Vanished

“Isn't that the same thing? Aren't you telling me she could crack because Teddy's been kidnapped? Has that been the implication in this house for all these years, that she's 'fragile,' as you put it, and not someone to take seriously? Have you told them that, or have they just guessed it?”

“I've told them that they should deal with me, and not trouble her.” He looked annoyed. “But I see absolutely no connection between that and my son's kidnapping,” he snapped.

“Sometimes the whole picture is very important.”

“The whole picture here is that she's a delicate girl with a terrible history, as you know yourself, and I just found out. Two years in a mental hospital, and nine years of imaginary headaches.” He sounded hard as nails and Taylor didn't like what he was saying. It was as though he was trying to discard her as a person, and somehow he had conveyed it to everyone who worked near them. Taylor suspected that only Haverford felt differently about her.

“Are you saying her headaches are imaginary?”

“I'm saying that she's neurotic.” He had gone further than he wanted to and was suddenly very irritated at John Taylor.

“Neurotic enough to be involved with Charles Delauney in the kidnapping of her own child?”

Malcolm looked shocked but for a long moment he didn't answer. “I never thought of it. But I suppose it's possible. Maybe anything is. I don't know. Have you asked her?”

“I'm asking you. Do you think she would do a thing like that? Do you think she's still in love with him?” Taylor was wondering how far Malcolm would go in condemning his own wife, and he didn't like the answer.

“I have no idea, Inspector. You'll have to discover that for yourself.”

John Taylor nodded. “And you, Mr. Patterson, how involved are you with Miss Brigitte Sanders?” It was a question he'd been saving for him, and to which he wanted an answer. And he loved the expression on Malcolm's face when he asked him.

“I beg your pardon.” Malcolm looked outraged. “Miss Sanders has been my secretary for the past six years, as I'm sure you know, and I'm not in the habit of becoming involved with my secretarial assistants.”

John Taylor looked amused at that. “I believe you married your last one.”

Malcolm flushed a deep purple and did not look amused. “Miss Sanders has a character of the highest order.”

“That's impressive certainly.” Taylor looked unflustered, and was secretly amused. In fact, he loved it. “But the two of you travel together a great deal, even to Europe. And I notice that even on the ships you take, your cabins are always adjacent to each other.” He had researched it carefully, even with deck plans.

“That is perfectly normal, if I expect the woman to work with me. Since you've done your research so well, I'm sure that you're aware I frequently take my other secretary as well, Mrs. Higgins. She's in her late fifties, and I'm sure she'd be extremely flattered by your suggestions.” But it wasn't the older woman who interested John, it was Brigitte. And he also knew that Mrs. Higgins hadn't traveled with him in well over two years, but he didn't say that to Malcolm.

“I apologize if the question seems impertinent, sir. But just as we had to delve into your wife's history, it's important that we are aware of yours as well. Angry lovers can do some very nasty things.”

“Miss Sanders is neither angry, nor my lover, I can assure you.” His face was still red from Taylor's suggestions. They went on talking for a short time about Malcolm's involvements in Germany, his business dealings in the States, and any people he could have angered with deals he had made. But there seemed to be nothing worth mentioning. All Taylor could figure out by the end of it was that Teddy had been taken either for money or for revenge. If it was money, they'd hear something soon. If it was revenge, it had to be Charles, and John just prayed that Delauney wouldn't hurt the boy.

They talked about Delauney again, and Taylor reiterated that there was no evidence against the man, there was nothing to link him to the child or the crime, except the foolish things he had said to Marielle. And you couldn't put a man in jail for being stupid. He had an alibi, there was no evidence, and even if he had a motive, it was all still pretty shaky.

“I still think he's our man,” Malcolm said solemnly as he walked John to the front door, and the inspector nodded.

“Unfortunately, so do I. And if he is, let's just hope we get him.”

Malcolm left him at the front door, and Taylor pushed his way through the throng of press outside. Finally, two hours later, as Malcolm and Marielle sat down to dinner in the dining room, the call came.

Two policemen took the call, pretending to be servants, the recording machine was set in operation instantly, and by the time Malcolm came on the line seemingly innocently, everything was rolling.