your son's disappearance?”
“I don't know.”
And then he switched tacks again. “Have you kissed Mr. Delauney since your divorce from him, Mrs. Patterson?” She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Please answer my question.”
“Yes.”
“And when was that?”
“When I saw him in church. I hadn't seen him in almost seven years and he kissed me.”
“Was it just a peck on the cheek, or a kiss on the lips, like in the movies?” The audience tittered but Marielle didn't even smile. And John Taylor knew that Palmer had been talking to their driver, with his asinine tales about her “boyfriend.”
“It was a kiss on the lips.”
“And have you visited him in jail?”
“Yes. Once.”
“Mrs. Patterson, are you still in love with Mr. Delauney?” From then on, anything she said about him would be useless.
She hesitated again, and then she shook her head. “I don't believe so.”
“Do you believe he kidnapped your child?”
“I don't know. Perhaps. I'm not sure.”
“And do you feel responsible for that kidnapping in any way?”
“I'm not sure…” Her voice cracked as she said the words, and everyone in the courtroom was reminded of what the Swiss doctor had said, that under stress her mental health could be extremely fragile. Palmer had done exactly what he wanted to do with her. He had discredited her completely. She sounded mixed up and confused, unsure about Delauney's guilt, or her own, a woman who had tried to commit suicide several times, suffered from migraines and was probably responsible for her first child drowning. And if the defense wanted to use her now, she wouldn't do them any good, and Palmer knew it. It was exactly what he had set out to do, but he had wiped the floor with her in the process and John Taylor knew exactly who had helped him. It was Malcolm. And Taylor himself felt guilty for every call he'd made. But his had all been harmless.
“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.”
“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
“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.
