Judge Morrison reminded everyone again that they were expected to behave with decorum. And with a pointed glance at the press, he reminded them that it was irresponsible to report things which did not actually happen. It had annoyed him to read the account of Marielle allegedly being carried from his courtroom.
And after that, the slaughter of the day before continued. Bill Palmer had apparently decided that it was not enough to have Marielle's testimony but he would have others also take the stand to help discredit her. Then, with no sympathy for the child's mother, only Malcolm's voice would be heard, and Malcolm never doubted Delauney's guilt for an instant.
Patrick Reilly, the driver, took the stand again, and Edith, and even Miss Griffin. And together they painted a portrait, with Bill Palmer's help, of a nervous, hysterical unstable woman, who was unable to run her own home, take care of her child, or be of any real use to her husband.
“Would you say that Mrs. Patterson is a responsible person?” Bill Palmer asked the governess, as Tom Armour jumped to his feet for what seemed to be the thousandth time and objected.
“This woman is not an expert witness. And Mrs. Patterson's competence is not on trial here. Call a psychiatrist if you want that kind of testimony, Counsel, not a maid for chrissake!”
“I'll cite you for contempt if you don't watch your language, Mr. Armour!” the judge roared.
“Sorry.”
“Overruled.” And the massacre went on, with no one to support her. John Taylor and Charles Delauney knew it wasn't true, but there was nothing they could do to put in a kind word, they were helpless. And even her husband had turned against her.
“Would you say she was a good mother?” William Palmer finally asked Miss Griffin, and the little woman hesitated for only a moment. But it was long enough to hurt Marielle deeply.
“Not really.” Everyone gasped, and for a moment Marielle almost fainted. She seemed to pitch forward in her chair, and John Taylor pushed her swiftly back with a firm hand before the press could see it.
“Would you care to tell us why not?”
“She's too sickly to be of any use to anyone, and much too nervous. Children need stability around them, people who are strong. Like Mr. Patterson.” She seemed proud of herself, and Marielle wondered again what she had done to make these people hate her.
“Your Honor.” Thomas Armour stood up again, with a weary look. “This is not a custody trial. Mrs. Patterson's abilities as a mother are not the issue here. This is a kidnapping case, and I've yet to hear anyone so much as mention my client. In fact, these people don't even know him.” They barely even knew Marielle, but Palmer had wanted to be sure that Marielle was totally ruined before he moved on. He wanted her discredited without a single doubt, so that if she was called by the defense later on, she would be useless. Who would listen to a woman who had been in a mental institution for years and was not even considered a good mother by her own staff? Palmer had done his job to perfection. And that afternoon, he completed the picture.
Malcolm Patterson took the stand immediately after lunch, for the prosecution.
“Were you aware of your wife's history, Mr. Patterson?”
“No.” Malcolm's cold blue eyes looked straight ahead at William Palmer, and not for an instant did he allow Marielle into his field of vision.
“You had no idea that she had been in a mental hospital, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is, or I would never have married her.” Marielle knew now that it was a lie. The only thing she didn't know was why Malcolm would want to destroy her. She sat very straight and tall, looking at a spot above him, somewhere on the wall, and thinking of happier moments …with little Teddy. She felt totally helpless now to defend herself, or expose Malcolm's deceit. And that was his intention.
“Did you know she had been married to Charles Delauney?”
“No. I did not. She never told me. I knew there had been some brief youthful interlude. I'd heard that she had a romance in Paris as a girl, but nothing more than that. She concealed the marriage from me.” William Palmer nodded, sad for him that he had been so badly duped by this woman.
“Do you know anything about Mr. Delauney, sir?”
“Only his reputation. His father has kept him out of the country for many years.
“Objection!” Tom was on his feet again. “We would have to put Mr. Delauney Senior on the stand to tell us that, there is no evidence whatsoever that my client's family ever wanted him out of the country. In fact, quite the contrary. They wanted him to come home.”
“Sustained. Hearsay. You may continue, Mr. Palmer.”
“Have you ever seen Mr. Delauney?”
“Not until this trial.”
“Has he ever called you, threatened you, harassed you, or any member of your immediate family?”
“Objection!”
“Overruled!”
Malcolm went on. “He threatened my wife and son. He told her he would kidnap him if she didn't go back to him.'
“And when was that?”
Malcolm bowed his head for a moment before he answered and then he looked full into the courtroom. “The day before my son was taken.”
“Have you ever seen your son since that day?”
Malcolm shook his head, unable to speak.
“Would you speak up for the record, please, sir.” He spoke with all the gentleness he should have used on Marielle and hadn't.
“I'm sorry … no … I have not….”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Almost three months ago, to the day. My little boy was taken from us on December eleventh …shortly after his fourth birthday.”
“Have there been any calls, or requests for ransom?”
“Only one, and it was a prank. The money was never collected.” The implication was obvious. Delauney hadn't asked for ransom because what he wanted was revenge, and in any case, he certainly didn't need the money.
“Do you believe that your son is still alive?”
He shook his head again, but forced himself to speak this time. “No, I do not. I think if he were, he would have been returned to us by now. The FBI has searched for him across every state. If he were still alive, they would have found him.”
“Do you believe that Mr. Delauney is the kidnapper?”
“I believe he hired people to take him, and probably kill him.”
“What convinced you of that?”
“They found Teddy's …my boy's pajamas in his home …and a teddy bear the boy loved … he was wearing those same pajamas when he was taken.” In spite of himself, he began to cry, and you could feel all the sympathy in the courtroom rush to him. The prosecutor waited politely while he regained his composure. And in her seat, Brigitte dabbed at her eyes with a lace hankie.
“Do you believe that your wife is still in love with Charles Delauney?” He had wanted to say “involved,” but his investigators had been able to turn up absolutely nothing to support the fact that she was sleeping with him, and he decided to play it safe and not use anything that could be disproven.
“Yes, I do. I understand from my driver that two days before the kidnapping, they met in a church and she kissed him repeatedly. I suppose she's always been in love with him, during the entire time she was married to me. Perhaps that's why she's been so ill.” They made her sound like an invalid, instead of a young woman with a troubled life, who suffered from headaches, a woman who had suffered tragedy and still managed to survive it.
“Do you think it's your wife's fault that your son was kidnapped?” He asked the question as though he expected a verdict, and Malcolm waited just long enough to answer so that everyone thought he was giving one.
“I think it is her fault that Charles Delauney kidnapped him. It is her fault that he holds her responsible for his own son's death, and wanted revenge with mine. It is her fault for bringing him into our lives.” He looked woefully into the courtroom, and at her, but she did not look at him.
“Mr. Patterson, alth
ough you feel that to some degree Mrs. Patterson is responsible for …this tragedy, could you ever imagine yourself taking revenge on her in any way? Punishing her, or hurting someone she loved? Hurting her?” He already had, Marielle knew too well. With everything he had done in the past few days, and the way he'd behaved since Teddy was taken, and what he had just said on the stand. It was bad enough to lose her child, but then to be attacked by her husband could have destroyed her as well, but for the moment she was still struggling not to let it. “Could you ever see yourself taking revenge on her, or anyone?” William Palmer repeated, and Malcolm said a single word, as he sat there sounding like God, as his voice rang out in the courtroom.
“Never.”
“Thank you, Mr. Patterson.” He turned to Tom. “Mr. Armour, your witness.”
Tom stood up and said not a word for an interminable moment, and then slowly he began to walk around the courtroom. He walked in front of the jury, and smiled at some of them, almost as though to relax them. And then, finally, he went to stand in front of Malcolm, but he was no longer smiling.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Patterson.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Armour.” Malcolm looked unusually solemn, but Tom Armour seemed extremely relaxed, as the world watched him. It was an intriguing tactic.
“Would you say …” He seemed to draw the words out. “That your marriage to Mrs. Patterson has been a happy one?”
“I'd say so, yes.”
“In spite of her illness …her unreliability …her headaches?”
For a moment, Malcolm wasn't quite sure what to say, but he regained his energy quickly. “They certainly didn't make it easy, but I think I've been happy.”
“Very happy?”
“Very happy.” Malcolm looked annoyed, he couldn't see where the defense attorney was going.
“Have you been married before?”
Malcolm growled and stuck out his chin almost visibly. “Yes. Twice. It's well known.”
“Is Mrs. Patterson aware of that?”
“Of course.”
“Would you say it's hindered your current marriage in any way?”
“Of course not.”
“Would it have bothered you, had you known that Mrs. Patterson was previously married?”
This time he hesitated. “Probably not. But I would have preferred it if she had been honest with me.”
“Of course.” Tom readily agreed with him. “Mr. Patterson, have you ever had any other children?”
“No. Theodore is …was …my only child.”
“You say …was …you no longer believe him to be alive?” Tom looked surprised, as though that seemed unlikely.
“No … I no longer believe him to be alive. I think Mr. Delauney killed him.” He said it to inflame Tom, but it didn't.
“I understand that. But if he is dead …and all of us here certainly hope that's not the case …but if he is …how would you describe that event in your life?”
“Excuse me … I don't understand.”
Tom Armour moved closer to him and looked him straight in the eye. “If your son is dead, Mr. Patterson, how will you feel? What will it do to your life?” The tone of Tom's voice was relentless.
But without hesitation, Malcolm looked back at Tom and answered, “It will finish me …my life will never be the same again.”
“Mr. Patterson, would you say it would destroy you?”
Malcolm hung his head, and nodded before he looked at Tom again. “Of course …he's my only son….”
Tom nodded sympathetically and then moved in a little closer. “It would destroy you, wouldn't it …then why are you so shocked that Mrs. Patterson was almost destroyed by the death of her previous children? Would you expect that to be any different?”
“No, I …” He looked uncomfortable for a moment and John Taylor tightened his lips, but Marielle was forcing herself not to listen. “I imagine that must have been very difficult.'
“She was twenty-one at the time …and five months pregnant …her little boy dies …her father dies a few months later …her own mother commits suicide six months after that …her husband has turned on her, distraught with his own pain over the child's death. What would you do, Mr. Patterson? How would you feel? How well would you hold up?”
“I …I …” He couldn't answer, and the jury looked interested in what Tom was saying.
“Is Mrs. Patterson in the courtroom today?”
“Yes …of course….”
“Would you point her out to me?”
“Your Honor,” William Palmer got to his feet, ready to object to the question, “is this charade necessary?”
“Be patient, Counsellor. Mr. Armour, proceed, but not too much nonsense please, we have a great deal of testimony to hear, and our friends on the jury don't want to stay at a hotel at the taxpayers' expense forever.” There was a titter of laughter in the courtroom and Tom Armour smiled. Compared to what Marielle had seen of him before, he suddenly looked surprisingly easygoing. But that appearance was deceptive. Inside him was a coil of incredibly well controlled tension.
“Mr. Patterson, will you please point out your wife to us.” Malcolm did so. “She is here today, and yesterday certainly could not have been easy for her, talking about the death of her children, and the kidnapping of your son, or her time in the clinic in Switzerland … or her marriage to Mr. Delauney…. But she's here. She looks sane to me and in good control of herself.” Marielle looked calm as she sat beside John Taylor. Malcolm was furious but he was trying hard to conceal it. “Would you agree with me, sir? She looks quite normal to me, and probably to everyone else here. Would you say she's holding up, in spite of everything?”
“I suppose so,” he conceded halfheartedly.
“Would you say her previous problems are a thing of the past?”
“I don't know,” he snapped. “I'm not a doctor.”
“How long have you been married?”
“More than six years.”
“Has she ever been in a hospital, for mental problems, during that time?”
“No, she hasn't.”
“Would you say that she has ever done anything to endanger your child?”
“Yes.” He almost shouted at Tom, and this time the defense attorney looked startled, and he wanted to clear it up quickly now, before he damaged her further. But Malcolm's answer had surprised him.
“What did she do that endangered your child?”
“She consorted with Charles Delauney. She even took him to the park and exposed him to that man! And then he took Teddy!” He was shouting and waving a hand, and Tom was relieved.
“Mrs. Patterson says the meeting was unplanned, that she ran into Mr. Delauney by accident.”
“I don't believe her.”
“Has she ever lied to you before?”
“Yes, about her mental history and her marriage to Delauney.” Tom knew that was a lie but chose not to challenge him at this moment.
“If that's true, Mr. Patterson, has she lied to you at any other time?”
“I don't know.”
“All right, other than that meeting in the park the day before Teddy was kidnapped, has she ever done anything to endanger the child? Taken him somewhere dangerous …left him somewhere unattended …even alone in the bathtub?”
“I don't know.”
“Wouldn't you remember it if she endangered your child?”
“Of course!” Malcolm was slowly burying himself and John Taylor loved it.
“Do you believe your wife was faithful to you, sir?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you ever have reason to suspect her of infidelity?”
“Not really.” He shrugged, almost as though he didn't care.
“You travel a great deal, don't you, sir?”
“I have to. For business.”
“Of course. And what does Mrs. Patterson do when you travel?”
“She stays at home.” He blazed. “With a headache.” A few people in the cour
troom laughed, but the jury looked serious. They were trying to follow everything he was saying.
“Does she ever travel with you, Mr. Patterson?”
“Rarely.”
“And why is that? Did you prefer not to have her along?”
“No. She preferred to stay at home with our son.”
“I see.” The bad-mother portrait was slowly crumbling at Tom's hands and in spite of the fact that as an FBI agent he was part of the prosecution, John Taylor was relieved, for her sake. “And you, sir, do you travel alone?”
“Of course.”
“You take no one with you?”
“Of course not.” He looked highly irritated at the impertinence.
“Not even a secretary?”
“Of course I take a secretary. I can't do my work alone.”
“I see. Do you take the same one, or different ones?”
“Sometimes I take both of my secretaries.”
“And if you only take one, is there a preference?”
“I frequently take Miss Sanders. She has been with me for many years.” Something about the way he said it suggested that she was a hundred years old, but Tom Armour had done his homework and he knew better.
“How long has she been with you, sir?”
“For six and a half years.”
“And are you involved with her, Mr. Patterson?”
“Of course not!” he roared. “I never get involved with my secretaries!”
“And who was your last secretary before Miss Sanders?” He was done for and he knew it.
“My wife.”
“Mrs. Patterson was your secretary?” Tom Armour's eyes grew wide in surprise, as though he hadn't known, and the judge looked amused by the question.
“Only for a few months until we were married.”
“Is that how you met her?”
“I suppose so, although I vaguely knew her father.”
“Do you know Miss Sanders's father too, Mr. Patterson?”
“Hardly.” He looked superciliously at Tom Armour. “He's a baker in Frankfurt.”
“I see. And where does Miss Sanders live?”
“I have no idea.” But even Marielle was intrigued now.
“You've never been to her home?”
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