“Ms. Moreland, you are not under arrest, at least not at the present,” Billy Collins told Zan as she started for the door. “But I would suggest you wait.”
Zan looked at Charley Shore and he nodded. As she sat back down, to give herself time, Zan asked for a glass of water. While she waited for Collins to get it, she tried to steel herself against making another outburst. Charley had immediately put his arm over the back of her chair again and for a brief moment pressed his hand on her shoulder. But this time she did not find the gesture reassuring.
Why wasn’t he objecting to their insinuations? she asked herself. No, they’re not insinuations. They’re accusations. What good is it to have a lawyer if he won’t defend me against these people?
She turned her chair a little to the left to avoid having to look directly at Detective Dean, then realized that Dean was looking down into a notebook that she had taken from her pocket.
Billy Collins returned with the glass of water and took his seat across the table from Zan. “Ms. Moreland—”
Zan interrupted him. “I would like to speak with my lawyer privately,” she said.
Collins and Dean stood up immediately. “We’ll get a cup of coffee,” Collins told her. “Why don’t we come back in fifteen minutes?”
The second the door closed, Zan yanked her chair to face Charley Shore directly. “Why are you letting them attack me with those accusations?” she demanded. “Why aren’t you taking my part? You’re just sitting there and patting my shoulder and letting them suggest that I kidnapped my child and brought him back to that town house and locked him in the storage room.”
“Zan, I understand how you feel,” Charley Shore said. “I have to do it this way. I need to know everything they’ll be using to try to build a case against you. If they don’t ask those questions, we won’t be able to start building a defense.”
“Do you think they’re going to arrest me?”
“Zan, I’m sorry to tell you that I believe they will get a warrant for your arrest. Maybe not today but definitely within the next few days. My concern is what charges they may bring against you. Obstruction of justice. Perjury. Depriving your ex of his parental rights. I don’t know whether they’d go so far as to charge you with kidnapping since you’re the mother, but they may. You just told them that Matthew spoke to you today.”
“They knew what I meant.”
“You think that they know what you meant. They may be deciding that you were on the phone with Matthew.” Looking at Zan’s stunned expression, Charley added, “Zan, we have to anticipate the worst-case scenario. And I need you to trust me.”
They passed the next ten minutes in silence. When the detectives returned to the room, Collins asked, “Do you want more time?”
“No, we don’t,” Charley Shore answered.
“Then let’s talk about Tiffany Shields, Ms. Moreland. How often did she babysit for Matthew?”
It was an unexpected question, but easy to answer. “Not that often, just sometimes. Her father is the superintendent of the apartment building where I lived when Matthew was born and until six months after he disappeared. His original nanny, Gretchen, was off on weekends, which was fine with me, because I liked to take care of Matthew myself. But after he was past the infant stage, if I did go out for the evening after he was in bed, Tiffany stayed with him.”
“Did you like Tiffany?” Detective Dean asked.
“Of course I did. I thought she was a very intelligent, sweet girl and it was clear she loved Matthew. Sometimes on a weekend if I was taking him to the park, she’d come along to keep me company.”
“Was your friendship so close that you gave her presents?” Collins asked.
“I wouldn’t call them presents. Tiffany is pretty much my size, and sometimes when I was going through my closet and realized I had a jacket or scarf or blouse that I hadn’t worn in a while and that I thought she’d like to have, I’d offer it to her.”
“Did you consider her to be a careful babysitter?”
“I never would have left my child with her if I didn’t think so. That is, of course, until that terrible day when she fell asleep in the park.”
“You knew Tiffany had a cold, wasn’t feeling well, and did not want to babysit that day,” Detective Dean snapped. “Wasn’t there anyone else you could have called to help you out?”
“No one who lives close enough to drop everything and rush over. Besides that, almost all of my friends are in the same business I’m in. They’re working. You have to realize I was frantic. You just don’t call someone like Nina Aldrich and break an appointment at the last minute. I had put untold hours into my sketches and designs for the town house and it wouldn’t have been unlike her to dismiss me if I had made that call. I only wish to God I had made it.”
Zan knew that even though she was trying to follow Charley Shore’s instructions that he wanted to know where the detectives were going with their questions, it was impossible to conceal the nervous tremor in her voice. Why were they asking her all these questions about Tiffany Shields?
“So Tiffany reluctantly said she would help you out, and came to your apartment?” Detective Dean said, her tone level and without emotion.
“Yes.”
“Where was Matthew?”
“He was asleep in the stroller. Because the weather was so warm overnight I had left his window open, and he woke up that morning at five o’clock from the racket the sanitation trucks were making. He usually sleeps until seven, but he didn’t go back to sleep that morning and we got up and had breakfast very early. That was why I gave him an early lunch, and because Tiffany was coming to get him, I laid him down in the stroller and he was out like a light.”
“What time would you say it was when you put him in the stroller?” Collins asked.
“I would say about noon. Right after I fed him.”
“And what time did Tiffany come to your apartment?”
“Around 12:30.”
“He was asleep when Tiffany came to get him, and he was still asleep when he was lifted out of the stroller approximately an hour and a half later.” Now there was no mistaking the sneer in Jennifer Dean’s voice. “But you didn’t bother to strap him in, did you?”
“I had planned to fasten the strap when Tiffany came.”
“But you didn’t do it.”
“I had covered Matthew with a light cotton blanket. I asked Tiffany to make sure the strap was fastened before we left the apartment.”
“You were in too much of a rush to make sure your only child was secure in the stroller?”
Zan knew she was about to start screaming in frustration at the detective. She’s twisting everything I’m telling her, she thought. But then she again felt the firm pressure of Charley Shore’s hand on her shoulder and knew he was warning her. She looked straight into Dean’s impassive face. “When Tiffany came up, it was obvious she didn’t feel well. I told her that I had put an extra blanket at the foot of the stroller so that if she couldn’t find a bench in a quiet place where Matthew could nap, she could spread it on the grass and sit on it.”
“Didn’t you also offer her a Pepsi?” Detective Collins asked.
“Yes, Tiffany said she was thirsty.”
“What else was in the Pepsi?” Dean snapped.
“Nothing. What are you getting at?” Zan demanded.
“Did you give Tiffany Shields anything else? She believes you put something in that soda to make her pass out once she sat down on the grass in Central Park. And you gave her a sedative instead of a cold pill.”
“You’ve got to be out of your minds,” Zan shouted.
“No, we’re not,” Detective Dean said scornfully. “You portray yourself as being so kind, Ms. Moreland. Isn’t it a fact that this child was getting in the way of your precious career? I’ve got kids. They’re in high school now, but I remember the nightmare it was if they woke up too early and were cranky for the day. Your career was all that mattered to you, wasn’t it? This unexpected little treasure from heaven was getting to be a pain in the butt, and you knew you had the ideal situation to take care of it.”
Detective Dean stood up and pointed her finger at Zan. “You deliberately went to Nina Aldrich’s town house when she was expecting you at her home on Beekman Place. You went to the town house with all your sketches and fabrics and left them there. Then you walked to the park knowing that it wouldn’t be long before Tiffany passed out. You saw your chance and you got it. You grabbed your child and took him back to that nice big, empty town house and hid him in that storage space behind the wine cellar. The question is, what did you do to him, Ms. Moreland? What did you do to him?”
“I object!” Charley Shore shouted and pulled Zan up from her chair. “We’re out of here now,” he said. “Are you two through with us?”
Billy Collins smiled indulgently. “Yes, counselor. But we do want the names and addresses of the two people you mentioned, Alvirah and the priest. And let me offer a suggestion. Maybe if Ms. Moreland hears her son’s voice again real soon, she can tell him—and whoever is hiding him—that it’s time for him to come home.”