“He doesn't know him as well as I do.”

“I suppose not. But Mr. Delauney beat you when you were pregnant, didn't he?”

She didn't answer for a long moment, as she stared out at the garden, wishing that she would see her son there. “More or less. I'm not sure I'd call it that. He hit me…but he was beside himself with grief…”

“And didn't he kill your unborn child as a result?”

“I don't know. But he's not going on trial for murdering my baby.”

“No, but perhaps for murdering your son. And if he could do it once, perhaps he could do it again.”

“That's ridiculous. The two cases are entirely different.”

“Are you defending him, Mrs. Patterson? Will you defend him at the trial?” That was what he wanted to know. He wanted to know just where she stood before she hurt his case, and he was already more than a little worried.

“That's not my job, Mr. Palmer. I'm not here to defend anyone. All I care about is my son.”

“And all I care about is justice.”

“Then justice will be served.” She looked at him long and hard, and he was serious and unhappy when he left her. Patterson was right, she was unpredictable and unreliable, emotional, and he was beginning to wonder if the chauffeur was right after all. Maybe she still was in love with Charles Delauney. Maybe they'd been having an affair. Maybe there was more to this than met the eye. But his investigators had turned up absolutely nothing unsavory about her. The worst thing anyone could say about her was that she spent too much money on clothes, but Patterson didn't seem to mind that.

When Palmer left that afternoon, John Taylor had arrived only moments later. Visiting her had become part of his daily routine now. He enjoyed talking to her, or sometimes they just sat quietly over a cup of coffee. He liked just being there, somewhere near her. Sometimes he'd spend hours at the house pretending to keep an eye on his men, just so he could be around when she came downstairs. It was like being a kid again, but they'd smile at each other, or steal a look, or she'd bring him a sandwich, and he'd put a hand out quickly and touch her. He loved the smell of her, and the softness of her skin, and if he was very lucky, and no one was around, he might even have the chance to kiss her. He was dying to go outside with her, to go for long walks in the spring, or just go to the movies with her and eat popcorn. But they couldn't go anywhere. The moment she opened her front door, she was like fresh meat in a pool of sharks. They had to stay inside, and hide, and talk. And it always intrigued him how seldom he saw Malcolm when he was at the house. The man was never there, but that suited John Taylor to perfection.

“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.

It was the following day when Thomas Armour, the attorney for the defense, arrived, shortly after noon. He had called and asked to see her earlier that morning. She had called John and asked him if it was something she wasn't supposed to do, and he told her honestly that he thought it unwise, but it was not illegal. But she was curious about the man, and she wanted a little warning of what she would be facing.

Malcolm had gone to Boston for a few days, and she was alone when she met him. She was wearing a black dress, which was all she seemed to wear these days, as though she were already in some kind of mourning. He was wearing a dark blue suit, and he had dark blond hair which must have been even lighter in his childhood. He had warm brown eyes that, at first, seemed very gentle. But his tone was not gentle when he spoke to her. He was polite and firm, and he didn't pull any punches. And his eyes seemed to bore into her, looking for answers.

Haverford brought him into the library, and after the initial niceties, he looked her straight in the eye and asked her a very pointed question. “I'd like to have some idea, before the trial, of what you're going to say about my client.” He hadn't wanted the case, he had expected Charles to be a spoiled brat at first. But he'd grown to like him and now that he'd taken it all his loyalties were with Charles Delauney.

“What exactly do you mean, Mr. Armour?” She knew from the newspapers that he had gone to Harvard, was the youngest partner of a very important firm, and was somewhere in his late thirties. Charles had hired the best, and he had every right to. But more than just his reputation, there was something very quiet and compelling about Tom Armour. He was handsome but it wasn't something Marielle noticed about him. She was more impressed by the intelligence in his face and an aura of determination.

“Mr. Delauney gave me some idea of what happened…several years ago. I think we both know of what I'm speaking.” He meant when Andre died, but she appreciated the fact that he didn't just say it. “He admits that he behaved abominably, and that his behavior could be badly misconstrued now. You're the only person now who can testify as to exactly what he did, and why. Just how exactly do you view it?”

“I think he went mad with grief. So did I. We both did foolish things. It was a long time ago.” She looked sad as she thought of it, and he watched her. She was a beautiful woman, but he thought she had the saddest eyes he'd ever seen, and she intrigued him. It had been clear to him all along that Charles Delauney was still in love with her, and he wondered just how much his sentiments were reciprocated, but Delauney had insisted ardently that they hadn't been involved before the kidnapping. In fact, because of Malcolm, she had refused to see him. Tom Armour was mildly impressed by that, but it was going to take a lot more than that to seriously impress him.

“Do you think my client is a dangerous man?” That was a loaded question, and she thought about it for a long time.

“No. I think he's foolish. Impetuous. Even stupid sometimes.” She smiled but Tom Armour did not smile back. “But I don't think he's dangerous.”

“Do you think he took your child?”

She hesitated for a long, long time, trying to be truthful. “I don't know.” She looked him squarely in the eye, and she liked what she saw there. He looked like an honest man, someone you could trust. And had she met him in other circumstances, she knew that she would have liked him. And she thought that Charles was very lucky to have him as an attorney. “I don't know. I think he did. The evidence was there. But when I think of him, as he was… as I knew him… I don't see how he could do it.”

“Do you think that if he took your child, he would harm him?”

“Somehow…” She thought about it and then looked at him again. “…Somehow I just can't let myself believe that.” Because if she did… it would destroy her.

“Why do you think he might have taken him? Out of revenge for the child you lost? Anger at you because you wouldn't see him?…because he still loves you?”

“I'm not sure.” She wished herself that she had the answers.

“Do you think someone could have framed him?” It was what Charles had insisted to him from the beginning. And Tom Armour had finally come to believe it.

“Possibly. But who? And how would he have gotten Teddy's pajamas and bear, if he'd never had him?” The defense had thought of that too, and they were difficult questions to answer, unless the people who had actually taken the child had framed Charles, but that was a long shot. And how would they even know him? It was the weakest spot in their case. But the strongest one was that the child's mother herself wasn't totally convinced that Charles Delauney would do it. Armour had a feeling she could be swayed either way, which was dangerous for Charles.

He asked her a few more questions then, made a few notes, and thanked her for her time, as he snapped shut his briefcase. And as she stood up, she looked at him, and decided to be honest.

“I was told that I shouldn't speak to you today. That it was 'unwise, but not illegal.'” She quoted John, and she knew that Malcolm and the U.S. Attorney would have been livid.