Vanished (32 page)

“I swear. It's for real.” And for reasons he never knew, he believed her.

Judge Abraham Morrison rapped his gavel and called
the court to order at exactly ten-fifteen the following morning. Tom Armour was looking particularly bright-eyed in a starched white shirt and a dark blue suit and a new tie, and he had actually gotten up fifteen minutes early to shine his shoes. He liked to look his best at the end of a trial when it really mattered. And Charles was looking very sober in banker's gray and a tie of his father's.

“Well be hearing closing arguments today, ladies and gentlemen,” the judge explained to the jury. They had been staying at the Chelsea Hotel for the past month, and it had to be wearing thin. Some of them were beginning to look very peaked.

But as the judge spoke to them, Tom Armour stood up and asked to approach the bench, which he did, in the company of Bill Palmer.

“What is it, Counsellor?” the judge asked him with a frown, in an undertone.

“New evidence, Your Honor, and a bit of a problem. May I see you in chambers?” The judge looked anything but happy. They were almost ready to wrap it up, and now they were talking about new evidence. What the devil did that mean?

“All right, all right.” He waved them in, and they were there until eleven-thirty, arguing with each other and the judge. He was perfectly willing to let the man testify, but he was not willing to give him amnesty. If what he said was true, planting the pajamas in Charles Delauney's home was a federal offense, and he probably had additional knowledge about the kidnappers that he was concealing.

“I say, arrest him,” Palmer said, hands down.

“I can't violate my source,” Armour told him.

“What if he's lying?”

“What if he isn't? If he planted the pajamas and the bear, then Delauney's not guilty.”

“For chrissake. Who is this guy?” Palmer almost shouted.

“I can't tell you till we come to an agreement.”

The judge looked miserable by the time he'd heard them both out, and he was anything but happy with the deal they finally came to.

“I'll give you forty-eight hours to check this out, to find out if it's bogus or not. Use the FBI, the Marines, the army. I don't give a damn what you do, but see if you can't get me more than this. And I won't promise the man anything. Check it out, find out what's going on. But in forty-eight hours, you'd better be back in this courtroom with evidence, or I'm citing you for contempt, and I'm throwing your hot tip in jail. You got that?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Tom Armour was beaming. He had two days to work a miracle, but maybe Bea's friend would help him.

“Are you amenable to a two-day recess, Mr. Palmer?” the judge asked.

“Do I have a choice?” Palmer looked annoyed but resigned. He'd been all prepared to give it his best shot with his closing.

“Not really.” The judge smiled at him, and Tom laughed.

“Then I agree, don't I? This better be good. Personally, I think it's all a crock. Delauney's guilty as hell, the lousy Commie bastard.”

“Don't talk about my client like that,” Tom Armour said sternly.

“Then don't take people like him as clients.”

The three men walked back into court, and the judge explained to everyone that there was possible new evidence and court was adjourning for a two-day investigation. Court would reconvene again on Friday. He thanked everyone for being there, and court was duly recessed, as Tom whispered to Charles and explained what had happened. And as soon as he stood up again, he signaled to John Taylor.

“Can I see you for a minute? We need help.”

“Sure.” Officially, the way things had worked out, John was there to help the prosecution. But he was actually there to help all of them, by finding Teddy.

“Can we go somewhere quiet for a few minutes?” He left Charles then, to be taken back to jail, and followed Taylor to an empty office.

“What you got?”

“I'm not sure. But I think it's a good one.” He explained the source to him, and what the man had said. “He's scared out of his mind. He took the dough from whoever left it for him, and he's an accessory now, or at the very least he'll get an obstruction of justice. He's got a record an arm long, the guy's on parole, and he's scared shitless to come forward.”

“At least he's not dumb. Who is he? Maybe I know him.”

“You probably do. But you've got to guarantee me amnesty for the guy if I tell you.”

“I can't guarantee you shit, Armour. But I can guarantee you I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't share what you've got with me. We're not just protecting your client's ass here. We're looking for a four-year-old boy, who may or may not be dead by now, and if he isn't, he's in one hell of a lot of dan-

“I know that, dammit. But you can't blow my source. He also thinks the boy is still alive. You've got to promise me you're not just going to go and nail him.”

“I'm not going to nail him. I want to talk to him. If you want, you can come with me. Who is he?” Armour was still worried he was going to get the guy in trouble.

“His name is Louie Polanski,” Tom said hesitantly, praying Taylor wouldn't bust him.

“Louie? Louie the Lover? Hell, Louie and I go back years. I sent him to the joint fifteen years ago when I was a kid myself … I saved his life. His mob buddies were trying to kill him then, and we gave him a nice cozy cell and protection for about five years. He loves me.” John Taylor was actually grinning.

“Are you serious?” Tom looked startled by the story.

“He'll talk to me. I swear it.” And when Tom called Louie again, he was waiting by the phone, and he agreed to meet with Tom Armour and John Taylor.

They met at one o'clock in an Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village, it was run by the mob and had been a speakeasy for years, and Taylor knew it well, although it was new to Tom Armour. The man they met was short and obese, bald, and sweating profusely. He was a nervous wreck when he talked about what he'd done, but he actually seemed genuinely pleased to see John Taylor.

“I never shoulda done it. It was crazy. But it was so damn much money, and it sounded so easy.” And it had been. Until now.

Taylor looked at Tom. “Who the hell would have paid him that much to frame Delauney? Somebody really has it in for your client.”

“I wish to hell I knew who,” Tom said sourly.

“The word is, the kid's still alive, but I don't know where, or who's got him,” Louie said in a whisper, glancing over his shoulder.

“What makes them think so? Can you find out?” Taylor was suddenly all business.

“I'll ask. But I think someone's keepin' it real quiet. There's a lot of money changed hands, and they must have hired good ones, because no one's talkin'.” Except for Louie, thank God. Taylor found himself praying that Louie's pals were right, and that Teddy was still living.

“You have any idea where he is? Any hint? Any clue? Anything we can go on?”

“Maybe he's already out of the country.” They had thought of that. But for months they had held a tight rein on the ports and the airport, and even the frontiers into Canada and Mexico. They had closed down everything tight, until very recently. By now they figured that Teddy was either dead, or no one was going to try moving him out of the country. But that suddenly made John wonder. The pressure on the ports had been lightened only the week before. It was worth another look. He looked at Louie with an interested expression.

“You just gave me an idea, Louie. I love ya.”

“Yeah? Then what are you gonna do for me? Listen …I'll give the money back … I only spent ten grand. You can have back the other forty. Give it to the FBI, Christ, give it to the judge. But shit, I don't wanna do more time for a lousy pair of kid's pajamas.”

“Tell you what.” Taylor looked at him seriously. “If we find anything, I'll make a deal for you for helping us find the kid. If we don't find him, you could be in deep shit. But I'll do what I can. I'll call you.”

“Yeah … let me know …” Louie the Lover looked nervously at Tom, and John Taylor went to make a phone call.

“Thank you for talking to us,” Tom said quietly. “This could mean my client's life.”

“Yeah,” Louie smiled nervously, “and my ass. But … eh … I don't like to see people hurt a kid. Stinks. You know what I mean. Like the Lindbergh thing. I was in the joint then, doing time for a little bank robbery. Made me sick, guys like that …killing a baby.”

“Do you think they could have killed him?” Tom felt sick as he thought of it, not just for his client. He had come to admire Marielle through the trial, and he couldn't bear the thought of her going through that. Especially not after the other children she'd lost, and what she was facing with Malcolm.

“Hard to tell,” Louie answered seriously. “Sometimes when there's a lot of money involved, it could go either way. And word on the street is, this one's a big ticket.”

“I wish I knew who did it.” He knew for certain it wasn't Charles Delauney. He had believed him before, but now he had no doubts whatsoever. But if it had been this professionally done, he also wondered if they would ever find out who had done it. Or find poor Teddy.

And when Taylor came back, he looked grim.

“What's up?” Tom asked him.

“I don't know. Maybe it's a wild-goose chase, but we're going to tear the port apart for the next few days. You never know what you're going to find there. But I hear we've got ten freighters and six passenger liners to pull apart. That ought to keep us busy for a few minutes. And Louie, you do your stuff too, and see what you hear.” And if nothing else they could get a statement from him about planting the bear and the pajamas. But Taylor knew it might prove not to be that easy, in the end, to protect him. “I'll call you.”

“Thanks for lunch.” Louie looked at both of them, and he wasn't sorry he had come. If they found the kid, maybe it would be worth it. A man had to do something he felt good about once in a while, even if it cost him.

And as they left the restaurant, Taylor slipped into a phone booth, and made another call. He called Marielle at the house, he hadn't wanted anyone to hear him. “Hi there. It's me.” He knew she'd recognize his voice. “Will you meet me at the same church we went to yesterday, say … in twenty minutes?”

“Sure,' She sounded surprised. And when he met her there, she'd come alone. She'd slipped out the back door, and walked down the street like anyone else before anyone noticed. She was wearing a scarf over her head, a wool jacket, and dark glasses.

“Is something wrong?” She looked worried, and he smiled to reassure her.

“No, but I'm going to be very busy for the next couple of days. If you don't see me, don't be worried.”

“Does it have to do with the new evidence they mentioned in court this morning?” She seemed surprised. She had seen him literally every day since the night of the kidnapping. He was her only support now.

“Yes, it has to do with that.”

“Is it …does it have to do with Teddy?” …had they found him … or worse, found his body? But she didn't dare ask him.

“I don't think it has to do with anything, but we're checking it out. Don't worry about it, I'll let you know if anything turns up,” he assured her. He didn't want to raise her hopes, it wasn't fair to do that. “But I want to ask you a question first. Something my office turned up accidentally this morning.” It was what had led him to think of the port, that and something Louie the Lover had said. The two together had started a bell ringing in his head. Before that, he just figured it was a mistake, or something she hadn't told him. “Are you and your husband going anywhere in the next two weeks?”

“Malcolm? He's hardly spoken to me in weeks, and last night he told me he was going to divorce me.” But she didn't look upset. She was taking it all pretty well considering what she'd been through.

“Nice guy. So you're not planning a trip with him?” He was sure she wasn't, but he'd had to check it.

“No. Why?” She looked puzzled.

“You don't think he'd plan a little honeymoon, to try and patch things up?”

“Not with me anyway. He told me his lawyer would call me.”

“When was all this?”

“Last night, after church,” and then suddenly she remembered something he'd said in Teddy's bedroom. “He said he was going away. Is that what you mean?”

“Maybe.” But he didn't tell her that Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm Patterson were booked to sail on the
Europa.
He could only assume that Malcolm was taking Brigitte and planning to pass her off as his wife. It had been done before, and on shipboard, people tended to be pretty discreet. Nice little trip he'd planned for himself, while Marielle was waiting to hear from his lawyer. What a bastard. “Anyway, I just wondered. I figured it was a mistake.”

“Did you think I was planning to slip out of town?” She smiled, but even when she smiled her eyes were sad now. She had been through too much in the past four months. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but it didn't seem the time or place to him and he was busy.

“Don't plan on leaving town without the FBI on your heels, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Actually, that sounds very appealing.” She smiled as they walked out of church. “When will I see you again?”