Vanished (25 page)

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson,” Bill Palmer said coolly, and then turned to Tom Armour. “Your witness.”

“The defense would like to call Mrs. Patterson at a later time, Your Honor.” He wanted to give everyone time to cool down, especially Marielle, who looked as though she'd died as she walked off the stand, and the judge called a recess until after lunch at two o'clock that afternoon. But as she tried to leave the courtroom with Malcolm and the FBI surrounding her, she was mobbed by the press at the door to the courtroom. Charles had tried to catch her eye as she left but she was too sick to even look at him, and the press physically tried to pull at her clothes and shout questions at her as she fled the courthouse.

“Tell us about the hospital …the suicides …your little boy…. Tell us everything …come on, Marielle, give us a break!” Their voices were still ringing in her ears as they drove uptown, and John Taylor looked stonily out the window. Only Malcolm dared speak to her in a whisper, and she was startled by what he said.

“That was disgusting.” She looked at him, not sure what he meant, certain he meant the way Palmer had treated her, but she could see from the look on his face that he meant what he'd heard about her. He said not another word, and tears filled her eyes as they rode home. Once in the library, alone with him, she asked him what he meant, but he could only look at her with disdain now.

“Marielle, how could you?”

“How could I what? Tell him the truth? What choice did I have? He knew it all anyway. You heard the letters from the two doctors.”

“My God …the suicides …the migraines …two years in a mental hospital …”

“I told you all that in December.” And she had, right after Teddy was kidnapped. In fact, the next morning.

“It didn't sound quite like that then.” He looked genuinely aghast, and suddenly she was deeply embarrassed. She stared at the man she thought she knew, and ran upstairs to her own room, and locked the door. But a few moments later, she saw a slip of paper slide under the door. All it said was “Call your doctor.” She thought it was someone being wicked at first, and then she recognized John Taylor's handwriting, and she wondered why he wanted her to call her doctor. And then she knew. Somewhere deep inside of her, she knew. She ran to her address book, picked up the phone, and asked the operator to call the number. It was nine o'clock in Villars, but she knew that he was there round the clock because he lived there. And he was in, of course, and startled to hear from her.

“What is going on there?”

She told him about the kidnapping, but assumed he knew, and he told her he had already answered many questions. She didn't tell him he'd ruined her with his telegram, she knew how upset he'd be to have his words misused. At one time in her life, the man had saved her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, with deep concern for her.

“I think so.”

“Les migraines?”

“Better sometimes. Not right now. It's difficult with Teddy gone …and Malcolm …my husband … I had to tell him about Charles, and Andre …and the
clinique.
He never wanted me to tell him anything before we were married.”

“But he knew.” Docteur Verbeuf sounded surprised that she didn't know that. “He called me before you were married in …oh …when was it? …1932? Yes, that was it. It was the same year you left here. You left in February, and he must have called in October.” They were married three months after that, in January, on New Year's Day.

“He called you?” She was confused. “But why?”

“He wanted to know if there was anything he could do for you … for the migraines … to make your life a little happier … I told him you should have lots of children.” But he was sad for her now that tragedy had found her again. She was such a nice girl, and she hadn't been very lucky. “Is there any news of the child?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me know.”

“I will.” She wondered if he even knew what purpose his telegram had served, and as she hung up, she wondered at Malcolm's motive. He had known for all these years, and yet, when she'd told him he'd been shocked, and he had even let Bill Palmer use the information.

But there was no time to ask him anything as they sped back to the courthouse before two. And she said nothing to John all that afternoon. She was lost deep in her own thoughts and she had too many questions.

The U.S. Attorney put Patrick Reilly on the stand that afternoon, and he described what he'd seen at Saint Patrick's, and the look on Delauney's face in the park the following afternoon. He said he'd been furious and Patrick said he'd seen Charles grab her and try to shake her.

And it seemed hours to her until she could confront Malcolm. They rode home in silence again that afternoon, and at last they were alone, and she found him in his dressing room. He was dressing for a quiet dinner at his club. He said he needed to get out and clear his head for an evening.

“You lied to me.”

“About what?” He turned to her with obvious disinterest.

“You let me tell you the whole story after Teddy disappeared. And you knew. You knew everything …about Andre …about Charles …about the clinic. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Did you really think I would marry you without knowing where you came from?” He looked at her with derision. She had made a fool of herself on the stand that day, as far as he was concerned, and a fool of him …kissing Charles Delauney in church. It was disgusting.

“You lied to me.”

“And you endangered my son. You brought that bastard into our life, and because of you, he took him.” It looked as if he didn't care what they said about her fragile state of mind, as far as he was concerned, she had cost him everything he cared for. “And it's none of your business what I knew about you. That's my affair.”

“How could you tell Bill Palmer?”

“Because if he didn't discredit you, you might support that fool that you were married to …that son of a bitch …that killer …but you, with your bleeding heart, you're still not sure he's guilty.”

“So you did that to me? So I couldn't help him?” She didn't understand him anymore, and wondered if she had ever really known him.

“If he goes to the chair for Teddy's death, it'll be too good for him.”

“Is that what all this is? A game of revenge between the two of you? He takes Teddy and you kill him? What's wrong with all of you?” She suddenly felt sick looking at him.

“Get out of my room, Marielle. I have nothing to say to you tonight.”

She stared at him in disbelief. He had calculatingly ruined her, in order to destroy Charles. “I don't know who you are anymore.”

“It's no longer important.”

“What are you saying to me?” She was shrieking at him, but it had been a hideous day and she could no longer stand it.

“I think you understand me.”

“It's over, isn't it?” If it ever had existed in the first place. What had they ever had in common, except Teddy?

“It ended the day Delauney took my son out of here. Now you can go back to him when it's over, and you can both cry over what you've done. I'll tell you one thing. I'll never forgive you.” And she knew he meant it.

“Do you want me to leave now, Malcolm?” She was ready to. She would have gone to a hotel that night if he had wanted.

“Are you so anxious for more scandal? You could at least have the decency to wait until the spotlight is off us after the trial.”

She nodded, and a moment later, she went back to her own room. There was nothing left that could surprise her now. She was married to a stranger, a man who hated her for losing their son. Another one. Life had been cruel to her. And whatever happened next, whether they found Teddy or not, she knew the marriage was over.

The next morning, Marielle took breakfast in her
room, and all she had was a cup of tea and piece of toast, as she glanced at the paper. It was all there, the horror of yesterday. The humiliation and the destruction she had suffered at the hands of William Palmer. The first article she read said that she had been a mental patient for years and she had had to be carried off the stand, screaming. It was so unfair what they were doing to her, and she still couldn't bring herself to believe that Malcolm had helped them do it. And then she turned to the last page, and saw the article written by Bea Ritter. She wasn't going to read it at first, but as her eyes glanced down the page, she stopped and began again, and tears filled her eyes as she read it.

“Aristocratic, elegant, dignified, Marielle Patterson took the stand yesterday, and never lost her dignity or her composure as the prosecution ravaged her for several hours and attempted to discredit her completely. Attempted but did not succeed, to the admiration of all who saw her. She endured the pain of recounting the circumstances of the deaths of two previous children in a tragic accident nearly ten years ago, which left everyone in the courtroom breathless. And she went on to explain her subsequent divorce from Charles Delauney. Her experience in a sanatorium in Switzerland was heard not with compassion or sympathy but instead with ridicule, and used to discredit her as a witness….” The article went on for half a page, and concluded with the words, 'One thing is certain after seeing the victim's mother on the stand, Marielle Patterson is through and through a lady. She left the courtroom with her head held high, and as every mother knew, her heart must have been breaking.” It was followed then by Bea Ritter's byline.

Marielle wiped her eyes with her napkin then, and stood up to put her hat on. Bea Ritter's words had been kind, but it didn't change the fact that her own husband and the U.S. Attorney had set out to damage her so she could not help Charles Delauney. She'd had no intention of helping him anyway. But her uncertainty about his guilt clearly had them worried.

John Taylor and the other men were already waiting for her in the car when she got downstairs. She was wearing yet another black hat and black dress and a dark beaver coat as she climbed into the Pierce-Arrow. Nothing was said in the car on the way downtown. She spoke not a word to Malcolm or John, and Malcolm spent the entire trip staring out the window. Even John wasn't able to say much to her. He touched her hand briefly once as they sat down, but he didn't dare let his feelings show here. All he wanted was to offer her support, but it was difficult to do it in the courtroom.

Judge Morrison reminded everyone again that they were expected to behave with decorum. And with a pointed glance at the press, he reminded them that it was irresponsible to report things which did not actually happen. It had annoyed him to read the account of Marielle allegedly being carried from his courtroom.

And after that, the slaughter of the day before continued. Bill Palmer had apparently decided that it was not enough to have Marielle's testimony but he would have others also take the stand to help discredit her. Then, with no sympathy for the child's mother, only Malcolm's voice would be heard, and Malcolm never doubted Delauney's guilt for an instant.

Patrick Reilly, the driver, took the stand again, and Edith, and even Miss Griffin. And together they painted a portrait, with Bill Palmer's help, of a nervous, hysterical unstable woman, who was unable to run her own home, take care of her child, or be of any real use to her husband.

“Would you say that Mrs. Patterson is a responsible person?” Bill Palmer asked the governess, as Tom Armour jumped to his feet for what seemed to be the thousandth time and objected.

“This woman is
not
an expert witness. And Mrs. Patterson's competence is
not
on trial here. Call a psychiatrist if you want that kind of testimony, Counsel, not a maid for chrissake!”

“I'll cite you for contempt if you don't watch your language, Mr. Armour!” the judge roared.

“Sorry.”

“Overruled.” And the massacre went on, with no one to support her. John Taylor and Charles Delauney knew it wasn't true, but there was nothing they could do to put in a kind word, they were helpless. And even her husband had turned against her.

“Would you say she was a good mother?” William Palmer finally asked Miss Griffin, and the little woman hesitated for only a moment. But it was long enough to hurt Marielle deeply.

“Not really.” Everyone gasped, and for a moment Marielle almost fainted. She seemed to pitch forward in her chair, and John Taylor pushed her swiftly back with a firm hand before the press could see it.

“Would you care to tell us why not?”

“She's too sickly to be of any use to anyone, and much too nervous. Children need stability around them, people who are strong. Like Mr. Patterson.” She seemed proud of herself, and Marielle wondered again what she had done to make these people hate her.

“Your Honor.” Thomas Armour stood up again, with a weary look. “This is not a custody trial. Mrs. Patterson's abilities as a mother are not the issue here. This is a kidnapping case, and I've yet to hear anyone so much as mention my client. In fact, these people don't even know him.” They barely even knew Marielle, but Palmer had wanted to be sure that Marielle was totally ruined before he moved on. He wanted her discredited without a single doubt, so that if she was called by the defense later on, she would be useless. Who would listen to a woman who had been in a mental institution for years and was not even considered a good mother by her own staff? Palmer had done his job to perfection. And that afternoon, he completed the picture.