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Cynthia takes the chair in front of the fireplace and elegantly crosses one leg over the other, dangling a sandaled foot featuring perfectly painted scarlet toenails.
As he and Jennings seat themselves on the sleek leather sofa, Rasbach smiles regretfully and says, “I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to discuss details.” The woman across from him seems nervous. He wishes to put her at ease. “What do you do, Mrs. Stillwell?” he asks.
“I’m a professional photographer,” she says. “Freelance, mostly.”
“I see,” he says, flicking his eyes to the walls, which display several nicely framed black-and-white photos. “Yours?”
“Yes, actually.” She gives a small smile.
“It’s a terrible thing, the baby being taken,” Rasbach says. “It must be very unsettling for you.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she says, in evident distress. She furrows her brow. “I mean, they were here when it was happening. Here we all were, having a good time, oblivious. I feel awful.” She licks her lips.
“Can you tell me about the evening?” Rasbach asks. “Just tell me about it in your own words.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I had planned a party for Graham’s fortieth birthday. He just wanted something small. So I invited Marco and Anne for dinner because we sometimes have dinner together and we’re all good friends. We used to have dinner together a lot before the baby, not so much after. We hadn’t seen much of them for a while.”
“Did you suggest that they leave the baby at home?” Rasbach asks.
She flushes. “I didn’t know they couldn’t get a sitter.”
“My understanding is that they had a sitter but she canceled at the last minute.”
She nods. “Right. But I would never have said they couldn’t bring the baby, if they didn’t have a sitter. They showed up with the baby monitor and said the sitter had canceled and they would just plug the monitor in and check on her a lot.”
“And what did you think of that?”
“What did I think of it?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise. Rasbach nods and waits. “I didn’t think anything of it. I’m not a parent. I assumed they knew what they were doing. They seemed fine with it. I was too busy getting the dinner prepared to give it much thought.” She adds, “To be honest, with one of them leaving every half hour to check on her, it would probably have been less disruptive just to have the baby here.” Cynthia pauses. “On the other hand, she’s a pretty fussy baby.”
“And Anne and Marco—you say they went next door to check on the baby every half hour?”
“Oh, yes. They were rigid about it. The perfect parents.”
“How long would they be gone when they checked on her?” Rasbach asks.
“It varied.”
“How do you mean?”
She tosses her black hair over her shoulder and straightens her back. “Well, when Marco went, he’d be pretty quick. Like five minutes or less. But Anne would stay away longer. I remember I joked with Marco at one point that maybe she wasn’t coming back.”
“When was this?” Rasbach leans forward slightly, fastening his eyes on hers.
“I think around eleven. She was gone a long time. When she did come back, I asked her if everything was all right. She said everything was fine, she’d just had to feed the baby.” Cynthia nodded firmly. “That’s right, it was eleven, because she said she always feeds the baby at eleven, and then the baby sleeps through till about five.” Cynthia suddenly looks uncertain and adds, “When she came back after the eleven-o’clock feeding, it looked like she’d been crying.”
“Crying? Are you sure?”
“That’s how it looked to me. She’d washed her face after, I think. Marco looked at her like he was worried. I remember thinking it must be a bore having to worry about Anne all the time.”
“Why do you think Marco was concerned?”
Cynthia shrugs. “Anne can be moody. I think she’s finding motherhood harder than she expected.” She flushes, realizing the awkwardness of what she’s just said, given the circumstances. “I mean, motherhood has changed her.”
“Changed her how?”
Cynthia takes a deep breath and settles more into her chair. “Anne and I used to be better friends. We used to have coffee, go shopping, talk. We actually had a lot in common. I’m a photographer, and she worked in an art gallery downtown. She’s mad about abstract art—at least she used to be. She was damn good at that gallery—a good curator, good at sales. She has an eye for quality and for what will sell.” She pauses, remembering.
“Yes?” Rasbach prompts.
Cynthia continues. “Then she got pregnant, and it seemed like all she could think about was babies. She only wanted to shop for baby things.” Cynthia gives a little laugh. “Sorry, but I found it a bit tedious after a while. I think she was hurt that I wasn’t that interested in her pregnancy. We had less in common. Then, when the baby was born, it took up all her time. I understand that—she was exhausted—but she became less interesting, if you know what I mean.” Cynthia pauses and crosses her long legs. “I think she should have gone back to work after the baby was a few months old, but she didn’t want to. I think she felt she had to be the perfect mother.”
“Has Marco changed much since the baby came?” Rasbach asks.
She tilts her head, thinking about it. “Not really, no, but then we haven’t seen much of him. He seems the same to me, but I think Anne’s been bringing him down a bit. He still likes to have fun.”
Rasbach asks, “Did Anne and Marco speak privately after she returned from checking the baby?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you and your husband go into the kitchen to clean up or anything and leave them alone together at all during the evening? Did they sit together in a corner or anything?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Marco was mostly hanging out with me, because you could tell that Anne wasn’t in too cheerful a mood.”
“So you don’t remember them conferring together throughout the evening?”
She shakes her head. “No, why?”
Rasbach ignores her question. “Describe how the rest of the evening went, if you don’t mind.”
“We were sitting around in the dining room mostly, because it’s air-conditioned, and it was such a hot night. Marco and I were doing most of the talking. My husband is generally pretty quiet, sort of an intellectual. He and Anne are alike that way. They get along.”
“And you and Marco get along?”
“Marco and I are more extroverted, for sure. I liven up my husband, and Marco livens up Anne. Opposites attract, I guess.”
Rasbach waits, letting silence fill the room. Then he asks, “When Anne came back after the eleven-o’clock feeding, besides looking like she might have been crying, did she seem different in any way?”
“Not that I noticed. She just seemed tired—but that’s the way she is these days.”
“Who checked on the baby next?”
Cynthia thinks. “Well, Anne got back around eleven thirty, I think, so Marco didn’t go. He was going on the half hour, and she was going on the hour—that’s the arrangement they had. So Anne went again at midnight, and then Marco went at twelve thirty.”
“How long was Anne gone when she went to check the baby at midnight?” Rasbach asks.
“Oh, not long, a couple of minutes.”
“And then Marco went at twelve thirty.”
“Yes. I was in the kitchen, clearing up a bit. He slipped out the back door saying he was going to pop out and check the baby and he’d be right back. He winked at me.”
“He winked at you?”
“Yes. He’d been drinking quite a lot. We all had.”
“And how long was he gone?” Rasbach asks.
“Not long, two or three minutes. Maybe five.” Cynthia shifts in her seat, recrosses her legs. “When he got back, we went outside to the patio for a cigarette.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Yes.”
