TWENTY

Anne sits down in the seat offered to her. As she sinks into it, she can feel her knees give way. Jennings offers her a cup of coffee, but she shakes her head no, because she doesn’t trust herself not to spill it. She is more anxious this time than the last time she was interviewed. She wonders about the police, why they’re so suspicious of her and Marco. If anything, the police should be less suspicious of them after they received the onesie in the mail, and after the money had been taken. Obviously, someone else has their baby.

The detectives take their seats across from her.

“I’m so sorry,” Detective Rasbach begins, “about yesterday.”

She says nothing. Her mouth is dry. She clasps her hands in her lap.

“Please relax,” Rasbach says gently.

She nods nervously, but she cannot relax. She doesn’t trust him.

“I just have a few questions, about what happened yesterday,” he tells her.

She nods again, licks her lips.

“Why didn’t you call us when you got the package in the mail?” the detective asks. His tone is friendly enough.

“We thought it was too risky,” Anne says. Her voice is unsteady. She clears her throat. “The note said no police.” She reaches for the bottle of water that has been placed on the table for her. She fumbles with the cap. Her hand is shaking slightly as she moves the bottle to her lips.

“Is that what you thought?” Rasbach asks. “Or is that what Marco thought?”

“We both thought so.”

“Why did you handle the onesie so much? Any evidence it might have offered us has been contaminated, unfortunately.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I could smell Cora on it, so I carried it around with me, to have her near me.” She begins to cry. “It brought her back to me. It was like I could almost pretend she was in her crib, sleeping. That none of this ever happened.”

Rasbach nods and says, “I understand. We’ll run whatever tests we can on the garment and the note.”

“You think she’s dead, don’t you?” Anne says woodenly, looking him directly in the eye.

Rasbach returns her look. “I don’t know. She may still be alive. We will not stop searching for her.”

Anne takes a tissue from the box on the table and presses it against her eyes.

“I’ve been wondering,” Rasbach says, leaning back casually in his chair, “about your babysitter.”

“Our babysitter? Why?” Anne asks, startled. “She didn’t even come that night.”

“I know. I’m just curious. Is she a good babysitter?”

Anne shrugs, not knowing where this is going. “She’s good with Cora. She obviously likes babies—and a lot of girls don’t really. They just babysit for the money.” She thinks about Katerina. “She’s usually reliable. You can’t blame her that her grandmother died. Although—if only she hadn’t, we might still have Cora.”

“Let me ask you this: If someone wanted to know whether you’d recommend her, would you?” Rasbach asks.

Anne bites her lip. “No, I don’t think so. She tends to fall asleep with her earbuds in, listening to music. When we get home, we have to wake her. So no, I wouldn’t recommend her.”

Rasbach nods, makes a note. Then he looks up and says, “Tell me about your husband.”

“What about my husband?”

“What kind of man is he?”

“He’s a good man,” Anne says firmly, sitting up straighter in her chair. “He’s loving and kind. He’s smart and thoughtful and hardworking.” She pauses, then says in a rush, “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me, other than Cora.”

“Is he a good provider?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Anne snaps.

“But isn’t it also true that it was your parents who set your husband up in business? And you told me yourself that your parents paid for your house.”

“Just a minute,” Anne says. “My parents did not ‘set my husband up in business,’ as you put it. Marco has degrees in computer science and business. He started his own company, and he was very successful on his own. My parents just invested in it, later on. He was already doing very well. You can’t fault Marco as a businessman.” Even as she says this, Anne is faintly aware of the financial information she came across on Marco’s computer the other day. She hadn’t looked deeply into it at the time, and she hasn’t asked Marco about it; now she wonders if she’s just lied to the police.

“Do you believe your husband is honest with you?”

Anne blushes. And then hates it that she’s given herself away. She takes her time answering. “Yes. I believe he is honest with me”—she falters—“most of the time.”

“Most of the time? Shouldn’t honesty be an ‘all of the time’ thing?” Rasbach asks, leaning forward slightly.

“I heard you,” Anne confesses suddenly. “The night after the kidnapping. I was at the top of the stairs. I heard you accusing Marco of making out with Cynthia. She said Marco came on to her, and he denied it.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that you were listening.”

“I’m sorry, too. I wish I didn’t know about it.” She looks down at her hands in her lap, clutching the bunched-up tissue.

“Do you think he made sexual advances toward Cynthia, or do you think it was the other way around, as Marco says?”

Anne twists the tissue in her hands. “I don’t know. They’re both at fault.” She looks up at him. “I’ll never forgive either one of them,” she says rashly.

“Let’s go back,” Rasbach prompts. “You say your husband is a good provider. Does he share with you how his business is doing?”

She shreds the tissue into small pieces. “I haven’t taken a lot of interest in the business these days,” Anne says. “I’ve been absorbed with the baby.”

“He hasn’t been telling you how the business is going?”

“Not recently, no.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?” Rasbach asks.

“Not at all,” Anne says, thinking as she does that it is odd. “I’ve been really busy with the baby.” Her voice breaks.

“The tire tracks in your garage—they don’t match your car,” Rasbach says. “Someone used your garage shortly before the kidnapping. You saw the baby in her crib at midnight. Marco was in your house with the baby at twelve thirty. We have a witness who saw a car driving down the lane away from the direction of your garage at twelve thirty-five a.m. There’s no evidence that anyone else was inside the house or yard. Perhaps at twelve thirty Marco took the baby out to an accomplice who was waiting in a car in your garage.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Anne says, her voice rising.

“Do you have any idea who that accomplice might be?” Rasbach persists.

“You’re wrong,” Anne says.

“Am I?”

“Yes. Marco didn’t take Cora.”

“Let me tell you something,” Rasbach says, leaning forward. “Your husband’s business is in trouble. Deep trouble.”

Anne feels herself go paler. “It is?” she says.

“I’m afraid so.”

“To be honest, Detective, I don’t really care if the business is in trouble. Our baby is gone. What does either of us care now about money?”

“It’s just that . . .” Rasbach pauses, as if changing his mind about what he’s going to say. He looks at Jennings.

“What?” Anne glances nervously back and forth between the two detectives.

“It’s just that I see things in your husband that you may not see,” Rasbach says.

Anne does not want to take the bait. But the detective waits, letting the silence expand. She has no choice. “Like what?”

Rasbach asks, “Don’t you think it’s a bit manipulative of him not to be honest with you about the business?”

“No, not if I didn’t show any interest. He was probably trying to protect me, because I’ve been depressed.” Rasbach says nothing, just regards her with his sharp blue eyes. “Marco is not manipulative,” Anne insists.

“What about the relationship between Marco and your parents? Marco and your father?” Rasbach says.

“I told you, they don’t like each other. They tolerate each other, for me. But that’s my parents’ fault. No matter what Marco does, it’s never good enough. I could have married anyone, and it would have been the same.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. That’s just the way they are. They’re overprotective and hard to please. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child.” She has reduced the tissue in her lap to crumbs. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter about the business, not really. My parents have a lot of money. They could always help us if we needed it.”

“But would they?”

“Of course they would. All I’d have to do is ask. My parents have never denied me anything. They came up with five million dollars just like that for Cora.”

“Yes, they did.” The detective pauses, then says, “I tried to see Dr. Lumsden, but apparently she’s away.”

Anne feels the blood drain from her face but forces herself to sit up straight. She knows he can’t have talked to Dr. Lumsden. Even after she returns, there is no way Dr. Lumsden will talk to the detective about her. “She won’t tell you anything about me,” Anne says. “She can’t. She’s my doctor, and you know it. Why are you toying with me this way?”

“You’re right. I can’t get your doctor to breach doctor-patient privilege.”

Anne leans back in her chair and gives the detective an annoyed look.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, though?” the detective asks.

“Why would I talk to you about my sessions with my psychiatrist? It’s none of your goddamned business,” Anne says bitterly. “I have mild postpartum depression like lots of other new mothers. It doesn’t mean I harmed my baby. I want nothing more than to get her back.”

“I can’t help thinking it’s possible that Marco might have had the baby taken away to cover up for you, if you killed her.”

“That’s crazy! Then how do you explain our getting the onesie in the mail and the ransom money being taken?”

“Marco might have faked the kidnapping, after the baby was already dead. And the empty car seat, the hit on the head—maybe that was all for show.”

She gives him a disbelieving stare. “That’s absurd. And I did not harm my baby, Detective.”

Rasbach fiddles with his pen, watching her. “I had your mother in for an interview earlier this morning.”

Anne feels the room begin to spin.