“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 this?”

“I've got a friend here… a little guy in red pajamas.” Marielle felt dizzy as she held her hand over the phone and listened. They had taken him exactly forty-six hours before, and as she held the phone in her trembling hand, she was crying.

“How is he?” Malcolm closed his eyes as he listened.

“He's fine. Kinda cold, I think. We need some money to buy the little guy a blanket.”

“May I speak to him?” Malcolm said calmly, but the policeman watching him saw that his hand was trembling.

“Nah…he's sleeping. Let's talk about the money first.”

“How much do you need?”

“Oh… I'd say about two hundred thousand dollars would buy a nice blanket.” It was four times what the Lindberghs had paid and well worth it. “In unmarked bills, Mr. Smart Guy. In a locker at Grand Central Station. You leave it there. No cops. No marked bills. No funny stuff. You leave it there as long as it takes for us to pick it up. And when we're ready, you get your kid back.”

“How do I know he's all right now?”

“You don't.” The voice was hard and ugly. “But you screw me around, you tell the cops, you do anything… we kill him.” Marielle felt the room reel as she listened, and perspiration was pouring down Malcolm's face when he hung up. He had written down all the instructions, and in any case, the call had been recorded.

John Taylor arrived at the house less than half an hour later, Malcolm was still looking gray, and Marielle was shaking. They hadn't let them speak to the child, and he reminded them that there was no way of knowing if the call was for real, or from some crank, or someone who wanted to make some easy money. People were cruel, and sometimes they wanted to get in on the excitement. But at least it was a hope, something to cling to, and when Taylor left the room, Malcolm dropped his face in his hands and sobbed. It was their only hope of seeing Teddy.

The money was organized by midnight that night. The Intelligence Unit of the Treasury Department had placed half a million dollars in marked bills in Malcolm's account the day before, and Taylor called the president of the bank and asked him to release two hundred thousand of it. A small black alligator bag was filled and by two a.m., everything was in place in a locker in Grand Central Station. They'd been told to place an ad in the Daily Mirror when the bag was in place, and by the next morning, the ad was where it should be, and hundreds of plainclothes cops were swarming all over Grand Central Station, walking back and forth, sleeping on benches, eating hot dogs, reading magazines, looking like anyone else, and waiting for someone to pick up the ransom. But after three days, it was clear that no one was going to take it. The call was a cruel prank, and as hope waned, Marielle couldn't even make herself get out of bed. By Saturday, she looked gray, and Malcolm looked even worse than she did. The strain was telling on both of them, and somehow it all seemed worse because it was only six days till Christmas. The prospect of spending Christmas without him made it an added agony, as Malcolm stared at Marielle across their uneaten dinner.

“Why? Why didn't they come for it?” She was haunted by the call, and the threat to kill him if anything went wrong. What if they had? What if they'd panicked and killed him?

“Taylor says it was a prank, you know that.” He was being sharp with her again. But he couldn't stand the strain anymore either. “I still think it was Delauney.”

“Then why don't they find something, dammit? Why in God's name can't they find who did it!” She went back upstairs again then, unable to sit there any longer. Even the now familiar sight of John Taylor was no longer reassuring, and the next day Malcolm begged him to search Delauney's house again, and Taylor promised to do it.

It was Sunday afternoon, almost exactly one week after the kidnapping when they found it. It was in the basement of the Delauney mansion, in the wine cellar, hidden behind some old cases. One of the police found what he thought was a rag at first, it didn't look like much more than that, but when he moved the case aside he saw it, and he held it up with a look of astonishment, and then he knew he'd found what they had come for. It was a pair of red child's pajamas, with little blue embroideries on the collar. He walked upstairs as fast as he could, and asked to speak to Inspector Taylor, and then he showed him what he'd found. Taylor stood and looked at it for a long moment, and then wondered where the child had gone, what Delauney had done with him. There was a lot they had to find out now. He went back to where Delauney sat and told him what they'd found as Charles dropped his face into his hands and swore he hadn't done it.

“My own son died years ago.” He looked up at John imploringly. “I know what it's like…why would I do that to someone else?” It didn't make sense, and in John's heart he hoped Charles hadn't done it.

John Taylor snapped handcuffs on him, and moments later he was downtown, the red pajamas carefully sealed in an envelope in Taylor's hand, and Charles Delauney was booked for kidnapping.

John called Malcolm and Marielle, and she cried when she heard they had found Teddy's pajamas.

“But where is he?” That was all that mattered.

“We don't know yet. We're going to question Delauney now. But I wanted to bring him downtown to do it. We can be rougher here.” They both knew John Taylor meant business. “I'll call you as soon as we know anything.” But this explained why there had been no real requests for ransom. Charles had done it for revenge, or out of anger, or to get Marielle and he certainly didn't need any money from them. He had the only thing he wanted: the boy. But the real question was, what had he done with him after he took him? And where was he now? And worst of all…was he still living?

Marielle looked heartbroken when John Taylor hung up, and she couldn't help wondering what Malcolm was thinking. He said not a single word to her. He simply walked upstairs, and silently closed the door to his bedroom.

7

When news of Charles Delauney's arrest leaked out, the press went wild, and there were ten times as many reporters outside the Patterson home the next morning. Malcolm only went out under heavy police escort. The reporters hounded John Taylor now too, and the chief of police. They wanted to know everything. This was big news and they wanted the story. The heir to one of the most important fortunes in the country had been arrested for kidnapping…more than that, it was a crime of passion, a saga of revenge…the accused had been married to another scion's wife, and held her responsible for the death of their child. Despite all of John's efforts, word had leaked out, and the scandal was full-blown and out of control by Christmas. By then, Charles had been in custody at Federal Detention Headquarters for five days, and still there was no news of Teddy. Delauney still swore he had no idea where he was and had had nothing to do with it, which led John Taylor to fear that he had killed him. Much to his own chagrin, he told Marielle and Malcolm that on Christmas night. But he felt certain now that Delauney's stubbornness about the crime meant that he had done it as revenge, and Taylor thought it more than likely that he had killed him.