her, although he wouldn't say why, and he refused to open up to John Taylor. And of course, when they last interviewed him, Patrick the driver continued his tale about her “boyfriend,” which Taylor suggested he keep to himself, as there was more to it than he knew and he could very easily find himself a material witness, which, for a moment at least, seemed to frighten him into silence.
But the picture Taylor got was one of a woman who was universally disliked for reasons he couldn't fathom. She was the outcast she had described herself to be, in her own house, and very few of the people who supposedly worked for her seemed to know or like her. He got the feeling that she was withdrawn from all of them, and he suspected correctly that she was very lonely. It was still puzzling him when he walked into the library to see Malcolm, and he mentioned it while Haverford brought them each a cup of coffee.
“Why is it,” he put a spoonful of sugar in and left it black as he glanced up at Malcolm, “that so many of your servants seem to dislike her?” He saw Haverford watching him, but the old butler said nothing.
Malcolm let out a long sigh and stared out the window. “She's not a strong person, you know…she's weak, and frightened, and perhaps they sense it. She's had,” he seemed to hesitate, “ahh…mental problems, shall we say… in the past…and she still suffers from terrible headaches.”
“That's no reason to hate her.” They all seemed to have so little regard for Marielle as a person, as though she didn't count, as though she didn't exist, as though they worked for him and not for her and wanted everyone to know it. And John Taylor couldn't help wondering if Malcolm had set it up that way, to keep her powerless in her own house. She seemed to have absolutely no control over anyone, not her child, or her staff, and certainly not her husband. Even Miss Griffin had admitted that she'd never followed Mrs. Patterson's orders. She took her orders, as she put it, from the boy's father. But when he asked her why, she couldn't explain it, except to say that Marielle was weak and didn't know her own mind, but that didn't make sense to him. She didn't seem weak when he talked to her. She made sense, she was intelligent, and polite, and even if she had headaches, that didn't make her crazy. But that was the feeling he was getting now, that they all thought she was a little “off,” as though her mind and her judgment couldn't be trusted. And he couldn't help wondering what had made them think that.
“I don't think anyone hates her here. What a terrible thing to say.” Malcolm smiled benignly, but then he looked at him almost sadly. “She's not a strong girl, and she's had terrible problems. Who's to say that she will even be able to endure the shock of all this? This could be the last straw in an already very tenuous picture.”
“Is that what you think?” Taylor knew he was onto something, but he wasn't sure what. And there was something else he wanted to know. But he was saving that for later. “Is that what you're telling me?” Taylor pressed. “That she's crazy?”
“Of course not.” Malcolm looked outraged at the insult to his wife. “I'm telling you she's fragile.”
“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
“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.
They had asked for him in an accent that screamed of South Bronx or East Jersey. “Yes, this is Mr. Patterson.” Four policemen, and Marielle, were holding on at various extensions. “Who is
