Josh was already in the office when Zan arrived at eight A.M. Thursday morning. From the expression on his face, she knew immediately that something else had happened. By now too numb to feel anything except cold acceptance, she merely asked, “What is it?”
“Zan, you told me that Kevin Wilson agreed to hold off on deciding between you and Bartley over those model apartments.”
“Yes. But I know with those pictures in this morning’s papers of me being carried out to the ambulance yesterday, it’s all over for that job. I’ll be surprised if everything I left with him isn’t back here before noon.”
“Zan,” Josh said passionately, “that’s probably true, but it’s not what I’m talking about. Zan, how could you have ordered all the fabrics and furniture and wall hangings for those apartments before you got the okay on the job?”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Zan said flatly.
“Zan, I wish I were. You put the order in for the fabrics and the wall hangings and the custom furniture and the fixtures. My God, you’ve ordered everything. We’ve got delivery notices on the fabrics. Forget the money! Where are we going to put all that stuff?”
“They never would have begun delivering without being paid,” she said. This, at least, I can prove is a mistake, Zan thought frantically.
“Zan, I called Wallington Fabrics. They have a letter from you requesting deferment of the usual ten percent down because time is of the essence, and saying you’ll be able to pay in full as soon as the contract with Kevin Wilson comes in. You claim he’s already signed it, and the check will be arriving very soon.”
Josh grabbed a paper from his desk. “I asked them to fax me a copy of the letter. Here it is. On our stationery and that’s your signature.”
“I didn’t sign that letter,” Zan said. “I swear on my life that I didn’t sign that letter, and I didn’t order anything for those model apartments. Absolutely all I ever took from any of our suppliers were the upholstery fabric, drapery and wall hanging samples, and pictures of the furniture and Persian carpets and window treatments that I would use if we got the job.”
“Zan,” Josh began, then shook his head. “Look, I love you like you’re my own sister. We’ve got to call Charley Shore right now. When I phoned Wallington Fabrics, I thought someone had made a mistake. Now they’re going to start worrying about getting paid. And you did send minimal deposits to hold the carpets and some of the antiques. You must have written the checks from your personal account.”
“I didn’t sign that letter,” Zan said, her voice now quiet. “I didn’t write any checks from my personal account. And I am not crazy.” She saw the look of combined disbelief and concern on the face of her associate. “Josh, I accept your resignation. If this is going to turn out to be a scandal with our suppliers suing us, I don’t want you caught in it. They might accuse you of being in some kind of rip-off scheme along with me. So why don’t you get your stuff together and take off?”
As he stared at her, she added, sarcastically, “Admit it. You think I kidnapped my own son and that I’ve lost my mind. Who knows, maybe I’m dangerous? Maybe I’ll clobber you over the head when your back is turned.”
“Zan,” Josh snapped. “I’m not leaving you, and I’m going to find a way to help you.”
The phone rang, a sharp, ominous sound. Josh picked up the receiver, listened, then said, “She’s not here yet. I’ll give her the message.”
Zan watched as Josh scribbled a phone number. When he hung up, he said, “Zan, that was Detective Billy Collins. He wants you to come to the Central Park Precinct with your lawyer today, as soon as possible. I’m going to call Charley Shore right now. It’s early but he told me he always gets to his office by 7:30.”
Yesterday I fainted, Zan thought. I can’t, I won’t, do that again.
During the night, after Willy dropped her off, she lay in bed in quiet, absolute despair, a single light shining on Matthew’s picture again. For some reason, the look of compassion in the eyes of the priest who was Alvirah’s friend kept coming back to her. I was rude to him, she thought, but I could feel that he wanted to help me. He said he’d pray for me, but I told him to pray for Matthew instead. When he took my hands, it felt as though he were blessing me. Maybe what he was doing was helping me to face the truth?
All night long, except for brief periods when she dozed off, Zan had kept her vigil, looking at Matthew’s picture. As dawn was breaking she said quietly, “Little guy, I don’t believe that you’re still alive. I’ve always sworn that I would know if you were dead, but I’ve been fooling myself. You are dead, and it’s over for me, too. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t fight anymore. I guess in my soul, all these many months, I’ve really believed that you were grabbed by a predator who abused and then killed you. I wouldn’t have thought I would come to this, but there is a bottle of sleeping pills in this drawer that will bring us back together. It’s time to take them.”
A sense of relief and exhaustion had come over her, and she finally closed her eyes. With Fr. Aiden’s face before her, she had prayed for forgiveness and understanding before she reached for the pills.
It was then that she heard Matthew’s voice calling out to her. “Mommy, Mommy.” She had leapt up from the bed screaming, “Matthew! Matthew!” In that moment, against all rational belief, she knew with absolute certainty that her little boy was still alive.
Matthew is alive, she thought fiercely, as she heard Josh talking to Charley Shore. When he replaced the receiver, Josh said, “Detective Collins wants to question you this morning. Mr. Shore will pick you up at 10:30.”
Zan nodded. “You said that I must have paid any deposits on the furnishings for the model apartments out of my savings account. Pull my bank account up for me on the computer.”
“I don’t have the password for your account.”
“You’ll have it now. It’s ‘Matthew.’ I have a little over twenty-seven thousand dollars in it.”
Josh sat down in front of the computer and began to send his fingers flying across the keyboard.
Zan saw the expression on his face, troubled, but not surprised. “What is my balance?” she asked.
“Two hundred thirty-three dollars and eleven cents.”
“Then there is a computer hacker at work,” she said flatly.
Josh ignored that. “Zan, what are we going to do about all the orders you placed?” he asked.
“You mean, what are we going to do about all the orders I didn’t place,” Zan said. “Look, Josh, I’m not afraid to go to the police station and talk with Detective Collins. I believe there is an answer to all this. Somebody hates me enough to try and destroy me, and his name is Bartley Longe. I told Detective Collins and his partner about him when Matthew disappeared. They didn’t take me seriously. I know they didn’t. But if Bartley hates me enough to try to destroy my reputation and my business, I think he may hate me enough to kidnap my son and maybe turn him over to a friend who wanted a child.”
“Zan, don’t repeat that to the cops. They’ll turn that kind of talk against you in a heartbeat,” Josh implored.
The intercom phone rang. Josh picked up the receiver. It was the service manager of the building. “Shipment arriving for you. It’s a large load and pretty heavy.”
Ten minutes later twenty long rolls of fabric were delivered to the office. Zan and Josh had to push the desk to one side and pile the chairs in the back room in order to make room for it. When the delivery men left, Josh opened the statement that was attached to one of the rolls and read it aloud. “One hundred yards of discontinued fabric at one hundred and twenty-five dollars a yard. Special arrangement nonrefundable purchase agreement. Full payment due within ten days. Total including tax, thirteen thousand eight hundred and seventy-four dollars.”
He looked at Zan. “We have forty thousand dollars in the bank and sixteen thousand in accounts receivable. You’ve been concentrating so much on the model apartments, you haven’t done anything on at least four of the smaller jobs we have lined up. The rent is due next week and so is the payment on the start-up loan you got to open this place, to say nothing of the usual overhead and our salaries.”
The phone rang again. This time Josh made no effort to answer, and Zan hurried to pick it up. It was Ted. His voice bitter and angry, he snarled, “Zan, I’m on my way to meet Detective Collins. I have rights as Matthew’s father, rights that you have willfully taken from me. I am going to insist that they arrest you immediately, and I’ll move heaven and earth to make you tell me what you have done with my son.”