by Vanished
“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 b
e 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 fir
st 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?
