Vanished

“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 first 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?

“Take them to the kitchen and give them as much black coffee as you can get into them till they puke, and then call me.” The policeman nodded and disappeared, as John Taylor turned his attention back to the child's mother. And then the officer returned again, as though to tell her something.

“Mrs. Patterson, we called your husband.” She wasn't sure whether to thank him or not. She felt guilty for not calling him herself, but relieved too. She had wanted to spare him the shock of hearing it from a stranger. There was no way to gentle this news, and all she could think was how much he loved Teddy.

“What did he say?” She looked terrified, as the inspector watched her reaction.

“He was very upset.” He glanced at John, and didn't tell her that her husband had cried openly on the phone, but he hadn't asked to speak to his wife. O'Connor thought that was strange, but between people of their kind, sometimes things were different. He'd seen it all before, everything from kidnappings to murders. “He said he'll be here in the morning.”

“Thank you.” She nodded as he left the room, and she looked at the FBI agent again, and as he watched her, he knew that there was more than she had told him. He wondered how straightforward he could be with her, if she would lie, or swoon, or attempt to leave the room in a rage, but she did none of those, she only listened to him. And watched him. He was a powerful, compelling, very handsome man in a rugged way, but she wasn't paying any attention to his looks, only to what he was saying.

“Mrs. Patterson, sometimes there are things we don't want to say to people we don't know, things we don't want to admit about ourselves or people we love …but in a case like this, it could make all the difference. I don't need to tell you what's at stake here. You know … we all do. Will you please give it some thought, and see if there's anything else you want to tell me?” But before she could say anything, he left the room, and promised to come back as soon as he'd spoken to Patrick and Edith. And she sat there in Malcolm's den, wondering how much she should say to him, but knowing that she had to trust him.