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.
“Then why did you?” He was fascinated by her, not by her looks as much as her quiet ways, and her inner peace. This did not appear to be a woman who had ever been in a mental hospital or gone crazy. Maybe she had just given up and wanted to die, as Charles had explained. But now she was definitely back again, and beneath the cool surface, there was a lot of fire, and a sharp brain. He had enjoyed talking to her.
“Mr. Armour, all I want is the truth. That's all I want. Even more than justice. If Teddy is dead, I want to know it…and yes, I want to know who killed him, and why…but if he's alive, I want him found… I just want to know where he is, so he can come home.”
Tom Armour nodded. He understood. And for his own reasons, he wanted that too. “I hope we find out, Mrs. Patterson… for his sake as much as yours…and Mr. Delauney's.”
“Thank you.”
Haverford saw him out, and Marielle watched as he went down the stairs. He looked like a man who was in control of everything he touched. And she envied him his confidence. But beneath the confident air, she had sensed something more. Something warm and strong and very caring. And as she walked back to the library, she realized again how fortunate Charles was to have him as an attorney.
10
The trial was being held at the U.S. District Courthouse and at exactly one o'clock, Malcolm and Marielle arrived in the Pierce-Arrow limousine, driven by two policemen and accompanied by four FBI men, among them John Taylor. He was glad he could be there to give her strength. She felt his presence close to her, and it made her feel braver. Malcolm had said not a single word to her since they left the house. His silent accusations had begun to wear her down in the past months. She looked as gray as her dress when they got out of the car, and Malcolm assisted her silently up the steps of the courthouse. She was wearing a pale gray coat and matching hat, and the wind nearly swept it off, just as the press descended on them in a wave, and the FBI men had to fight to make a path for them. And as they entered the courtroom, Marielle realized again how painful this was all going to be, and how pointless. At the end of it, they would not get Teddy back. What purpose did it serve? He was gone, and after three months their hopes of having him returned alive had grown dim now. All this was was an exercise in accusation.
The Pattersons took their seats in the front row behind the U.S. Attorney. John Taylor sat next to Marielle, and one of his assistants was next to Malcolm. There were two more FBI men just behind them, and two uniformed policemen on either side of them, and just ahead, so they were surrounded by more than adequate protection. And Brigitte was already in the courtroom waiting for them when they arrived. She glanced warmly at Marielle, and nodded politely at Malcolm. A few moments later the bailiff appeared and demanded that all rise as the judge entered in his black robes, and gazed around the courtroom. He was a tall man with a rugged face, and a shock of white hair, not unlike Malcolm's. In fact, the two men were vague friends, but he was known to be a harsh judge, and Malcolm had made no objection when he'd been selected.
Judge Abraham Morrison took his seat, and scowled at everyone as he looked around his courtroom. There was a long silence and people began to squirm in their seats, particularly the press, whom he seemed to scrutinize, and then the jurors, the Pattersons, the defendant, and the attorneys.
“My name is Abraham Morrison.” His words rang out sonorously. “And I'm not going to tolerate any nonsense in this courtroom. If anyone here misbehaves, I'm going to throw you out of here so fast your head will spin. Any contempt of court, I'll put you in jail. Any press gets out of hand, you're banned from here, for good. Anyone attempt to coerce a juror, unduly influence a juror, or even talk to a juror, I'll prosecute. Is that clear to everyone in this room?” There were nodding heads and a murmur of voices. “We're here for a serious matter. A capital offense. A man's life is at stake, and a child's life may have been taken. These are not matters I take lightly.” He looked straight at the press section then. “And if you hound anyone here, either the jurors, the defendant, or the witnesses,” he looked pointedly at the Pattersons, “you'll be out the door faster than my bailiff can throw you. Does everyone understand the rules here?” There was a long silence as everyone sat in awe of him. “Do you?” His voice boomed again, and there was a chorus of “Yes, sirs.” “Good. Then maybe we can get started. I won't tolerate a circus in my court. Let's get that clear right from the beginning.” More nodded heads, and he put on his glasses and carefully perused some papers. Marielle looked over at the defendant's table then, and she noticed that Charles was looking thinner and pale, and the hair at his temples seemed to have become grayer than when she last saw him. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt and dark tie, and he looked more respectable than most people in the room, but that wasn't the issue. Tom Armour looked extremely serious too, in a pin-striped suit with a vest. And he seemed suddenly younger than he had when she had seen him in her own home. She had never told Malcolm about the meeting.
Judge Morrison looked back up at the courtroom again, and his gaze swept the room. “I think we all know why we're here today. This is a kidnapping case. The kidnapping of Theodore Whitman Patterson, a four-year-old boy. His parents are here today.” He waved vaguely in the direction of Marielle and Malcolm, and she could feel her heart pound. It was difficult to believe that, after three months of constant press, there was a person alive who didn't know who they were, but it was as though Judge Morrison wanted to introduce them. He liked a great deal of decorum and respect, but he also liked a personal touch in his courtroom.
“The defendant is a man named Charles Delauney. And the theory, ladies and gentlemen, and I am addressing prospective jurors here, is that Mr. Delauney is innocent until
