Vanished

“There's someone here to see you. A Miss Ritter. She says she has an appointment.”

“I don't know anyone by that name.”

“Yes, you do.” At the sound of the words, Marielle turned, and saw a young woman enter the room where she was working. She was small and had red hair and was about Marielle's age, and she looked familiar but Marielle couldn't place her. And for an instant, she found herself praying that this would be some kind of threat, or extortion request, someone who could lead her to him, but those hopes were almost dead now. The ransom had never been picked up, and was still sitting in the locker in Grand Central Station.

“Who are you?” Marielle looked puzzled, and Haverford stood ready to defend her. And then suddenly Marielle knew. She recognized her as the reporter who had forced her way into the house early on, and the girl looked suddenly frightened as she glanced at the butler.

“May I talk to you alone?”

“No …”I'm sorry …you can't.” Marielle sounded far braver than she felt. The girl seemed very bold and sure, and Marielle was being very careful.

“It's important, please …” the young woman begged. She was wearing another of her incongruous outfits.

“I don't think so. How did you get in here?”

“We made an appointment for this afternoon.” She tried to brazen it out but Marielle knew better. She hadn't had an appointment of any kind in over a month, except with investigators and policemen.

“I'm sorry, Miss …”

“Ritter. Beatrice Ritter. Bea.” She smiled, trying to find some hook into Marielle, something that would catch Marielle's interest enough to ask her to stay, but Marielle knew better.

“…you'll have to leave….” For an instant, the girl looked bitterly disappointed, and then she nodded.

“I understand. I just wanted to speak to you about Charles.” The sound of his name was like an electric current in the room and Marielle stared at her.

“Why?”

“Because he needs you.” It was all much too complicated to discuss with a stranger.

“Madam? …” Haverford looked at her inquiringly, and she didn't know why, but she decided to let the girl stay, if only for a moment. She nodded, and he left the room, but he alerted two policemen as he left and Marielle saw them near the doorway.

“I don't understand why you're here. Did Charles send you to see me?” She had heard nothing from him since her visit to the jail, not since they found the bear that had finally convinced her he was guilty.

But Bea Ritter wanted to be honest with her, and realized she had to make her point quickly, before she was asked to leave. Charles had told her himself that Marielle would never see her. “I'm with AP. And I don't think he did it. I want to see if I can help find out who did. I want to know if you'll help me.” It was as clear and concise as she could make it.

“I'm afraid I don't agree with you, Miss …Ritter.” She groped for her name. “I didn't think he did it either, but two things have been found now to link him to my son, the pajamas my son was wearing when he left, and his favorite teddy bear. And no one else has come forward.” Marielle had no doubts now.

“Maybe the real kidnappers are afraid to, or have good reason not to. There has to be some reason.” She was so convinced of Charles's innocence. She had spent hours with him, and she could not believe him capable of the crime. But Marielle no longer believed in his innocence. She stood up quietly, wanting the girl to leave her.

“I'm afraid I can't help you.” Her eyes were too full of pain, her heart too heavy. She didn't want to listen to this girl plead for Charles. All she wanted was her son back.

“Do you believe he's capable of it?” She had to know. She wanted to know if Marielle believed him. But Marielle was afraid of what this girl would put in the papers.

“I do believe he's capable of it. There's simply no other answer. And he threatened to do it.” She was finally convinced, even if this young woman wasn't. After all these years, her heart had finally hardened to Charles Delauney.

“He was drunk.” It was obvious that she'd talked to him, and Marielle was annoyed that she was so persistent. She was bright and strong and incredibly determined. She wore her hair in a short bob, and she was wearing a cheap navy blue coat and dress, and a ridiculous hat with a red flower, but in an odd, perky way, she was pretty.

“Being drunk is no excuse. I'm sorry …” She walked to the door and Bea Ritter didn't move.

“Mrs. Patterson, he loves you….” The words stopped her in her tracks, and Marielle turned to stare at her in anger.

“Did he say that to you?”

“It's obvious.”

“It hasn't been obvious to me in years, and I don't want to hear it.” She was finally very, very angry at him, and mortally wounded by what he'd done. But Bea Ritter refused to share Marieile's point of view.

“He's innocent.” She was so determined, so sure, that it almost haunted Marielle as she listened, but she didn't want to be haunted by Charles again. He had taken her baby.

“How dare you say he's innocent! If he is, where's my child?”