She sat quietly in the car next to Malcolm, with their guards and their policemen, and as usual they made their way through the crowds to the courtroom, dodging hands and people who wanted to touch them and ask questions, trying to avoid the press, and shield their faces from photographers. And with her headache, it seemed particularly awful. But they finally made it to their seats, and she took off her dark glasses.
For the first time during the trial, the judge was ten minutes late, and Tom was poring over his notes, while Charles sat with his eyes closed, looking grim. He had almost no hope left, in spite of Tom's skill. He was certain that without the informant's testimony about the pajamas and the bear, he would be found guilty.
The-judge had just invited Tom to begin his closing argument, and he had just stood up, when John Taylor walked into the courtroom. He stopped for a moment and looked at the judge, who knew him well, and both prosecution and defense looked at him with profound expectation. And everyone in the courtroom wondered why the usually pristine FBI agent was so disheveled and filthy. He was wearing work pants and a rough sweater, and he was absolutely covered with oil and dirt, and it seemed a very odd appearance in court, but he went straight to Marielle, as everyone watched, and with an apologetic glance at the judge, John whispered to her to come with him. She followed him out of court silently, without even saying a word to Malcolm. Everyone watched them go, with turned heads and whispers, and the judge finally rapped his gavel again to get everyone's attention.
“May I remind you, ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed, “that Mr. Armour is making his closing statement.” Tom turned himself to what he was doing then, and attempted to concentrate and not think about why John Taylor had taken Marielle out of the courtroom. He had the terrible feeling that they had found Teddy's body and he wanted to tell her first. But wouldn't he have taken Malcolm with him too, or was it kinder not to? Tom forced himself to focus on the man with one leg…and the ex-nun…and the young black musician…and tell them what a fine man Charles was, how he had been unfairly accused, and the prosecution had
And as she walked to a car with John, she looked at him in terror. “What's happening?” she asked anxiously. “What's going on?”
“I want you to trust me. I have to take you somewhere. Are you all right?” He looked at her worriedly. She had swayed for a moment, and no one had told him she'd fainted that morning.
“I'm fine. I just have a very bad headache.” She winced again, but she followed him into the car without hesitation.
“I'm sorry to do this to you. It won't be as bad as you think, and I'll make it as easy as I can for you…but I need to take you with me.” He started the car, and they drove off toward the West Side, and she looked frightened.
“Are you arresting me?” Was that possible? Was he crazy? Did he think she'd been in collusion with Charles after all? Had Malcolm told him that? His final revenge on her? As they drove west, she looked really frightened.
“Of course not.' He patted her hand gently, and then raised an eyebrow, trying to make light of the moment. “Should I be?”
“I don't know,” she said nervously.- “I don't know where we're going. Should Malcolm be here too?” Like Tom, she was suddenly afraid they were going to ask her to identify Teddy's body, and she knew she couldn't stand it, and maybe John thought he was being kind to her by taking her there alone, but he shook his head in answer to her question.
“No, he shouldn't. You'll be fine with me, Marielle. Trust me. You'll be all right. This won't be as difficult as you think.” He looked at her gently, wanting to kiss her. But right now, they had serious business to take care of.
“Can't you tell me what this is about?” She was almost in tears. All he had said to her in court was “Mrs. Patterson, I have to ask you to come with me.” And Malcolm had looked as startled as she did.
“I can't tell you, Marielle, I'm sorry. Right now, this is official business.” But he patted her hand, and left a smudge of soil on her fingers.
She nodded, trying to be brave as she rode along, but the headache was so bad now she could hardly stand it. He chatted with her on the brief drive, but it was obvious that he was preoccupied, and she couldn't help noticing that he was absolutely filthy, and she wondered why. And he was so distracted he didn't even notice her silence.
A few minutes later they reached the port, and he drove right onto the docks, where half a dozen FBI cars were waiting. And everyone scrutinized her intently as she got out of the car and he helped her.
“I hate to touch you, I'm so dirty.” He smiled and the gentleness of his eyes seemed to help her.
He took her on board the ship then, it was a small German ship, and it wasn't particularly attractive or particularly clean, and there was a terrible smell of cabbage which did nothing to help her headache. It was a freighter which took passengers on too, and the captain was waiting for her in the small dining room, with a serious expression. Taylor introduced her, and half a dozen FBI men were standing by, and she was not sure if they were guarding her, or the captain, or John Taylor. But the captain came forward to her quickly.
“Mrs. Patterson. I am so very sorry. This will be a terrible sadness for my country,” he said solemnly with an awkward bow and an attempt to kiss her hand, but as he said the words to her, the room began reeling. She knew from what he said, that they must have found Teddy's body. She turned suddenly to John Taylor in desperation, almost clawing at him, begging him with her eyes to help her. He pulled a chair up next to her and helped her into it, and signaled to one of his men to bring her a glass of water. And when it came he held it to her lips and let her lean against him, while he almost crooned to her like a mother with a sick child, begging her to be strong and let him help her. But all she could do was shake her head and close her eyes, and want to die again. She knew she just couldn't go through it.
“You're all right, Marielle…you're going to be fine…” She could hear his voice as she closed her eyes, and then opened them. “Jusmore minutes. I want you to look at some people for me…that's all. I just want you to look at them and tell me if you know them.”
“Are they dead?” She was whimpering like a child and he gently stroked her hair with one hand as he touched her shoulder with the other.
“No, they're alive. You're all right. You just have to look at them and tell me, yes or no, if you know them.”
“All right.” She was having trouble breathing she was so afraid, and she was grateful for the chair because she knew she could never have stood up, as everyone watched her. And a moment later, a man was led into the room, escorted by two FBI men. He was tall and blond and very thin, and he had a hard, angry face, and he tried to avert his face from Marielle, but the FBI men gave him a hard shove until he faced her. He stood some five feet away from her and she shrank back toward John, but his agents held him fast, and he didn't try to escape them.
“Do you know this man, Marielle? Have you ever seen him anywhere? Look at him carefully.” She shook her head and said that she hadn't, and she had no idea why she was there, and now she was afraid to ask him. She knew it had something terrible to do with her child, but if they had killed him, she didn't want to know it.
They took the first man away, and then brought the second man in five minutes later. This one was dark and swarthy and he had an ugly scar that ran straight across his face and back down toward his chin, and he looked at Marielle as though he would have liked to kill her. He said something to her in German, in an angry, guttural tone, and she shrank toward John and he was quick to reassure her.
“No one's going to hurt you, Marielle. I won't let them.” She nodded, childlike
