything, I need to be sure you guys are innocent. If your kid was deformed, who am I to judge you? I'll just walk away and forget it. The cops don't owe me anything."

  Matt nearly hit the man. "That's a terrible thing to suggest. Just leave us alone."

  Zoé stood in shocked silence.

  "Hey, no, man. I just needed to be sure, that's all. Didn't mean to offend you. If you want me to help you, I have to trust you." He raised his hands. "Easy now, let's keep it cool. You passed the test. Okay? Five?"

  Matt kept his hands down, but nodded. "Okay, no hard feelings."

  "I just want to help you two guys find your baby."

  Matt shrugged. "That seems okay to me. Here's how you can contact us." He fished in his pockets but only came up with scraps of soggy paper. Fortunately, his new phone was still charging back at Valdieri's church. It would have been a shame to have wrecked it so soon.

  Valdieri pulled a small notebook from a back pocket of his jeans. "Always prepared for things like this." He gave an embarrassed shrug and turned to Matt. "I take it you really do want to give your contact details to this man?" He made it sound as though he had some doubts.

  "He can have the number of the new phone you're lending me, if you know it." Matt looked at the man. "And we need your details. But we can only pass on information that the police want released."

  "Hey, yes, sure. My name is Wendell. Wendell Harris." The large black man took the notebook that Valdieri offered and wrote down his name and phone number with Valdieri's pen. "Hey, and one thing more. If you can, don't mention my name to the police. I was a good cop, but things went wrong. I guess you know that, seeing as I'm a security guard now on a lot less pay."

  Matt was about to share his own experience with the police back home, how he'd had to leave the force after a case with an MP's son didn't work out as expected. And certainly working for Ken Habgood wasn't even close to half the pay of his police job. Without Zoé working as a nurse at the hospital, their standard of living would be rock bottom. To make things worse, Zoé was now on maternity leave.

  He shook his head and took a deep breath as the full horror of the situation came to him. To qualify for maternity leave you presumably had to have a baby. He could only hope that Zoé's maternity leave didn't turn into compassionate leave.

  "Matt, you are shivering," Zoé said. "You need to get into the things that are dry."

  Matt could only agree, although whether he was shivering from his wet clothes or the possibility of never seeing baby Jack again, he wasn't sure. "You'd better come with us, Wendell. We're getting a cab back to Arch... to Steve's church." He had so nearly used the word archbishop.

  He noticed the concern on Wendell's face, and it made him laugh. "Don't worry, Wendell," he said. "I had the same thought as you. I promise, you don't have to go to any of the services. I need to change, and as soon as I'm ready we'll tell you all we know. I hope the cab driver doesn't see how wet I am."

  Stephen Valdieri occupied one of several small apartments on the upper floors of the church building. While the ex-archbishop was looking out some dry clothes for Matt, Zoé insisted he took a shower. "A long, hot shower, with plenty of shower gel. You have started to smell," she said, without a flicker of a smile.

  He sniffed his arms. She was probably right. He sniffed around his shoulders. She was definitely right. It must the mud from the Pond rather than the water that was responsible.

  A quarter of an hour later Matt was refreshed and dry, wearing clothes the church kept for those in need. Wendell Harris had been sitting patiently in the large reception room.

  "We could start by knocking on a few doors," Matt suggested.

  Wendell laughed. His laugh was loud, but not unkind. "Hey, think how many doors there are around Central Park, Matt. Thousands. Tens of thousands. And in Manhattan? Must be millions. You've got to trust the police on this. But I'm here to help too. I've got friends, contacts and who knows what. Lots of them, from Philadelphia all the way up to Boston. We need to find someone who's got a tiny baby they didn't have yesterday."

  "Isn't that like all the doors? Millions of them?" Matt asked.

  "Hey, maybe not. A door is a door, but a baby is a baby. People notice babies. They don't notice doors. How old was your kid?"

  "Six weeks," Zoé said."

  "Six weeks. It's not like a brand new baby coming home. Imagine one of your neighbors back home suddenly turned up with a small baby, and the woman hadn't been pregnant."

  "She might have adopted it," Zoé said.

  "Okay," Wendell agreed, "but that reduces the odds. It's a lot better than knocking on every door."

  Matt nodded to himself. Wendell Harris seemed to know his stuff. He could prove useful.

  An hour later, after eating a meal rustled up by someone in the church kitchen, Wendell Harris was on his way, telling them how many friends and other contacts he had. He was going to contact them all, and would do his best to drum up enough help to get the baby back.

  Once again Matt had reminded Wendell that there was no possibility of any reward, apart from Wendell arranging his own interviews with TV stations. Assuming, of course, he managed to recover baby Jack.

  Matt phoned England. Surely Ken Habgood would still be awake at home. He might even be poking around in the office, muttering about his new computer. That man was useless with it. With the latest model he was never going to come to terms with the new programs it needed.

  "Mrs. Habgood and I have been watching the news about a terrorist attack. Is that anywhere near you, kiddo?"

  "Several miles away, but it's diverting a lot of police attention. I phoned to tell you that Jack has been kidnapped."

  "Kidnapped? Your little baby Jack? Ever so sorry to hear about it. They're not saying anything about it on the news here, but I guess babies go missing a lot over there. Not that that's any consolation to you. Can't see how I can help, I'm afraid. But let me know if you think of anything I can do. I feel so sorry for you both. I'll tell Mrs. Habgood straightaway."

  "I just want to keep you in the picture, Ken. Oh, and the police think Zoé and I are guilty."

  "As they do."

  "It's not funny, Ken. The good news is that Simon Urquet's in New York and he's helping us, which is fantastic."

  After a few more explanations of what was happening, Matt ended the call on his new, fully charged cell phone and shook his head. "Ken's sympathetic," he said to Zoé, "but there's nothing he can do over there. But at least he is sympathetic, which I guess is something for Ken."

  Stephen Valdieri had been sitting on one of the couches, obviously listening. And why not? Matt knew they owed the ex-archbishop a lot for his help
so far.

  "So what now?" Zoé asked, her eyes red from weeping.

  Matt turned to Valdieri. "Any suggestions?"

  "How about prayer?"

  A predictable answer that Matt knew he should have seen coming. He remembered how back in England Father Alban had once mentioned prayer when he thought Zoé was lying dead in the old cottage on the Mount. What had Father Alban said? Something about prayer not being a magic wand. Yes, definitely not a magic wand. The young priest at the homeless charity had said it was a way of getting closer to God. An open door. Well, he'd not bothered much about God in his life, leaving it to other people.

  Zoé looked surprisingly enthusiastic. Okay, she'd been brought up a Catholic, and maybe felt comfortable with that sort of thing. He put an arm around her waist and looked at Valdieri. "You're on. But I'm leaving it to you to say the words. Zoé and I will just say Amen at the end."

  Zoé nodded. "And then we will all light a candle for baby Jack."