Vanished

“How's it going?” he whispered as he took off his coat. He had seen Bill Palmer leave in a cab when he got there. “Palmer treating you okay?”

“I think he's disappointed I don't want to see Charles electrocuted. Or at least I'm not enthusiastic enough about it.”

“I worry about that too,” John said to her, touching her arm as they walked to the library. “What can I say to convince you?”

“Show me evidence …show me my child …”

“I wish I could. But are you really convinced he's innocent?”

“No,” she admitted to him. “The trouble is I'm not a thousand percent convinced he's guilty either. I think he did it, but I'm not totally sure.” She agonized about it sometimes, glad she couldn't be on the jury.

“Once we found the pajamas, it was open and shut, and you know it.” But he also knew she didn't want to believe the child was dead, and not finding him suggested that, as they all knew. Maybe denying Charles's guilt meant believing Teddy was still alive. Maybe she couldn't afford to believe the truth. And sometimes John wondered if they'd ever find him. He had hated finding the Lindbergh child, hated telling them, hated what it must have done to them. Having children of his own, it didn't even bear thinking. And now maybe Marielle would have to face that too. All he could hope for her was that it had been quick and painless.

“The trial's going to be awful, isn't it, John?” she asked him over the coffee that Haverford had brought them. Even the old butler had grown fond of him. He was nice to Marielle, and it was comforting having him around. It made everyone feel safe to have him at the house. And only a couple of cops suspected that his interest in Marielle was something other than business. But they were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. So far, their secret was safe, but their feelings for each other seemed to be growing. They were still trying to live from day to day, concentrating on Teddy and the trial, but they each knew that the time would come when they'd have to face each other and their future. But for the moment, neither of them had to make any decisions. Instead, they continued to focus their attention on the trial which lay before them.

“I think it'll be rough, to be honest with you. I think they're going to drag out a lot of history that could be very painful,” John told her quietly, over his coffee.

“I can hardly wait.” She knew what he meant, and she also knew that Malcolm had treated her like a criminal ever since they had arrested Charles Delauney. It was as though he believed she had been in league with him, or that somehow she had provoked him into kidnapping Teddy. There was no getting close to him again, no reaching out to him, he had cast her adrift in a sea of loneliness and terror.

“Have you heard from Bea Ritter again, by the way?” She was the spirited young redheaded girl who had championed Charles's cause, and she was driving them all insane. She had mounted a campaign in the press to defend him. She called John Taylor every few days, his defense attorney, the investigators, the U.S. Attorney, and she knew Bea had called her several times, but she no longer took the calls. She had nothing more to say to her, and talking to her always made Marielle nervous.

“I think she called yesterday.” And then, suddenly, she looked at John in amusement. “Is she in love with him?” She was actually a very pretty girl, and she was about Marietta's age, but she had enough energy and fight for ten men and John found her exhausting.

“I wondered that myself, to tell you the truth. But you know, there are a lot of crazy broads who go nuts over guys like him, guys accused of some really ugly crime, and they become obsessed with the accused's innocence. She might be one of those, or maybe just another nosy reporter.”

“She certainly seems to care about him. Whenever I've talked to her, she seems so determined to convince me.”

“I know.” John shook his head, finishing his coffee. “He could do a lot worse. He needs all the help he can get, and a little positive press won't hurt him. I just hope it doesn't hurt us, Marielle.” He looked at her soberly as he stood up. “Be careful you don't unwittingly cooperate with the defense. No matter what you believe or don't believe, you don't want to help them.” She wanted to ask him why not, but she already knew the answer. What they wanted was the truth, about what had happened to Teddy. A little while later, he left, and she was alone again. She went back upstairs to Teddy's room, to touch his things, and fold some of his clothes again, and arrange his teddy bears differently. She could never stay out of his room. But poor Malcolm could no longer even bear to go up there.