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“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.
TWENTY-ONE
Rasbach watches Anne carefully, fears she might faint. He waits while she reaches for the bottle of water, waits for her color to return.
There is nothing he can do about the psychiatrist. His hands are tied. He hadn’t gotten any further with the mother, but Anne is obviously afraid that she’d said something. Rasbach is pretty sure he knows what she’s afraid of. “What do you think your mother told me?” Rasbach asks.
“I don’t think she told you anything,” Anne says sharply. “There’s nothing to tell.”
He considers her for a few moments. Thinks how different she is from her mother—a very composed woman, busy with her social committees and charities and much more canny than her daughter. Certainly less emotional, with a clearer head. Alice Dries had come into the interview room, smiled icily, stated her name, and then told him she had nothing to say to him. It was a very short interview.
“She didn’t tell me she was coming in this morning,” Anne says.
“Didn’t she?”
“What did she say?” Anne asks.
“You’re right, she didn’t say anything,” Rasbach admits.
Anne smiles for the first time in the interview, but it’s a bitter smile.
“I have, however, spoken to one of your old schoolmates. A Janice Foegle.”
Anne goes completely still, like an animal in the wild sensing a predator. Then she stands up abruptly, her chair scraping the floor behind her, taking Rasbach and Jennings by surprise. “I have nothing more to say,” she tells them.
Anne joins Marco in the lobby. Marco notices her distress, and puts his arm protectively around her. Anne can feel Rasbach’s eyes on them, watching as they leave. She says nothing as she and Marco walk out of the station. Once they’re on the street and hailing a cab, she says, “I think it’s time we got a lawyer.”
? ? ?
Rasbach is putting pressure on them, and it doesn’t look as if he’s going to let up. It has come to the point that even though they haven’t been charged, they know they’re being treated like suspects.
Marco is anxious about what happened in the interview between Anne and Detective Rasbach. There was panic in her eyes when she came out. Something in that interview had rattled her enough to make her want to get a lawyer as soon as possible. He tried to find out what it was, but she was vague, evasive. What is she not telling him? It’s putting him even more on edge.
When they arrive home and have fought their way past the reporters into the house, Anne suggests they invite her parents over to discuss hiring a lawyer.
“Why do we need to have your parents over?” Marco says. “We can find a lawyer without their help.”
“A good lawyer will expect a hefty retainer,” Anne points out. Marco shrugs, and she calls her parents.
Richard and Alice arrive soon after. It comes as no great surprise that they’ve already been looking into the best lawyers money can buy.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this, Anne,” her father says.
They are sitting around the kitchen table, the early-afternoon sunlight slanting through the kitchen window and falling across the wooden table. Anne has made a pot of coffee.
“We think it’s a good idea to get a lawyer, too,” Alice says. “You can’t trust the police.”
Anne looks at her. “Why didn’t you tell me they had you in for questioning this morning?”
“There was no need, and I didn’t want to worry you,” Alice says, reaching out and patting Anne’s hand. “All I told them was my name, and that I had nothing to say. I’m not going to let them push me around,” she says. “I was only in there for about five minutes.”
“They questioned me, too,” Richard says. “They didn’t get anything from me either.” He turns his eyes on Marco. “I mean, what can I possibly tell them?”
Marco feels a jolt of fear. He doesn’t trust Richard. But would Richard say anything to the police to stab him in the back?
