Vanished

by Danielle Steel

  “Perhaps a few times …for meetings …”

  “And you can't remember where she lives?”

  “All right, all right. I remember. On Fifty-fourth and Park.”

  “That sounds like a very nice neighborhood. Is it a nice apartment?”

  “Very pleasant.”

  “Is it large?”

  “It's big enough.”

  “Is it eight rooms, with a dining room, an office for you, two bedrooms, two dressing rooms, two baths, a very large living room, and a terrace?”

  “Probably. I don't know.” But his face was bright red now, to Marielle's amazement.

  “Do you pay the rent for Miss Sanders's apartment, Mr. Patterson?” Marielle was staring at him in disbelief. Fool that she was she had never suspected. Brigitte had always been so pleasant to her, and so kind, and so generous with Teddy. And now, finally, Marielle understood it, and deep inside she felt angry. Brigitte and Malcolm had both taken her for a fool, and indeed she had been.

  “I do not pay for Miss Sanders's apartment,” Malcolm said sternly.

  “How much salary does Miss Sanders make?”

  “Forty dollars a week.”

  “That's a reasonable wage. But not very adequate to pay for an apartment that costs six hundred dollars a month. How do you suppose she pays the rent, Mr. Patterson?”

  “That's none of my affair.”

  “You mentioned that her father is a baker.”

  “Your Honor.” William Palmer stood up, feigning boredom. “Where is all this going?”

  “This is all going,” Tom Armour said, no longer amused, “to show that despite Mr. Patterson's poor memory, his bank statements, his checks, and his records show that he pays for that apartment.” Tom's investigators had done well for him.

  “And even if he does, so what?”

  “Seamus O'Flannerty, the doorman there, will take the stand to tell us that Mr. Patterson goes there after the office every evening, and frequently spends the night there. When they travel, they frequently share the same bedroom. Miss Sanders wears a mink coat to the office, and this Christmas, two weeks after the kidnapping of his son, he gave Brigitte Sanders a diamond necklace from Cartier. It is clear to me, Your Honor, that Mr. Patterson has been lying.”

  “Objection overruled, Mr. Palmer,” the judge said gently, all too aware of who Malcolm was. “I'd like to remind you again, Mr. Patterson, that you are under oath. Perhaps Mr. Armour would like to rephrase the question.”

  “Certainly, Your Honor.” Tom was happy to oblige him. “Mr. Patterson, allow me to ask you again, are you, or are you not, having an affair with Brigitte Sanders?” For a moment, there seemed to be no sound in the courtroom.

  But before he could answer, the prosecutor was on his feet again. “That's immaterial to this case, Your Honor.”

  “I don't think so,” Tom Armour stated coolly. “The prosecution has totally discredited Mrs. Patterson as a witness, and claimed that she was having an affair with my client, which is not the case. My client has been out of the country for the past eighteen years until just before the kidnapping. But the presumption is that as a rejected lover, or wounded ex-husband, Mr. Delauney would seek revenge. If, indeed, Mr. Patterson is having a long-standing affair with Miss Sanders, it is equally possible that she might seek revenge.”

  “Revenge for a diamond necklace?” Palmer asked, and this time the whole courtroom roared with laughter.

  “Answer the question, Mr. Patterson,” the judge said regretfully. “Are you having an affair with Miss Sanders?”

  “Perhaps I am,” he said softly.

  “Could you please speak a little louder,” Tom asked politely.

  “Yes, yes …I am …but she did not kidnap my son.” Brigitte was looking pale in her seat, and Marielle was staring at her.

  “How do you know that?” Tom Armour asked Malcolm.

  “She wouldn't do such a thing.” He looked outraged.

  “Neither would my client. Do you intend to marry Miss Sanders, sir?”

  “Of course not.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow. “Do you give all your secretaries mink coats and diamond necklaces?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Does she wish to marry you?”

  “I have no idea. That has never been in question.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Patterson. You may step down now.” But Bill Palmer wanted to ask him another question.

  “Mr. Patterson, has Miss Sanders ever threatened you, or threatened to harm your son, or take him away from you?”

  “Certainly not.” He looked horrified. “She's a very polite, kind young woman.” With fabulous legs, and some skills Marielle had never dreamt of.

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  Malcolm went back to his seat looking florid. And a moment later, Brigitte left the courtroom. She was mobbed by the press the minute she left, and her dress was torn when she finally climbed into a taxi, crying.

  After that, the prosecution called a series of forensic experts to establish the fact that the bear and the pajamas were in fact Teddy's. And the last witness of the day was a man who said he had gone to school with Charles Delauney, and Charles had threatened him once when they were fourteen. The witness, a nervous young lawyer from Boston, who had volunteered to testify in order to be helpful, said that he'd always thought Charles was a little crazy. Tom Armour objected, and it was sustained, and the jury was beginning to look bored. It had been a long day, and then finally, it was over, and everyone was relieved to leave the courtroom. John and Marielle exchanged a long glance on the way out, and Malcolm said not a word on the drive home. He went straight to the library when they got home, closed the door, and made several phone calls. And without a word to Marielle, he slammed out the front door half an hour later, as John Taylor and a handful of FBI men pretended not to watch him. They all knew what had happened that day in the courtroom.

  John went to see her after Malcolm had left, and they sat and talked quietly. “Were you surprised?” he asked her gently, referring to Brigitte.

  Marielle felt like a balloon the air had been let out of. It had been another exhausting afternoon, and in many ways a sad one.

  “Yes, I was. I suppose I'm incredibly stupid, but I've always liked her. She's a nice girl, and she's always been so sweet to Teddy.” She looked thoughtful as she spoke, thinking back to all the little gifts, the things she had made, the candy, the toys, the sweaters … somehow, Marielle felt as though she had been a complete fool. She wondered how long it had been going on. Probably since the beginning, she realized, and she looked back over the past six and a half years, and that made her feel even more foolish. How stupid she had been, and how deceitful they were.

  “She probably tried to make friends with Teddy to impress your husband.”

  “Maybe,” Marielle said sadly. “I suppose it doesn't really matter.” He had to have been going somewhere to address his needs, they hadn't slept with each other in years, and she knew that he was a very physical person. But she had just never thought of Brigitte. It had crossed her mind once, on a day when the young German girl was looking particularly pretty, and at first she had been a little jealous when they had started traveling together, but she had really never given it a thought after that. And now she knew that he went to her apartment every day after work, spent the night there frequently, and even paid for the apartment. He was more married to Brigitte than he was to her, or so it seemed to Marielle. She had no tie to him at all anymore. No allegiance, no fondness, no loyalty, no fidelity …not even Teddy.

  John watched her quietly as she thought it out, and he thought of his own wife, and what might happen when the trial was over. He knew better than anyone that they couldn't go on like this forever. But despite the feelings they shared, he and Marielle had shied away from talking about the future. There was too much happening in their lives now to think of anything except the trial, and finding Teddy.

  “I almost feel sorry for Malcolm,”
she said later as she walked John to the front door. He hated leaving her at night, and he had come to cherish their hours together. “It must have been difficult for him to be exposed.” He had looked furious on the stand, and Brigitte had looked panicked.

  “Not as difficult as it was for you yesterday.” How could she feel sympathy for him? She was an amazing girl. “He lied through most of it.” But they'd caught him in the end. What he hadn't admitted was that he had always known about Charles, and her time in the clinic. But the jury didn't know that. All they knew was that he was a cheat, and perhaps a liar. “He deserves what he got. He deserves worse for what he did to you. They didn't have to do that.”

  “Well, they did. They don't have to worry that I'll be sympathetic to Charles and weaken the prosecution's case. My testimony is meaningless now.” She wished she didn't have to go to court at all. It was all so painful.

  “Are you still sympathetic to him, Marielle?”

  She wasn't sure. She hadn't been in months. “I don't know. I just don't know what I think … all the evidence is there, and yet I thought I knew him better than that, even after all these years. No matter what he said, I didn't believe him when he said those things in the park …and then Teddy was gone … I don't know what to think.” She couldn't bear thinking of it anymore …the empty bed that had still been warm when she touched it. It had been three months now since she'd seen him, three months since she'd held her little boy …the little boy they said she was too weak and unstable to take care of.

  “If he were innocent … if we found Teddy again,” and he still hoped they would, but he doubted it now. It had been too long. It was beginning to seem too much like the Lindberghs. “Would you go back to Charles?” He had wanted to ask her that for days. He wanted to know, because in his heart of hearts, he knew she still loved him.

  “I don't know,” she said honestly. “I don't think so. I couldn't. There's too much pain between us. Think of what we would feel when we looked at each other every morning. If he's innocent, and Teddy comes home again …Charles will never forgive me for this …” She looked up at him, and John was annoyed.

  “Everything that goes wrong in the world is not your fault. You didn't make those threats in the park, he did. He's the damn fool who either did it, or put himself in a hell of a spot for shooting his mouth off. Last time I looked, all you did was go to the park with your boy. This is not your fault, for God's sake, just like Teddy's kidnapping isn't …and the other boy's drowning wasn't …stop believing all the shit these jerks give you.” She smiled at him. She loved him for believing in her, and protecting her, and caring about her, and trying to find Teddy. But she wondered what else they would have when this was over. Probably very little. They would be friends, but they had met at a time that, for her, would be forever painful. But he was worried about something else now, since listening to the last few days' testimony in court. He knew what Patterson had up his sleeve now. If they found the boy, he was beginning to suspect that Patterson was going to sue her for custody and divorce, and accuse her of being an unfit mother. That's what the mental instability was all about, and the testimony by governesses and maids. John Taylor already saw where Malcolm was leading, but he didn't want to scare her. And maybe it would never happen. Maybe they would never find Teddy.

  “Take care of yourself,” he whispered as he hurried down the front steps a little while later, wishing he could kiss her. And as Marielle went back to her room, she correctly assumed that Malcolm was with Brigitte.

  He didn't bother to come home that night, or to call. The pretense was over. She wondered where they were staying now, to avoid the reporters who were hot on their trail for a story. She wondered too how often his calls to her had come from Brigitte's apartment. It was amazing how little she had known about her husband. She had thought him so respectable, so kind, so gentle with her, and instead he had been building a case against her for years, he had always known about the hospital and Charles, and he had cheated on her for years with Brigitte. It was not a pretty picture. She was still thinking about it when the phone rang as she lay in the dark at ten o'clock. She almost didn't answer it, thinking it would be him. But there was always the possibility it would be a call about Teddy. She knew the police still in the house would pick it up, but nevertheless she wanted to listen. She was startled to hear Bea Ritter asking the policeman to put the call through to Marielle and he wouldn't.

  “It's all right, Jack. I have it. Hello?”

  “Mrs. Patterson?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Bea Ritter.” Even her voice sounded nervous and energetic. She was an excited little woman full of life and the pursuit of a great story. But Marielle had wanted to thank her anyway, for the surprisingly decent article about Marielle's performance in the courtroom. She thanked her, and the little redhead sounded embarrassed. “They really did a job on you. It made me sick to watch it.”

  “At least I didn't get carried out of the court the way the others said I did.”

  “They're a bunch of jerks. If it doesn't happen the way they want it, they make it up, I don't do that.” And then there was a pause. She had half expected not to get through to her, and now they were suddenly talking like old friends, but she was scared and this was important. “I'm sorry to call so late … I wasn't sure how to get through to you …Mrs. Patterson, can I meet you for a little while?”

  “Why?”

  “I have to talk to you. I can't tell you over the phone. But I really have to.”

  “Does it have to do with my son?” Was there a tip? … a chance … a hope …she almost felt her heart stop.

  “No. Not directly. It has to do with Charles Delauney.”

  “Please don't ask me that. Please …you saw what they did to me yesterday … I can't help him.”

  “Please …just listen … I want to help find your son's kidnapper, and Charles isn't it. I believe that.”

  “Does he know you're calling?”

  She blushed beet red at her end of the phone and shook her head. “He hardly knows me. I've been to see him a few times, but he's terribly distracted. But I think he's innocent and I want to help him.”

  “I want to find my son. That's all I want,” she said sadly.

  “I know …so do I …you deserve it …please see me …just for a few minutes.”

  “When?” Just a meeting between them would cause a furor in the press, and probably a scandal. And they had enough scandal on their hands, with the revelation of Malcolm's affair with Brigitte.

  “Could I come over right now? I mean … I know …it's a terrible imposition.” She was scared to death, but she had to see her.

  “I … I just don't think …”

  “Please …” The girl was almost in tears, and finally Marielle relented.

  “All right. Come.'

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Can you be here in half an hour?” She would have gladly been there in half a minute.

  When she arrived, Marielle was dressed and waiting downstairs, and as Bea Ritter walked in, the young reporter actually looked almost frightened. She was twenty-eight years old, and suddenly her brash, bold style seemed to have melted and she was almost childlike. She was a tiny girl, much, much smaller than Marielle, and she was wearing slacks, a heavy sweater, and a raincoat.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” she said in a voice filled with awe, as Marielle walked her into the library and closed the door. She herself was wearing black slacks and a black cashmere sweater. Her hair was pulled back and she had no makeup on, and there was something very clean and pure about her, which was exactly what John Taylor had fallen in love with.

  “I don't know what you expect from me,” Marielle said quietly as they sat down. “I told you on the phone, there's nothing I can do to help you.”

  “I don't even want your help,” Bea Ritter admitted to her as she looked at her thoughtfully. She had wanted to see this woman again for weeks, and now she was here, and it felt strange sitting
there like two friends, two women who wanted the same thing for different reasons. Bea wanted the boy found so Charles would be cleared, and Marielle just wanted her son back. “I just want to talk to you, to know what you think …like this …not for the newspapers … or in a courtroom…. You don't think he did it, do you?”

  “I was honest in court yesterday,” Marielle said with a sigh, wondering why she had let her come here. She was so energetic, so high-strung, it almost made Marielle nervous, yet she had felt she owed her one. But what good would it do to rehash it all with her again? “Is this for the press?” Bea shook her head, and Marielle could see that she meant it.

  “No, it's for me. I have to know. Because I don't think he did it either.” She acted as though Marielle believed the same thing, but she sensed that was the case, no matter how she denied it.

  “Why?”

  “Maybe I'm crazy, but I believe him. I trust him. I admire everything he stands for. I think he's a damn fool, he's done some awfully stupid things, and he never should have said the things he said to you that day in the park, but if he'd meant to take the boy, he'd never have said them.”

  “I thought so too …until they found the baby's pajamas …”It was funny, she still thought of him that way …”the baby” … at four …the baby she might never see again. She had to fight back tears suddenly as they sat there. “How did the pajamas get there if he didn't take him?”

  “Mrs. Patterson …Marielle …may I call you that?” They were from two different lives, two different worlds, but for a brief moment they were friends, with one common goal, to find her baby. And Marielle nodded in answer. “He swears they were planted. He thinks someone was paid to put them there …maybe even someone from here, from your own house.”

  “But those were the pajamas he wore. I saw them. The embroidery on them is little trains, and those are the same ones he was wearing the night they took him.”

  “Does he have other pajamas like them?” Marielle shook her head.

  “Not exactly.”

  The young reporter shook her head with a look of despair. She wanted so desperately to help him, and Marielle wanted to ask her a question.