“Is that how you met her?”

“I suppose so, although I vaguely knew her father.”

“Do you know Miss Sanders's father too, Mr. Patterson?”

“Hardly.” He looked superciliously at Tom Armour. “He's a baker in Frankfurt.”

“I see. And where does Miss Sanders live?”

“I have no idea.” But even Marielle was intrigued now.

“You've never been to her home?”

“Perhaps a few times…for meetings…”

“And you can't remember where she lives?”

“All right, all right. I remember. On Fifty-fourth and Park.”

“That sounds like a very nice neighborhood. Is it a nice apartment?”

“Very pleasant.”

“Is it large?”

“It's big enough.”

“Is it eight rooms, with a dining room, an office for you, two bedrooms, two dressing rooms, two baths, a very large living room, and a terrace?”

“Probably. I don't know.” But his face was bright red now, to Marielle's amazement.

“Do you pay the rent for Miss Sanders's apartment, Mr. Patterson?” Marielle was staring at him in disbelief. Fool that she was she had never suspected. Brigitte had always been so pleasant to her, and so kind, and so generous with Teddy. And now, finally, Marielle understood it, and deep inside she felt angry. Brigitte and Malcolm had both taken her for a fool, and indeed she had been.

“I do not pay for Miss Sanders's apartment,” Malcolm said sternly.

“How much salary does Miss Sanders make?”

“Forty dollars a week.”

“That's a reasonable wage. But not very adequate to pay for an apartment that costs six hundred dollars a month. How do you suppose she pays the rent, Mr. Patterson?”

“That's none of my affair.”

“You mentioned that her father is a baker.”

“Your Honor.” William Palmer stood up, feigning boredom. “Where is all this going?”

“This is all going,” Tom Armour said, no longer amused, “to show that despite Mr. Patterson's poor memory, his bank statements, his checks, and his records show that he pays for that apartment.” Tom's investigators had done well for him.

“And even if he does, so what?”

“Seamus O'Flannerty, the doorman there, will take the stand to tell us that Mr. Patterson goes there after the office every evening, and frequently spends the night there. When they travel, they frequently share the same bedroom. Miss Sanders wears a mink coat to the office, and this Christmas, two weeks after the kidnapping of his son, he gave Brigitte Sanders a diamond necklace from Cartier. It is clear to me, Your Honor, that Mr. Patterson has been lying.”

“Objection overruled, Mr. Palmer,” the judge said gently, all too aware of who Malcolm was. “I'd like to remind you again, Mr. Patterson, that you are under oath. Perhaps Mr. Armour would like to rephrase the question.”

“Certainly, Your Honor.” Tom was happy to oblige him. “Mr. Patterson, allow me to ask you again, are you, or are you not, having an affair with Brigitte Sanders?” For a moment, there seemed to be no sound in the courtroom.

But before he could answer, the prosecutor was on his feet again. “That's immaterial to this case, Your Honor.”

“I don't think so,” Tom Armour stated coolly. “The prosecution has totally discredited Mrs. Patterson as a witness, and claimed that she was having an affair with my client, which is not the case. My client has been out of the country for the past eighteen years until just before the kidnapping. But the presumption is that as a rejected lover, or wounded ex-husband, Mr. Delauney would seek revenge. If, indeed, Mr. Patterson is having a long-standing affair with Miss Sanders, it is equally possible that she might seek revenge.”

“Revenge for a diamond necklace?” Palmer asked, and this time the whole courtroom roared with laughter.

“Answer the question, Mr. Patterson,” the judge said regretfully. “Are you having an affair with Miss Sanders?”

“Perhaps I am,” he said softly.

“Could you please speak a little louder,” Tom asked politely.

“Yes, yes…I am…but she did not kidnap my son.” Brigitte was looking pale in her seat, and Marielle was staring at her.

“How do you know that?” Tom Armour asked Malcolm.

“She wouldn't do such a thing.” He looked outraged.

“Neither would my client. Do you intend to marry Miss Sanders, sir?”

“Of course not.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Do you give all your secretaries mink coats and diamond necklaces?”

“Certainly not.”

“Does she wish to marry you?”

“I have no idea. That has never been in question.”

“Thank you, Mr. Patterson. You may step down now.” But Bill Palmer wanted to ask him another question.

“Mr. Patterson, has Miss Sanders ever threatened you, or threatened to harm your son, or take him away from you?”

“Certainly not.” He looked horrified. “She's a very polite, kind young woman.” With fabulous legs, and some skills Marielle had never dreamt of.

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Malcolm went back to his seat looking florid. And a moment later, Brigitte left the courtroom. She was mobbed by the press the minute she left, and her dress was torn when she finally climbed into a taxi, crying.

After that, the prosecution called a series of forensic experts to establish the fact that the bear and the pajamas were in fact Teddy's. And the last witness of the day was a man who said he had gone to school with Charles Delauney, and Charles had threatened him once when they were fourteen. The witness, a nervous young lawyer from Boston, who had volunteered to testify in order to be helpful, said that he'd always thought Charles was a little crazy. Tom Armour objected, and it was sustained, and the jury was beginning to look bored. It had been a long day, and then finally, it was over, and everyone was relieved to leave the courtroom. John and Marielle exchanged a long glance on the way out, and Malcolm said not a word on the drive home. He went straight to the library when they got home, closed the door, and made several phone calls. And without a word to Marielle, he slammed out the front door half an hour later, as John Taylor and a handful of FBI men pretended not to watch him. They all knew what had happened that day in the courtroom.

John went to see her after Malcolm had left, and they sat and talked quietly. “Were you surprised?” he asked her gently, referring to Brigitte.

Marielle felt like a balloon the air had been let out of. It had been another exhausting afternoon, and in many ways a sad one.

“Yes, I was. I suppose I'm incredibly stupid, but I've always liked her. She's a nice girl, and she's always been so sweet to Teddy.” She looked thoughtful as she spoke, thinking back to all the little gifts, the things she had made, the candy, the toys, the sweaters… somehow, Marielle felt as though she had been a complete fool. She wondered how long it had been going on. Probably since the beginning, she realized, and she looked back over the past six and a half years, and that made her feel even more foolish. How stupid she had been, and how deceitful they were.

“She probably tried to make friends with Teddy to impress your husband.”

“Maybe,” Marielle said sadly. “I suppose it doesn't really matter.” He had to have been going somewhere to address his needs, they hadn't slept with each other in years, and she knew that he was a very physical person. But she had just never thought of Brigitte. It had crossed her mind once, on a day when the young German girl was looking particularly pretty, and at first she had been a little jealous when they had started traveling together, but she had really never given it a thought after that. And now she knew that he went to her apartment every day after work, spent the night there frequently, and even paid for the apartment. He was more married to Brigitte than he was to her, or so it seemed to Marielle. She had no tie to him at all anymore. No allegiance, no fondness, no loyalty, no fidelity…not even Teddy.

John watched her quietly as she thought it out, and he thought of his own wife, and what might happen when the trial was over. He knew better than anyone that they couldn't go on like this forever. But despite the feelings they shared, he and Marielle had shied away from talking about the future. There was too much happening in their lives now to think of anything except the trial, and finding Teddy.

“I almost feel sorry for Malcolm,” she said later as she walked John to the front door. He hated leaving her at night, and he had come to cherish their hours together. “It must have been difficult for him to be exposed.” He had looked furious on the stand, and Brigitte had looked panicked.

“Not as difficult as it was for you yesterday.” How could she feel sympathy for him? She was an amazing girl. “He lied through most of it.” But they'd caught him in the end. What he hadn't admitted was that he had always known about Charles, and her time in the clinic. But the jury didn't know that. All they knew was that he was a cheat, and perhaps a liar. “He deserves what he got. He deserves worse for what he did to you. They didn't have to do that.”

“Well, they did. They don't have to worry that I'll be sympathetic to Charles and weaken the prosecution's case. My testimony is meaningless now.” She wished she didn't have to go to court at all. It was all so painful.

“Are you still sympathetic to him, Marielle?”

She wasn't sure. She hadn't been in months. “I don't know. I just don't know what I think… all the evidence is there, and yet I thought I knew him better than that, even after all these years. No matter what he said, I didn't believe him when he said those things in the park…and then Teddy was gone… I don't know what to think.” She couldn't bear thinking of it anymore…the empty bed that had still been warm when she touched it. It had been three months now since she'd seen him, three months since she'd held her little boy…the little boy they said she was too weak and unstable to take care of.