

### About the book

Matt and Zoé's baby, Jack, needs urgent treatment in a New York specialist clinic. Before treatment can start, baby Jack is snatched. Has Jack been taken for ransom, for body parts, by a weird cult for indoctrination? A man claiming to be an ex-cop offers to help, as does Simon Urquet (from Hands of the Traitor), and Archbishop Stephen Valdieri who is now ex-Archbishop Stephen Valdieri (from Hands of the Healer). Finding the baby still alive means a race against time. Zoé thinks that her mother's instinct will lead them to baby Jack, but she has to admit that she and Matt are, in her words, chasing the wild goose. Matt believes he has the answer, annoyed with himself for not putting the clues together sooner. But even that lead seems to finish at a dead end. And all the time the clock is ticking because Jack is not getting his urgent treatment \-- assuming he's still alive.

Eyes of the Innocent

### by

Christopher Wright

©Christopher Wright 2016

### A Matt Rider Thriller #4

Eyes of the Innocent is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

### North View Publishing

email: northviewpublishing@gmail.com

Latest books by Christopher Wright and other authors, and updates are on:

www.northviewpublishing.com

### Contents

Cover

About the book

Author's Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

More thrillers from North View Publishing

Author's Note

My original intention was to write just three Matt Rider thrillers, but readers of Academy of the Dead have asked what happened after the incident on Masaryk Railway Station in Prague at the very end of that book. I have often wondered too. So I thought I'd write this book so we could all find out.

Eyes of the Innocent reintroduces two characters from previous Matt Rider books: Archbishop Stephen Valdieri who played a prominent role in Shroud of the Healer, and lawyer Simon Urquet from Hands of the Traitor who is still working for DCI.

The four Matt Rider stories follow on from each other in time, irrespective of the year in which they were first published. Hands of the Traitor was first published in 2004 and reflects the technology available at a time when the Internet was more basic. Digital cameras were slowly replacing film cameras, even though the picture quality was generally inferior; computers were slow; and cell phones (called mobiles in some parts of the world) were simply for making calls, with no advanced operating systems like today's smartphones with thousands of apps we take for granted. The world of technology has certainly made amazing advances, and it's easy to imagine these things have been around a lot longer than they really have.

Although Eyes of the Innocent has only just been written, it follows on a few months from the third Matt Rider thriller, Academy of the Dead. So the technology available to Matt Rider in Eyes of the Innocent has to be the technology of that period. A small photographic drone, steered by a TV camera, would have been a great help at one stage. And proton beam (not photon beam) treatment for cancer was very much in the experimental stage.

Christopher Wright

### Prologue

East Coast USA

"Just look at his eyes," she said. "They are so innocent." Then she burst into tears.

He held her tightly around her shaking body. She must suffer no longer. He would risk anything to find a solution. He stared at the little baby's white clothing. It reminded him of a shroud. And the cradle was like a baby's casket.

"Dry your eyes," he said. "I will find a way. You must trust me."

### Chapter 1

**England**

Had he made his presence obvious? Matt Rider tried not to look too closely at the man who passed him under the streetlight for the third time. He was aware of unease on the man's face. Matt knew from experience that it wasn't easy being inconspicuous, but he had to take as many photographs as he could, and if possible get a recording of any conversation that followed, assuming the man met up with someone.

He'd already checked out the digital camera under the street light the previous night. Although the results were noisy from lack of light, they were adequate, so the camera was doing its intended job. He felt suitably dressed. Old jeans and a worn zip jacket -- his usual clothing. The target looked far too smartly dressed for this part of town. Maybe that explained his unease.

The man waved a hand almost imperceptibly. Another smartly dressed man approached, nodding. Matt opened his backpack and removed a Coke can. He raised it as though taking a drink and took a picture with the digital camera concealed inside. This was what he'd come to do. Holding up a camera would have been stupid. The camera in the Coke can was sheer genius. Well, it was if it worked successfully.

The two men entered the Kingfisher Grill, and Matt followed. He'd not expected this, but things might work in his favor. They ordered coffee, and Matt collected a genuine can of Coke from the fridge, paid for it and placed it on the table as he sat down next to the two men. He pretended to take a drink from it, then discretely switched the can for one in his backpack, the one containing the camera. A couple of photos with it and he carefully switched it for the can with the digital voice recorder.

The two suspects definitely seemed anxious, glancing over in his direction. No way would they know who he was, but the safest thing to do was go out for a few minutes. The can of Coke would carry on recording their conversation.

Placing the can on the table he told the waiter he was coming back and to leave the Coke there. He crossed the street where he entered the local late night convenience-store, watching from the window. As soon as the men left the café he would retrieve the can. The store owner regarded him with a certain amount of suspicion. Maybe he should say something.

"A friend over there in the Kingfisher Grill," Matt explained. "I don't want him to see me. He talks too much."

"A friend?" The owner shrugged before turning his attention to rearranging the adult magazines on the top shelf, shaking his head.

The second man called the waiter over and seemed to be placing an order. The waiter glanced over at the Coke can. Matt felt his heart racing. The waiter -- well, he was probably the owner -- went to Matt's table, shook the can and frowned. It would have felt full. He cleared it from the table in spite of Matt's instructions.

Matt felt his pulse rise.

The waiter took it behind the serving counter without examining the can, and the two suspects carried on talking. Matt started for the door, checked himself and sighed. Oh well, no one said PI work was all play. When the café closed, he would be having a very messy experience in the tall bins round the back.

***

Matt nodded knowingly. Here, in the cold light of day in the office of Habgood Securities, last night's episode with the garbage seemed almost funny. "We nearly lost a digital recorder," he said.

"You nearly lost it," Ken Habgood snapped.

Matt shrugged. "Me, we, you, it's all the same. What I should have said is Habgood Securities nearly lost it."

"Matt Rider," Ken said firmly, "you need to learn to be careful with my equipment."

Matt pointed to the computer -- the new computer that Ken had recently bought under protest when smoke had finally signaled the death of the one Matt said had been used by Queen Victoria to keep count of the number of her children. "I only got a few minutes' sound recording before the waiter cleared the table. The pics from the camera are good. Look at this one of the two men talking together. Couple that with the sound, and our client will be pleased."

"I'll email the file to him." Ken seemed to be softening a little. Matt was used to his boss's occasional outbursts. He'd been with Habgood Securities for almost five years now -- since leaving the police force in a hurry.

"Good idea, Ken. I'll make some coffee."

Ken pursed his lips. "Actually, I'd rather you send the file, Matt. I'm a little busy."

Matt shook his head slowly. "You don't know how to do it," he said accusingly.

"Well, I'm not too sure with this new model..."

"You couldn't do it with the old computer."

"I could send emails."

"Not with attachments."

Ken didn't smile, but he seemed to be taking the banter in good heart. "It's what I pay you for."

"Like slaves get paid, you mean?"

"Just do it, Matt. Our client will be waiting."

Matt checked the file size. Much too large to attach. Ken still had dial-up. "Phone him and tell him there are some photographs, and about eight minutes of useful sound." There were nearly two hours of sound. Most of it sounded like rats scrabbling around in the rubbish, and probably was. "I'll put everything on a CD. We can mail it to him, or he can pick it up from here if he wants it urgently. Let me sit at your desk while I do it."

Ken moved somewhat reluctantly and Matt brought up their client's email address and wrote a quick note letting him know that the pictures and audio file from yesterday were now on a CD. The photographs showed the two men clearly enough to identify them, and there were several minute's recording of their conversation. Ken said he should have sent the email himself, explaining to the client how 'his man', under his guidance, had managed to get exactly what was wanted.

Matt said it was too late. The email had already gone.

Footsteps on the stairs announced an approaching visitor. If Ken invested in a CCTV system they'd know who was coming -- and sometimes be prepared for an angry encounter.

A friendly voice called out, "Is anyone in?" It sounded American.

Matt knew the voice even before the man reached the top. Not that he was ever expecting to see him again. It had been more than two years since Simon Urquet had been here. Simon Urquet of DCI. Domestic Chemical International of Switzerland and America. The company had managed to survive, in spite of Matt killing off the top company men. Well, not killing them off exactly. Their deaths were of their own making. That's how the French police saw it at the time, and Matt was happy that they'd never changed their views on that. Simon Urquet had a reassuring way of dealing with the police. Not that he was likely to need Urquet's services again, but it was good to know.

"Company going well?" Ken asked, going forward to welcome the American visitor. His face beamed. "Any work for us in America?"

Matt stood too, leaving Ken red captain's chair empty.

"I came to discuss some sort of reward, courtesy of DCI," Urquet explained, sitting in Ken's chair.

"A reward?" Ken asked, looking anxiously at his chair, but was obviously unwilling to upset the bearer of gifts.

"A reward for Mr. and Mrs. Rider," Urquet said. "For Matt and Zoé." He smiled at Matt. "Are you keeping well?"

"We've got a baby now," Matt told him. "He's nearly a month old. Jack."

"A boy," Ken explained.

"I expect Simon guessed that," Matt said, raising his eyes in despair. "Zoé's not feeling at all happy. I think it's postnatal depression."

Ken looked awkward. "That's women's talk," he mumbled.

Urquet picked up an empty juice carton from Ken's desk and examined it closely. "This some sort of surveillance device?"

"How did you guess?" Ken asked.

Urquet shrugged. "The large hole in the side is a bit of a giveaway."

Ken looked embarrassed. "You don't see the hole when the camera's in there. Well, not unless you're looking for it. Anyway, that's a prototype. The hole isn't neat. I cut it out with a blunt knife, just to see if the idea would work."

Matt pointed to the carton. "Not too blunt."

Urquet examined it closely. "That explains what looks like dried blood around the hole," he said dryly.

"It's a prototype," Ken repeated. "I asked Matt to develop the idea into a Coke can where we can fit either a digital camera or a miniature voice recorder. Matt got some great results with our cans yesterday. Great idea of mine. It's all on the computer now."

"You lift it to your mouth as though taking a drink," Matt explained, deciding to let Ken take the credit for the sake of peace. "You squeeze it in the right place, and it automatically takes a digital snap of anyone who's alongside. The sound recorder can be left running in the other can. It's digital so it runs for a couple of hours."

Ken was not to be outdone. "We got a recording of their voices. Two men met up to share company secrets. It's the sort of work we go in for."

Matt let it pass. Mostly they seemed to be following errant husbands and wives who forgot they were already married. "You mentioned DCI and a reward," he reminded Urquet.

More footsteps on the stairs. A woman's shoes, going slowly.

"That will be our client now, coming for the results," Ken said. "That was quick."

Zoé appeared, carrying baby Jack.

"I didn't expect you," Matt said in surprise. "Remember Simon Urquet?"

Zoé looked too worried to notice their visitor from DCI. "Jack he is ill," she said quietly.

Matt looked at Jack and was unable to see anything obvious. "A temperature?"

"It is his eye, Matt." Zoé's French accent always sounded strong when she was worked up.

"The GP told us not to worry about his eye colors," Matt reminded her. With her depression, Zoé was liable to get upset about nothing.

Urquet looked closely at Jack's eyes. "One blue and one green. Sure is distinctive. And I really love his hair style."

"The eyes are certainly unusual," Matt agreed. "It's called heterochromia, but it's harmless."

"He can always wear colored contact lenses when he's older," Ken added helpfully. "And his hair will keep the sun out his eyes."

The mass of dark hair growing forward like the peak of a cap was unusual, but not a problem. Gel would fix it back if it stayed like that, but Matt had been concerned about school kids teasing Jack for his eyes, but it now seemed there was something to really worry about.

"No, Matt, it is not the blue and the green eye. I think..." Zoé paused for breath, and Matt took Jack from her in case she did something careless. "I think it is a very big problem. Retinoblastoma, perhaps. It is a cancer that killed my little niece in Clermont-Ferrand when she was only seven months old."

Matt sighed. "There's nothing wrong with Jack. You've got to stop worrying, Zoé." The GP had diagnosed postnatal depression. That was what was wrong. Nothing to do with baby Jack's eyes. "Simon Urquet has come to see us."

Zoé seemed to notice the visitor for the first time. She nodded, then pointed to Jack. "It is serious, I tell you, Matt. I have collected the photos you took yesterday of me and Jack. On three of them the reflection from Jack's left eye is white."

"Red-eye," Matt said. "It's the flash. I can fix it on the computer."

"This is white, Matt. It is not the same -- so you know nothing. Rien du tout." She sounded even more French.

"What do you want me to do, Zoé?"

"Go home, Matt" Ken interrupted. "Keep the little lady happy, and have a look at those photos."

"I'll catch up with you both later," Urquet said. "Nothing's sorted yet, anyway. Just wanted to tip you both off."

Zoé seemed hesitant. "I need to change Jack," she said quietly.

Ken shook his head. "Better not do it here, Zoé. I'm not sure our washroom is clean enough for a baby."

"It is not," Zoé agreed. "I had to use it once."

Matt got ready to leave. "Zoé isn't using the washroom, Ken. You'd better move. She's about to change Jack on your desk."

### Chapter 2

Zoé sat in the chair after their meal, crying. "It is as I thought," she said through her tears for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. At least she was holding baby Jack securely.

Matt felt numb. Okay, so their local GP wasn't one hundred percent sure at their emergency appointment, but they'd know in the morning when they visited the local hospital to see a consultant specialist. Their own GP had taken everything seriously and had rung the hospital to arrange a scan. Retinoblastoma. Matt had already looked it up on the Internet and could understand why Zoé was so upset. The tumour usually developed before the age of five, and the medical website said some children were born with retinoblastoma. Right -- Jack, for one. For the first time he could see the full reason for the death of Zoé's niece, which her aunt had simply called cancer.

He glanced at his watch. "I have to be going soon."

"Going?"

"I told you at tea. Ken wants me to follow up on those two men tonight. The company knows that they'll be at the----"

Zoé stood up, nearly dropping Jack. "You think your Ken is more important than me?" Her eyes flashed.

"Not more important, but..."

"You will phone Ken Habgood and tell him about the GP."

He should have seen this coming, and Zoé was right. "Okay, the family comes first. I'll phone him now."

Zoé sat down again, almost smiling. Matt went across and gave her a hug. "Is it okay if I get back on the Internet after I've phoned Ken?"

"You will not find out anything more, Matt. It is a serious cancer. We do not need to be told that again."

"I was thinking about finding a specialist clinic."

Zoé dabbed her eyes with a tissue, holding Jack firmly with her other arm. "You do not think our local hospital knows what to do? You must remember, I work there as a nurse."

"Do they specialize in eye problems in young children?"

"We have a pediatric department."

"For treatment of eye cancers? Okay, okay. Let me phone Ken at his home. He's not going to like it, but you and baby Jack need me here. Definitely."

Zoé seemed more absorbed in Jack than in Matt as he made the call. Ken sounded remarkably understanding, although he clearly had no intention of carrying out the surveillance himself that night, or indeed any other night. Matt put the phone down. He had more to worry about than an upset client.

He sat at the computer with a coffee. Zoé didn't want a drink. All she wanted to do was watch baby Jack who was now lying peacefully in his navy blue crib on its wooden rocker, staring at the colored toys strung across in front of his eyes. Jack was clearly oblivious to the anxiety of his parents.

Retinoblastoma. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all. Lots of sites came up in his online search, and the consensus seemed to be that nine out of ten sufferers were cured, although in some cases there was a need to remove the eye. Nine out of ten sounded good. Not so good for the odd one out.

Jack suddenly started crying. He shook his head, looked at Zoé, and decided he needed to pull himself together. One of them had to stay on top during this ordeal.

"Leave him to me," Zoé said quietly, reaching forward to lift Jack gently from the crib. "Have you found anything useful, Dr. Rider?"

He let the title pass without comment. "Nine out of ten recover."

"That is something I already know. Me, I am a nurse. But what happens if our baby is number ten?"

"There's a specialist clinic in New York that just about guarantees one hundred percent success on treating small children for cancer."

Zoé gave a hollow laugh. "I think we had enough of clinics that promise one hundred percent success when we were in Avignon. I nearly died on the operating table."

"But this one's in America, not France. And it's not the same team running it. Anyway, you were nearly killed there for snooping. You won't be getting any more problems from those two surgeons. They're dead."

Zoé was rocking Jack in her arms in what looked like a careful, motherly way. Her depression seemed to have lifted slightly, in spite of her concern about the ten percent failure rate. Certainly she was very unpredictable at the moment. "You can stop reading about it," she said quietly. "We could not afford the treatment in America."
Chapter 3

Three days later, the second specialist they had seen moved away from the baby lying in a blanket on the table. "Please," he said, "you must stay seated. We have now carried out all the tests and there is no easy way to say this, so I will come straight to the point. As you probably know, the majority of small children will make a complete recovery. However, in this case I'm afraid it will be necessary to remove----"

"No!" Zoé jumped to her feet and snatched baby Jack from the table where the specialist had been examining his eyes. "There is no way I will let you remove the eye of my baby."

Matt reached Zoé before the consultant could even move, terrified that she was about to do something reckless. "Zoé, Zoé," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle, "Dr. Jones specializes in retinoblastoma in children. That's why we're here."

Zoé clutched Jack so tightly that he started to cry.

"Mrs. Rider," the specialist said soothingly, "we will provide all the care and counseling that you and your husband are going to need at this very difficult time."

Zoé shook her head. "You are not listening to me," she said. "There is no way you are removing his eye."

Matt tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she pushed him away. "Zoé, please, we have to talk about this. There may be a way."

The specialist frowned. "Mr. Rider, you asked for a second opinion, and I am telling you that the first specialist you saw at your local hospital gave an accurate diagnosis. I'm sorry, but there's no other way to put this. If we do not take action immediately, the cancer will spread to his brain and your little baby will be dead within three to six months. I am adamant that there is no alternative to removal of the eye. He will grow up strong and healthy, and will naturally adapt to mono vision because he will know no other."

"He will not adapt, because he will always have both eyes. I know it," Zoé snapped, "so we will talk about it no more."

Matt bit his lip, and this time was successful in putting a hand on Zoé's shoulder. "We'll talk about this privately," he said. He looked at the specialist. "Will you give us a few minutes, please?"

The man seemed only too relieved. "Of course, of course. If you would like to stay in here and talk alone, I'll call back in a few minutes." He glanced at baby Jack. "I'm sure he will be safe with you both."

Matt understood what Dr. Jones was saying. Yes, baby Jack would definitely be safe while he was around. But with Zoé in this state, would Jack be safe when he went back at work? And that was when he realized there was an answer. "Zoé, Ken has given me the time off while we sort this out, but I need to go to work for half an hour."

He could see Zoé looked devastated. "It is bad enough that baby Jack is so ill, and now you want to go to work? I thought you would be more understanding than that."

He'd probably not worded it very well. He'd have another go. "Zoé, I think I have the answer to Jack's medical treatment. You can come to work with me. Just for five minutes. All I need to do is get Ken's opinion on something."

"Always you are thinking of your wonderful Ken. What does he know about the eyes?"

"I work for Ken because we need the money. Especially now we have the baby. But this isn't about work. It's about what we did in France."

"Avignon? Matt, that clinic is closed. We have already been through all that."

"This is about America. Remember the Heinmans and their Berlitzan Oil when we first met? I think the Heinmans are about to help us."

Zoé burst into tears. "The Heinmans are dead. Dead, dead, dead!" she screamed. "And so will our baby be dead soon."

The door of the consulting room opened and a nurse put her head round. "I'm sure this is a very difficult time for you both," she said with a certain amount of attitude, "but you must be mindful of other patients outside in the waiting room."

"It is my husband," Zoé wailed. "He has gone mad. I am sorry I ever came to England and met him."

***

"Ken, I have to be really quick. Zoé's outside in the car with Jack. She won't come in but this is really important. You remember when Simon Urquet was here a couple of days ago."

Ken's eyes lit up. "And he promised us a reward for saving DCI."

"Wrong. He promised me and Zoé a reward. We're the ones who put our lives on the line with that wretched Berlitzan Oil the Heinmans made. Simon left his contact number here. I need it. I know exactly what reward we want."

"Something to do with the baby, kiddo?"

"Yes, I want Jack to have treatment in America. There's a clinic in New York that specializes in treating cancer in small children. They've got some brand new kit that focuses a tiny beam onto the..."

"Say no more." Ken gave a look of disgust and shook his head. "You know I don't have a stomach from medical details. Especially when it involves eyes. Here's Mr. Urquet's card. Use the Swiss number. After you dashed off, he said he was going to the DCI office in Switzerland and would be in touch later. Now go down and check on the little lady."

Matt took the card. "Thanks, Ken." He hurried down the stairs with Zoé's words still ringing in his mind. I am sorry I ever came to England and met him.

He stopped for a moment in the office yard and looked at his new car. Well, it was far from new, but a reasonable replacement for the orange Mini that finally failed to pass its annual test.

The white and spotty-rust-colored Ford Fiesta was parked with the window down. Zoé was in the back with Jack who was still strapped into his baby seat. She was on the phone and hadn't seen him.

As he went forward to tell her the good news about being able to contact Simon Urquet, he heard Zoé say the name Florian. He couldn't catch all the words but it seemed she was talking to her old boyfriend in France. Her ex-fiancé. Again he recalled Zoé's words: I am sorry I ever came to England and met him, although she wasn't saying it now.

If she really was talking to Florian, he had to put an end to it. He went to the car and jumped into the driving seat. Zoé immediately finished the call. He wasn't going to say anything about it yet. Yes he was. There was no point in worrying. It had to be brought out into the open.

"Was that France you were calling?"

"You were listening?"

He detected a certain amount of hostility in the question. "You had the window down."

"Yes, France."

"Your parents?"

Zoé made a noncommittal grunt.

"Everything okay with them?"

Another grunt that could have conveyed anything. Okay, he'd leave it for now. Anyway, it was possible that Zoé was talking to her parents in the Auvergne, and they might have said something about Florian. No, he couldn't make himself believe that.

Zoé leaned forward from the back seat. "Well," she demanded, "what did your precious Ken have to say?"

"Let's go home. I have to phone Simon Urquet. Ken's given me his number."

He put the car into reverse. It made a crunching sound, but so far the Ford Fiesta had proved reliable. He felt sick. Sick because of the diagnosis from the consultant specialist, and sick from thinking that Zoé had been in touch with her old boyfriend in France. And how long had she been contacting him? This might have been going on for ages.
Chapter 4

The sun shone while Matt took a walk around their small back garden showing Jack the plants. Although the baby was much too young to understand what he was seeing, Matt wanted him to take an interest in the world. But Jack was strangely quiet for such a small baby.

Zoé had stayed indoors and closed the back door, making Matt suspicious. Especially when he could hear her talking on the phone. He felt trapped in an ethical dilemma. No way was he going to check the call record on Zoé's phone. Well, not yet. But it couldn't hurt to move closer to the house and hear what she was saying.

Again he could hear the name Florian, and what for a moment sounded like Zoé giving instructions for finding their house. He picked out the French word for unhappy, malheureux, and something about being desperate. In her depression, could Zoé be planning to return to France to be with Florian Lefarge? And if she was, would she take Jack with her? Or even worse, in her depression do something to Jack before leaving?

He had to keep Zoé here and try to help her, as well as protecting their baby. Even if Zoé was in touch with Florian, and it certainly sounded as if she was, they could hardly have an affair over the phone. He thought of the jobs he'd done for Ken, checking up for suspicious partners. The enormity of what was happening with those couples hadn't really sunk in before now. Time to go back indoors.

Zoé pressed her phone off as soon as he came into the house, which was suspicious in itself. "Everything okay?" he asked.

Zoé burst into tears and pulled Jack away from Matt's arms. "What are we to do?" she demanded.

"I told you," Matt said, "I have to phone Simon Urquet. I'll do it now. And I don't mind you listening. I'm not the one making confidential phone calls." He wished he'd not added that last bit, but it didn't seem to register with Zoé.

The DCI secretary put him through immediately to Urquet's office in Switzerland. It was as though the call had been expected. Matt explained about Jack and the serious diagnosis.

"I'm sorry, Matt," Simon Urquet said, "but there's nothing in the DCI pharmaceutical inventory that could help, although we have been involved in financing and developing some advanced hardware. I really would like to help, but I can't see a way."

"When you called at Ken's office the other day, you talked about a reward."

"Yes, I did."

"I don't like to ask this, because I don't know what sort of reward DCI have in mind." Matt caught Zoé's eye, and she looked interested. He decided to dive straight in. Simon Urquet could only say no.

"Simon, there seems to be only one line of hope open to us to save Jack's left eye."

"Yes?"

"There's a clinic in New York that claims to have a technique where they can focus a beam of something straight onto individual cancer cells. And that includes eyes."

"Proton beam," Simon Urquet said.

"That's it. They say they've got the only piece of equipment in the States. We can't possibly afford the air fare, let alone the treatment."

Simon Urquet stayed silent for a moment.

"Are you still there, Simon?"

"Yes, still here. I can't make a decision off my own bat, to use an English expression, but I can't see the board being ungenerous. After all, you saved DCI from ruin. It's taken us a couple of years to get back even close to the big players in the pharmaceutical market, but, well, we wouldn't be there without you and Zoé."

"So is that a yes?"

"Proton beam therapy? Apart from any reward, DCI could have a definite interest in Jack's treatment. I suggest you contact the clinic in New York and discuss your baby's diagnosis with them. And check out the airline times. You'll be flying business class. I'll get back to you."
Chapter 5

Later that afternoon Matt answered the door bell while he was still thinking about his call to Simon Urquet. A tall, smartly dressed man stood there saying nothing. Although Matt had never seen the man before, he had a horrible feeling he knew who this was.

"Bonjour," the man said. "My name is Florian Lefarge, and it is important that I speak to Zoé."

It was exactly what he feared. "No, it's not possible."

"Who is it?" Zoé called from the back room. She probably recognized the voice.

"I'll deal with it," Matt called back. Then, "You're not welcome here," he told Zoé's old boyfriend.

The man stood his ground. "I am here to conduct Zoé home to France," he announced. "She has phoned me several times, and although she has not said it, I can tell that you are a bad husband for her."

Matt slammed the door, leaving the visitor outside on the garden path. The noise must have woken Jack who was with Zoé, and he started to cry.

"What have you done?" Zoé shouted. "You have probably hurt Florian, and you have woken the baby. I have had enough."

Someone, presumably it was still Florian, was now knocking on the door.

"Go away," Matt shouted. "Just get back to France where you came from."

Jack continued to cry while Zoé struggled to reach the door catch. "I want to let Florian in. You have been no help at all to me, Matt. What have you done to help me?"

"Help you? I've phoned Simon Urquet and I'm waiting for him to phone me back as soon as he's----"

Zoé managed to reach past him and open the catch. Florian started to push the door open.

"Zoé, my Zoé," Florian called through the half open door, "you must let me in."

Matt pulled the door wide and Florian stumbled into the hallway. Before the Frenchman could get his balance, Matt pushed him hard outside again, and the last sight he had of Casanova was of him falling into the small flower bed. He slammed the door shut again and pulled Zoé away.

"Go and see to Jack," Matt said, rather more harshly than he intended. Zoé had no right inviting the man over.

Zoé, predictably, burst into a flood of tears but went to see to Jack who was now sounding frantic.

Making sure the door was firmly locked, Matt went to join them. "Zoé," he said, trying unsuccessfully to put an arm around her, "don't do anything until I've heard back from Simon Urquet. There's a good chance DCI will pay our airfares to New York and the treatment for Jack at the clinic there. We just have to wait for him to give us the go-ahead. I have to phone the clinic and make a reservation for Jack. Then I'm going to check the flight times."

Zoé stayed still and let Matt put his arm around her without protesting. "I can't do anything more than that, and I need you with me, not swanning off to France. Not even to stay with your parents in the Auvergne."

Zoé seemed to welcome the arm around her shoulder, and even Jack had become silent. The only noise came from the front door where Florian was not only ringing the bell but hammering loudly with his fist.

"You can tell him to go away, Matt. I did not ask him to come here. I wanted to see if I could get treatment for our baby in France. My mother, as usual, thinks she knows everything." She turned to him in amazement. "Surely you did not think I was going to stay with Florian?"

"Well, it certainly sounded like it. I know for a fact you've made several phone calls to him."

"Yes, I did. I thought you would not help me look for treatment in France. I do not feel well enough to make the journey on my own, but Florian said he would get me there safely with Jack. And that is all. Oh, Matt, is it true we might be able to get proton beam therapy in America?"

Matt opened the front door. Florian was still there in his smart, dark gray suit, looking somewhat bedraggled from his fall. "I think there's been a misunderstanding," Matt said. "You'd better come in. Zoé isn't going anywhere with Jack. Not even to her parents. And I am not a bad husband."

Zoé called from the living room. "Matt, it is the phone. Monsieur Urquet, he wishes to speak to you. It is, I think, with the good news."

***

It took only a few minutes for Zoé to persuade Florian to return alone to France, but it took fourteen days to get all the paperwork sorted for their visit to the States, including an emergency passport for Jack. Zoé, now on increased medication for her postnatal depression, proved to be a great help in sorting things out.

She said she was glad to be on maternity leave. The local hospital where she was a nurse hadn't taken kindly to the thought of Jack being taken to America. They even tried to persuade a judge to prevent them from leaving the country, but Urquet's team quickly kicked that one into touch.

During the flight to JFK, Matt became increasingly aware that Zoé's depression was returning, most likely due to Jack not being a brilliant traveler. Conscious of the other business class passengers around them, both he and Zoé had done their best to keep Jack quiet, although at times they had lost the battle. The other passengers would hopefully understand that a baby nearly six weeks old wasn't going to be the quietest person on board.

Thankfully, the airline had gone out of their way to make sure they didn't have to wait at the back of the line for immigration. Even so, it was a lengthy process, but one they passed successfully.

"Look at the press," Matt said pointing to a group of TV cameras and photographers lined up in the arrivals terminal once they had successfully cleared immigration. "I wonder if there was anyone important on our plane."

"No one is more important than baby Jack," Zoé said proudly.

"Mr. Rider. Mrs. Rider. This way please." A reporter pushed a microphone into Matt's face. "Tell us what you think of American health care."

Matt put an arm protectively around Zoé who was carrying Jack in a sling on her front. "I think you've confused us with someone else," he said, forcing a smile in case he was on TV.

Cameras and reporters pushed closer. "Can we see the baby's eyes, please?"

One young reporter with more makeup on than could be good for her skin managed to get to the front. She signaled urgently for her assistant with the television camera to join her.

"Can you push the baby's hair back so we see his eyes?"

The camera came in close before Zoé could do anything. Flash guns fired everywhere. This had to be Urquet's doing. Zoé stood her ground, but quickly turned Jack's face away to shield him with her arm. Matt could see there was no way Zoé was going to let their baby be part of the freak show.

"I don't know why you're here," he said. "We've just had a long flight from England and we're very tired."

"Just a quick statement."

"Do you think the doctors are better here than in England?"

"Do you think your baby looks cute with two different color eyes?"

"Is his hair natural, or is it a wig ? "

"When is the operation?"

"We hear your baby is terminally ill, and will die without treatment in New York. Any comment?"

"Is it right that Domestic Chemicals International are paying for everything, because you have no money?"

"Is your baby going to die anyway?"

Matt had enough of all these questions. He was about to lose his temper and say something he'd regret, when he heard a man calling his name. Pushing his way through the crowd of reporters was Simon Urquet.

"Did you arrange this reception?" Matt demanded.

"We can talk about it in the car," Urquet said. He pushed his way back through the crowd, with Matt pushing the luggage cart, and Zoé with the baby keeping close to him, deliberately avoiding answering the barrage of questions from reporters. Flashes of light marked their path.

A Bentley limousine with a uniformed chauffeur waited in a reserved bay. Matt turned quickly to see if anyone was behind them, wondering for a crazy moment if Florian was here to keep an eye on Zoé. Ridiculous. It must be jetlag.

"Come on, Matt, keep up," Zoé snapped. "I wish we had never come. My mother was right. There are clinics in Europe that could have helped us, and we would not have been the center of attraction."

Zoé seemed to be suffering from jetlag too. Either that, or the medication needed topping up.

"Zoé, we both know that the clinic here in New York is our only hope. They've agreed to do it, and DCI are paying, thanks to Simon. They've had a hand in developing the equipment."

The chauffeur held the rear door wide and Zoé ducked quickly inside with Jack in the baby sling. "There is a seat for the baby?" she asked.

The driver looked puzzled. "Aren't you coming as well, ma'am?"

That seemed to annoy Zoé even more. "Of course I am coming. Do you expect me to hold the baby in my arms while you drive?"

"Ma'am, you're safe with me, and so is the child."

Urquet joined them in the back. "Sorry about that," he said. "I never thought. Anyway, I'm sure we'll all be safe. There's no driver in New York I'd trust more than Zak. That's why he's the DCI chauffeur."

Zoé looked distraught. Matt tried to take Jack from her so she could put on her seat belt, but she was having none of it. "Stop it. No one is going to take my baby away from me."

Matt helped her snap the belt into place and did the same to his own.

As they drove away, Simon Urquet looked embarrassed. "I have to apologize," he said. "I admit to tipping off a couple of TV stations. DCI are paying for this, and we want to get some publicity and public sympathy for the company while we recover from the Heinman dynasty. But this has gone way beyond anything I anticipated or even wanted."

Matt said nothing.

After an awkward silence, Simon Urquet spoke again. "I thought we'd take you to your hotel first. It's just to the west of Central Park."

"No," Zoé said firmly. "All the reporters know we have arrived, and they will be waiting for us at the hotel. I do not want to see anyone with a camera ever again. I hope all those bright lights and flash guns have not hurt Jack's eyes. Zak, turn the car around and take us back to the airport."

Zak half turned his head. "What do I do, Mr. Urquet? Do I do as the lady says?"

Matt took over. "Do the press know where we're staying, Simon?"

Simon Urquet stayed silent.

"Then take us to another hotel," Matt said firmly.

Simon Urquet turned to look out of the rear window. "Are we being followed, Zak?"

Zak shook his head. "I've been watching, Mr. Urquet. Not seen anyone."

"Zoé's probably right," Matt said. "They're already waiting at the hotel."

"Zak, pull over," Urquet said. "Go a little way down that street and park up. I'm going to phone the office and get them to make a new booking. And I'll make sure no one knows where it is. I'm so sorry about this. I should have guessed that an English couple coming to America with their baby for special treatment would have been of more than local interest."

Matt felt angry. Local interest? There was no point in funding this visit if DCI didn't want worldwide publicity. But he kept that to himself.
Chapter 6

It seemed like midnight, but Matt's phone said it was early evening. It was strange to think that back in England most people had turned in for the night, while here they were, waiting for Zak to pick them up from the hotel for their evening appointment at the clinic.

"Matt, please let me go in ahead." Zoé sounded almost cheerful when fifteen minutes later Zak dropped them outside the medical center.

Well, maybe not cheerful, but certainly more relaxed that she had been when booking into the new hotel south of Central Park. At least Simon Urquet had managed that one okay. He felt almost sorry for the man. Almost sorry. It was going to be hard to ignore the press intrusion. The media circus was probably camping at the original hotel on the west side of Central Park. He had to hope they didn't start looking elsewhere.

The clinic entrance was extremely expensive, just as Matt had been expecting. Most private clinics in England were in older buildings and didn't look as inviting. Old or new, if this one did the job, that was good enough to him. And there was no media circus waiting outside, which was strange. They probably hadn't expected the examination to take place until tomorrow.

The receptionist was expecting them, and with Zoé holding Jack in the baby sling around her neck and waist, a nurse led them down a long corridor to a room where the specialist welcomed them with a manner he must have perfected over the years. Not too gushing, not too somber, but with a great air of professionalism.

"Mr. Rider, Mrs. Rider," he said, coming quickly forward, "so this is little Jack Rider. The nurse will take him now and prepare him for our initial examination."

Zoé eyed the nurse warily and shook her head, pulling the small body tightly against her chest.

"Let me introduce myself," the specialist said, apparently ignoring Zoé's reaction. "My name is Dr. Marks. I have all the paperwork here from your hospital in England. I have to say that they were somewhat reluctant to pass it on to me, but you made your wishes very clear. So welcome to our little clinic."

Not so little, Matt thought to himself as he moved closer to Zoé. "Come on," he said to her, "this is why we came. This may be our last hope to save little Jack's eye."

Dr. Marks smiled a professional smile. "Mrs. Rider, may I call you Zoé? I believe you've come here because you know about our pioneering instrumentation. All we want to do is to let you return to England with a healthy baby with two healthy eyes. So please, trust me to care for Jack as though he was my own child."

To Matt's relief Zoé opened her arms and undid the straps holding Jack into the sling on her front. With a smile clearly intended to convey confidence, the nurse quickly slipped from the room with Jack, probably before Zoé could change her mind. She must have seen it all before.

"Please, both of you take a seat while I tell you a little more about what's going to happen."

Matt noticed that since Zoé hadn't given permission for the specialist to use her first name, he wasn't using any name.

"Your English specialist claims to have diagnosed a small but aggressive tumor on the back of the eye." He tapped the open folder on his desk. "I needn't go into details with you. His findings are fully documented in here, although naturally we will be doing our own diagnosis this evening. At this clinic we are helping evaluate a proton beam that can be focused precisely onto tumors, in small children as well as adults." Dr.Marks sounded as though he was repeating a well rehearsed script. "We can target specific cancer cells, assuming of course that your own hospital's diagnosis of the retinoblastoma is correct." He smiled for a moment. "Proton beam therapy was first conceived in 1946, although at that time it wasn't of any practical medical application."

"Sort of experimental?" Matt said.

"Very. Of course, in many ways it is still experimental, although one day I am sure proton beam therapy will be in every major hospital throughout the world. You must both decide if the risk is worth taking."

Matt jumped out of his chair. "There's a risk?"

Zoé took hold of his hand. "Sit down, Matt. All medical procedures carry a risk," she said quietly. "Surely you knew that before we came here."

Dr.Marks nodded. "Mr. Rider, your wife is absolutely correct. And I have to tell you that with pioneering procedures like this on the eye, the risks are unknown."

"So you want our child to be a guinea pig?" Matt shook his head. "Is this a joke?"

"Of course not, Mr. Rider."

Mr. Rider? The specialist wasn't asking if he could be called Matt. Dr. Marks didn't instill the confidence he was probably hoping to.

"If it's any reassurance, our equipment has been developed in conjunction with a Swiss company."

"Domestic Chemicals International," Matt said. "They're funding Jack's therapy."

"That's good, but DCI only played a part in actually developing the equipment, although they did play a substantial part financing its development, along with a major industrial company in Israel. A clinic in Israel has the only other proton beam scanner in the world. So far their results have been like ours: exemplary. The scanners have been financed by two wealthy organizations with concerns for our health."

Matt was going to add that they also had concerns for their shareholders, when a horrible suspicion dawned on him. Not only had Simon Urquet arranged for sympathetic publicity for DCI by paying for Jack's treatment at this clinic, he was also using the Rider family to test out some DCI-financed equipment that could help make DCI even more famous -- if it worked. Great.

"Now, Mr. and Mrs. Rider, if you would like to wait here in the clinic while we carry out our tests, you are welcome to do so. Do you have phones? If you would like to explore Manhattan I can call you when we're ready."

Matt asked if it would take long, and was told about two hours. He and Zoé opted to go out and see a bit of the city, leaving the number of his phone which he'd already managed to hook into the American phone system.

They decided that they could walk for half an hour towards Times Square, have coffee, and make their way back in well under two hours. If the clinic rang earlier than that, all they had to do was take a cab.

Something felt wrong when they reached Times Square and found a coffee shop. No one was drinking coffee. The customers were gathered around the large television on the wall. A news channel obviously had a major story. While Zoé went to order the drinks, Matt stood at the back of the crowd in front of the screen.

"What's happened?" he asked no one in particular.

"Wall Street," a man said, turning away from the TV for a moment. "A terrorist attack. Seems they've got hostages." The man turned back to the screen.

Matt quickly caught on to what was happening. A terrorist group, no one knew who they were, had placed explosives against the door of one of the major financial institutions to get inside, and were now threatening to kill over thirty hostages. The television camera was further up the street, behind a police cordon. Suddenly the interior of the ground floor lit up, and windows and debris flew into the street as the whole downstairs seemed to explode.

Zoé came back to where Matt was watching. "They are not serving," she said. "There is a terrorist attack."

Matt pointed to the screen. "That's it. Looks serious. Really serious. They've blown up part of the building." As he spoke, emergency vehicles, their sirens screaming, raced through Times Square going south. Obviously to Wall Street.

Zoé put her hand to her mouth. "We must go back to England," she said. "Baby Jack is not safe."

"Wall Street's a few miles south of here. That's where the terrorists are. It's the financial district. It's terrible, but they're holed up in that building, and they may all be dead anyway."

As he spoke, a reporter on the live news broadcast said that the terrorists were now threatening to shoot the hostages. The police were telling everyone to keep away from the area, but not to panic. They believed the rest of Manhattan was safe, and told everyone to stay calm and not to evacuate the city. In an apparent contradiction to this reassurance, people were told be to be extra vigilant for abandoned luggage on public transport, especially the subway.

After a few minutes the coffee bar started serving again, perhaps in an attempt to keep up a facade of calm, or more likely to get some money from the customers filling the shop. Zoé joined the line and returned with two mugs. For nearly an hour they stood with the crowd of customers watching events unfold in Wall Street.

The phone call from the clinic came in slightly less than two hours. Hailing a yellow cab they were quickly back at the clinic.

News of the terrorist attack didn't seem to have filtered through to the clinic, and Matt wasn't going to waste time discussing it with anyone. They needed to find out as soon as possible the diagnosis on their baby. Hopefully the two consultant specialists they had seen in England had got it wrong. No, that was impossible.

In the consulting room Dr. Marks' face gave nothing away. Matt had been hoping for at the least a promising smile. "Well, Dr. Marks, what's the news?"

The surgeon bit his lip. At that moment the nurse came back with baby Jack, and Zoé took hold of him immediately.

"I think he is hungry," Zoé said. She began to unbutton her blouse. "It is all right to feed him here?"

Matt noticed that she made the statement sound like a question, as though permission might be denied. Well, blow that, a surgeon could hardly be disapproving of the sight of a female breast.

Dr. Marks just nodded."

"Dr. Marks, what's the diagnosis?"

A moment of silence, then, "It's exactly as your English specialist has said, Mr. Rider. It's a particularly virulent form of retinoblastoma. But..." he shook his head, managing a small smile at the same time, making it difficult to read his body language.

"Just tell us," Matt said. "Can you fix our baby here or not?"

"Until recently we've been using a conventional photon beam to treat tumors. But our new proton beam equipment will focus down to single cancer cells. Or close to that. As we told you when you first contacted us, we will be using the proton beam, instead of the older photon beam, and will cause no significant damage to the healthy cells in the surrounding area."

"I have a feeling that there's a but in this." Matt felt uneasy, and glancing at Zoé he could see she shared his discomfort.

Dr. Marks nodded slowly. "Yes, there is. As I think I've already explained, proton beam equipment is very new. You could say it's untried on cancer cells in the eye. We've already used it successfully to treat prostate cancer, and cancers in the bowel and stomach, and of course cancers in small children and now babies."

Zoé looked up from feeding Jack. "So Matt is right, you want our baby so that you can see if your equipment works."

"Just a minute, Zoé," Matt said. "All we were offered in England was the removal of Jack's left eye. They said older photon beam treatment would be too dangerous."

"You do not need to tell me that," Zoé said, sounding more than a little impatient. "We discussed all this back in England. We did not want a photon beam. It can cause serious damage to the surrounding tissue. I think you are right. Even if the new proton beam here is not as good as Dr. Marks claims it is, it surely cannot be as bad as photon beam. Or certainly not worse."

Dr. Marks actually smiled. "So, I take it you'd like to go ahead. You'll both need to sign a waiver of indemnity. It will say that you've had the risks fully explained to you. Is that a yes?"

Matt looked at Zoé who nodded, although somewhat reluctantly. "Yes, we'd both like to go ahead," he said. "Although I don't know what little Jack will one day think of this decision if he survives."

"If he survives," Zoé muttered, "I am sure he will be grateful. And if he doesn't survive..." Then she started to cry.

Matt made some soothing noises and gave her a gentle hug. "Zoé, we don't have any other option unless we want him to lose his eye. And even if they remove it, there's no guarantee that the cancer won't spread to his brain. Those cancer cells need killing off."

It seemed that the waiver had already been prepared. Dr. Marks removed it from a folder and placed it facing them on his large desk. "I strongly recommend you have a final night of bonding with baby Jack at your hotel."

"What you mean by final night?" Matt demanded.

Dr. Marks gave an embarrassed laugh. "I could have phrased that better. I meant a final night before surgery. You need a few quiet hours alone with your baby."

"Yes, we will take him with us," Zoé said defensively. "He is our baby."
Chapter 7

"Go back to sleep, precious. I've made the arrangements. The darling little babykins with the funny eyes will soon be in your sweet arms. But you must promise to be much more careful this time."

Chapter 8

Matt was painfully aware that he and Zoé hardly slept that night. Their anxiety seemed to be infectious, because Jack cried noisily on and off until daylight shone around the heavy curtains. Fortunately, the expensive hotel room seemed to be well soundproofed, for no one banged on the walls or ceiling.

According to the news channel on their TV, the terrorists were still holed up in the financial institute in Wall Street, and still threatening to shoot the hostages, although the agitated reporter believed they were all still alive. Well, that last bit certainly came as good news. And there were no reports of further incidents in the rest of Manhattan.

Matt pulled the curtains wide, revealing a glimpse of Central Park. "Let's go for a walk with baby Jack. It will give him a chance to use his eyes and see a bit of New York."

"Matt, that is a terrible thing to say."

"I didn't mean it's his last chance to use his eyes. You know I didn't. We have plenty of time for a walk before breakfast."

"It is only six o'clock in the morning here, although it feels like the middle of the day. Me, I am too tired to go out. If you want to take Jack in the sling, then go."

Matt wasn't sure that Zoé really wanted him to go without her.

"I mean it, Matt. I will give Jack his feed, and then you can take him and give him some fresh air. Well, perhaps air more fresh outside than it is in here. I can smell that Jack he needs changing. And when you get back we can order breakfast in our room. DCI are paying, and I do not want the other guests to know we were responsible for the noise in the night."

"Zak's picking us up at half nine," Matt said. "That gives us plenty of time. I won't be long anyway."

While Zoé fed and changed Jack, Matt turned up the sound on the TV. A fixed camera was still showing the building in Wall Street which had a small amount of smoke coming from where the downstairs windows had been blown out. Suddenly the picture changed to him and Zoé at the airport, with a reporter shoving a microphone into his face.

Somehow, Simon Urquet had managed to get into the picture himself, to say how pleased Domestic Chemicals International were to assist in the treatment at the clinic which had the privilege of possessing a pioneering proton beam scanner developed in Switzerland with funding and other assistance from DCI. The terrorists had pushed that item to the back of the news, and people might have switched off -- or gone to the kitchen or bathroom for a break. He could only hope so.

Matt shrugged. If this trip was helping DCI gain credibility after their disaster under the Heinmans, it was also benefiting Jack. Well, successful treatment for Jack was what he and Zoé hoped for, although their signatures on the liability waiver possibly told a different story.

Matt slipped his passport into his pocket, and half an hour later, with Jack securely strapped to his front in the sling, he set out into the traffic and noise to explore the bottom right-hand corner of Central Park where his map showed an irregular blue shape called the Pond.

Zoé gave him a kiss as he left the room. "Me, I might come over and find you later. Keep an eye open for me. And watch out for press photographers. We do not want them to know where we are staying."

"They'll all be down in the Financial District. I bet our arrival only gets that brief mention, and only on the local news channels. Good result for us, but really bad news for the hostages."

There was only one main street to cross to get to the Park, and it had a light-controlled crossing. The whole experience of entering an open green space in the center of the city seemed strange. It was a different world -- apart from the constant sound of traffic echoing back from the high buildings surrounding the Park, filling the air with a constant roar -- plus the regular sirens of emergency vehicles. It was strange to see skyscrapers soaring above the trees in the distance.

A horse buggy came by, with no passengers. It was probably on its way to a pick-up point. The horse was white and so was the buggy. "Look, Jack, can you see the big horse?" Matt asked.

The thought of baby Jack losing the sight in one eye made him feel bad.

The buggy driver, a young blond man in his early twenties, drew up alongside. Matt shook his head. "I don't have time for a ride," he explained. "Maybe later today, or tomorrow. I'm here in New York with my wife and baby."

"Hey, friend, are you the guy on television with the baby with...? Yes, I can see the baby's eyes. Is that a problem?"

At least the buggy driver didn't know about the cancer. Or maybe he was just being tactful. He seemed to sense that the conversation wasn't going anywhere. "You'll find me down here if you want a ride in the Park. Special rate for you and your lady, okay?"

Matt was glad he'd taken Jack with him on his walk. It hurt him to think Jack might be at risk if he'd left him alone with Zoé, but there were times when her postnatal depression seemed to kick in hard.

A group of runners came past in what must be their regular morning exercise. He could see more runners in the distance, and even someone running with what Americans called a stroller. It was unlikely any families would be wandering around this early. It was only just after seven, and most New Yorkers would either be on their way to work, or stuck in front of the television in their apartments watching the hostage crisis.

He pointed across the grass to where some huge rocks broke the surface. He could be on his own there with Jack. "This is the Pond, Jack. Well, I'd call it a lake, it's so big. What do you think? Let's sit here for a few minutes and then we can go and explore it."

The water looked clean, with ducks swimming in and out of the reeds. "Can you see the ducks, Jack?"

Jack blinked in the bright light as Matt turned him so he could see. There was no response. Well, of course not. It would probably be over a year before Jack would show any interest in ducks.

He was aware of footsteps coming up close from behind. Maybe it was Zoé, changing her mind about staying in the hotel.

Chapter 9

"Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

Chapter 10

The voice sounded far away. It was definitely a woman. He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt. He kept them closed.

The voice spoke again. "Just try and relax."

"I'm in Central Park," he heard himself say.

Yes, of course he was. He was by the Pond. Baby Jack was with him, and he had to get back to the hotel in time for breakfast. So why was he lying down?

"I think you've had an accident."

Terrorists! They were here in Central Park! "Is Zoé all right?" A sudden moment of panic. "Where's Jack? Where's baby Jack?"

"You're hurt. An ambulance and the police are on their way."

A young woman in a bright blue jogging suit and yellow running shoes stood hesitantly by his side. "I'm Vicky. I've phoned the dispatcher on my cell," she said quietly. "I hope I did the right thing. I know a bit about first aid. Don't even try and sit up until the ambulance arrives. But you can rest your head on this," she said, unzipping her jogging top. Fortunately she was wearing something underneath.

"Be careful," he said as Vicky lifted his head slightly. "The back of my head feels really sore. I think I'd been mugged." He felt the sling that was open on his front. A moment of panic and he tried to sit up, but Vicky pushed him back gently. "Have you got the baby? Have you got Jack?"

Vicky shook her head. "There's no baby," she said quietly.

The sound of approaching sirens hurt his head. "Jack," he said. "Where's Jack?"

Strange thoughts swam around in his head. He was still in the hotel and he'd fallen out of bed. He was crossing the street and been knocked down. He closed his eyes and tried to make sense of the pain and the empty sling.

He opened his eyes suddenly when a voice spoke in his ear. "The police need to speak to you. Just as soon as you're ready."

The woman appeared to be dressed as a paramedic, and she didn't sound friendly. She pulled each eye open in turn and shone a bright light into them while feeling his pulse. "We know who you are. I'd better warn you, Mr. Rider, your wife is here, and she's frantic. She wants to know what you've done with the baby. I've checked your eyes. You've only suffered temporary concussion. It's time to speak to the police."

Before he had time to answer, Matt became aware of two men in dark blue uniform.

"Mr. Rider? Mr. Matthew Rider?"

"Call me Matt. What's happened?" He managed to get his eyes fully open, and the light made the pain in the back of his head feel worse. This was like getting the third degree. "Can you turn the light down a bit? I don't know what's happened, but I can't cope with the pain and the light."

"That's the sky, Mr. Rider. We can't do anything about that and we need answers. Quickly." The larger of the two officers seemed to be in charge as he bent over.

Matt realized that the formal form of address meant trouble. "I don't know what's happened. I know where I am and my head is hurting. Have I been in an accident?"

"That's why we're here." The smaller officer had now come forward, so there were two of them bending over him, and their faces were much too close.

"You'd better ask my wife," he said, finding the combination of the daylight and speaking painful. "She's called Zoé, and the paramedic said she's here. All I know is that I'm in New York, and someone's got our baby. Is it the terrorists?"

"Nothing to do with terrorists, sir." The larger officer raised his voice beyond Matt's pain threshold. "Your wife is nearly hysterical and says you've harmed her baby. Maybe even killed it. We're keeping her in the ambulance till she calms down."

That really woke him up. "It's not her baby, it's our baby. We're both his parents. Is baby Jack dead?"

"That's the reason we're here," the smaller cop said.

"So who killed him? How?"

"Mrs. Rider thinks you did."

"If baby Jack is dead, then..." No, he wouldn't mention Zoé's postnatal depression. If she'd harmed Jack, he wasn't going to tell them anything more.

Big cop sounded a little more mellow. "We're not saying Mrs. Rider's baby is dead. Not yet. We're here to find out exactly what happened."

"Well you're not going to find out anything from me. I don't remember a thing." He paused for a moment. "Yes, I think I was..."

"Yes?"

"Ducks. Swimming in the lake. Pond. Whatever. I'd taken little Jack..."

"Yes?"

"Taken him for a walk before going to the clinic. To see the ducks. Swimming."

"And then you drowned him. Is that what you're saying?" Big Cop had turned nasty again.

"Drowned him?"

"Mr. Rider, if you took the baby swimming, we'll find him. We're checking this part of the Pond. We know the little kid was seriously ill and not likely to live without surgery. So I guess you thought you'd bring his little life to a quick end out there in the Pond."

"I didn't take him swimming. The ducks were swimming, not me." He closed his eyes again. The only way out of this nightmare was to pretend to go back to sleep. He felt one of the officers poke him, but managed to stay completely still.

He heard Big Cop call the paramedic. The next voice he heard was Zoé. "Matt, what have you done?" She was shaking him fiercely. "Where is Jack?"

"Zoé, what one earth's happening? You don't really think I drowned baby Jack, do you?"

"I do not know what to think, Matt. You go off with Jack, and I thought I would follow and catch up with you on your way here."

"You shouldn't have been out on your own."

"I did not know whether to come over here or not. A young man from the hotel saw me standing in the lobby. We spoke for a moment, and he said he was going jogging in Central Park. He said he would get me safely across to the Park and help me find you. He said it might not be safe for me to be on my own. And now I am worried to sickness."

Matt had his eyes wide open now. The light no longer hurt. "Go on."

"I see you lying on the ground with a young woman in a jogging outfit looking down at you. Almost immediately these two police officers arrive in a car with lights flashing, and then the ambulance. They say the runner called it in."

"She's called Vicky."

Zoé seemed to ignore that bit of information. "I ask where Jack is. They say you had no one with you, but you had the open sling for baby Jack on your chest. So, Matt, where is Jack? You must tell me. Now."

"Look at me, Zoé. Do you really think I would have harmed our baby?"

"No, I cannot believe you would have done such a terrible thing, but it is what these two police officers think."

Matt pointed to the two men. "All I can remember is taking Jack for a walk to see the Pond. There's no way I would have hurt him, Zoé. You have to trust me."

"The officers have already been talking to me. I told them I had nothing to do with it, as I was still on my way when it happened. If I am to trust you, Matt, then you must trust me. Do you?"

"Of course I do." He found he could sit up, and sitting up made him feel a bit better. "Do they think you hit me over the head and drowned the baby?" he said to Zoé. "Maybe they think I drowned the baby. Or perhaps we did it together. They're all crazy. Tell them we need to start looking for Jack. It doesn't sound as though the police are planning to do anything except ask stupid questions."

Zoé turned to the paramedic who was listening to their conversation. "I am a nurse," Zoé said firmly. "You have tested the eyes of my husband, and his reactions they are perfect. I can give him all the medical help he needs. If you take him away we may never be able to find our baby."

The paramedic asked Matt if he felt sick, ready to vomit. He didn't. Not in the slightest. He just wanted to get away from this place and find Jack.

The woman gave a shrug. "Your decision, ma'am," she said, looking at Zoé. "You're going against my professional advice."

Matt was on his feet now. Although he felt a little unsteady, there was no way he was going to show any weakness. Zoé was right, they needed each other at this time, and they needed to find Jack as quickly as possible.

The young jogger said she'd seen no one, although she'd mentioned to the officers that she thought she'd "sort of seen someone running with a stroller," but maybe not coming from this direction, and she had no idea if it was a man or a woman. "I was looking at you lying on the ground," she said. She seemed reluctant to leave.

Matt wondered if she was waiting for a reward. "Thanks again," he said. "Give Zoé your contact details, and we'll get in touch."

"I know who you both are. I recognized you from the television straight away. We were all watching the terrorist attack on the television in the church recreation room last night, and then you came on. You know, when you arrived at the airport? Our church minister, Steve Valdieri, says he knows you and he really, really wants to meet you."

Matt's head started to swim again. He felt as though he'd been time traveling, and now he was back in Tourvillon at the Clinic of the Little Sisters, and the Archbishop was coming to administer the last rites. "I knew someone called Valdieri once," he heard himself saying, a distant voice that didn't seem to belong. "Archbishop Stephen Valdieri."

"That's him! That's him!" The young jogger with the yellow running shoes started jumping up and down in excitement. "I've really made his day. I hope it's all right, I've already phoned to tell him you're here. He's on his way to see if he can help."

Matt stared into the distance, trying to make sense of everything. Perhaps he was dead, and visions of his past were about to flash before his eyes. And leading the procession was a man who was dressed in dark blue jeans and a sweatshirt with the words Symbol of Hope Church on it, and a plain wooden cross dangling around his neck. He'd once seen a man who looked a bit like this, but couldn't place him.

"We met in France," the man said with a smile. "You may remember kissing me."

That certainly got the attention of the two officers.

Matt shook his head. "Sorry, I don't think so. This is Zoé. She's my wife." He deliberately emphasized the relationship.

"Steve Valdieri," the man said, coming closer. "You gave me the kiss of life at the Clinic of the Little Sisters in Tourvillon. Do you remember now?"

An odd feeling of déjà vu. He half recognized the man's voice, but he sounded more American than Italian now. Then it hit him. "You're the Archbishop!" He shouted so loudly that his head started to hurt again. Without the clerical garb, and without the flowing locks of silver hair, and with only the hint of the Italian accent that had been so distinctive in France, it had taken a few moments for recognition to finally get through. "So you really are here in New York? I thought this young lady was part of my hallucinations."

Valdieri looked awkward. "I'm not an archbishop now. I agreed to be put out to grass in gratitude for saving the Holy Father's life. I have no official capacity within the Catholic Church."

"What sort of reward is that?" Matt asked, still trying to make sense of things.

"That's enough." Big Cop came forward, waving his arms as though to dismiss the ex-Archbishop -- the best man Matt felt he had seen all day.

"Please sort this out for us."

"Be sure I will pray for both of you," Valdieri said. "If my understanding of what has happened is correct, you're going to need every bit of prayer I and my friends can manage."

"What we want," Zoé said fiercely, "is to get our baby back. I do not mind if the police find him, if we find him, or if God finds him. We just want him back safely. They are waiting at the clinic to start his treatment today. I just hope they can cure him when we get him back."

Small Cop gave an unpleasant sneer. "You won't be getting him back if your husband killed him."

Somehow or other, maybe by a miracle if it wasn't caused by brain damage, Matt could see someone who looked like Simon Urquet making his way quickly through the gathering crowd.

"Don't say anything, Matt."

He recognized the voice immediately. "Simon, thank God you're here. Tell me I'm about to wake up in the hotel and find this has all been a terrible nightmare. Zoé will be sitting on the end of the bed feeding baby Jack."

Simon Urquet shook his head. "I'm sorry, Matt. And you too, Zoé. These police officers have no right to question you while you're in this state. I'm here to help."

"Then help us get our baby back," Zoé said.

Big Cop must have recognized Simon Urquet in his expensive suit as someone you didn't mess with. "We all want to find that baby, sir," he said, submissively. "That's why we're here."

"Right," Urquet said. He turned to the two officers. "My name is Simon Urquet. I represent Mr. and Mrs. Rider as my clients. Have you read the Miranda waiver to them?"

They shook their heads.

"In that case let's have an informal discussion. Mr. and Mrs. Rider love their baby and I guarantee they are innocent. A terrible crime has been committed and you need to start a search for the missing baby. This couple have clearly suffered enough, without the addition of police harassment."

Whether it was the presence of a big shot lawyer, or an ex-archbishop in plain clothes with a wooden cross hanging round his neck, Matt wasn't sure, but the two officers moved away with Simon Urquet to carry on their discussion.

Zoé leaned over Matt and whispered in his ear. "You can thank me for getting Simon Urquet here so quickly. As soon as I saw what had happened, I phoned him. He was having his breakfast and he said Zak would drive him over here straight away. He is not staying far downtown, and said that in the meantime we were not to make any statements. I forgot to tell you that last bit," she admitted. "I hope you have not said anything silly to the police. I know what you like with your jokes."

Matt gave a groan and gently felt the back of his head. "I don't think I've said anything. Nothing sensible, anyway. If you keep hold of my arm, I think I'm going to be okay."

Two more police patrol cars arrived, and Matt could see Simon Urquet taking the heat as he argued with the officers. Eventually Simon Urquet came across to where he sat on the grass with Zoé. Simon Urquet explained that he had to promise they would make a statement at the precinct later in the day and surrender their passports. In return, the police promised they would make a full and immediate search of the area.

Valdieri came across when Simon Urquet had finished briefing Matt and Zoé. "Where are you staying?" he asked.

"In a hotel just over there," Zoé said. "But I do not think we can go back, now that so many people have gathered. Everyone who has come here to look will follow us and make the nuisance of themselves."

"You can come and stay at my place," Valdieri offered, quietly enough so no one would overhear. "It's further up, on the west side of the Park. Nearer Harlem. I run a small church there. It's open to anyone of any denomination. We have some accommodation, and there's a large first aid kit your wife can use."

Zoé examined the back of Matt's head for the first time. "It looks as though you were hit with a blunt instrument, as the police say. The skin it is hardly broken. You are not going in the ambulance. I will help you."

Valdieri turned to Simon Urquet. "If that's your limousine over there, I'm sure it will be comfortable enough for Matt and Zoé to travel in." He winked at Matt and handed Urquet a small leaflet. "The address is on there. Give it to your driver. The sooner Matt and Zoé get away from here and get some rest, the better. I can see some media circus vans arriving already. I'm sure your driver knows how to evade them on the way." He turned to the young jogger. "Vicky, you and I will follow in a cab."

Simon Urquet shook his head. "Absolutely no need. There's plenty of room in the DCI limo." He turned to Matt and Zoé. "I have to warn you that the police are still highly suspicious of you both. If Zoé hadn't phoned me, you could both be under arrest."
Chapter 11

"What's happening?" Matt asked. "Why are we driving away so soon?"

Zoé put her head into her hands and sighed deeply. "The Archbishop is taking us to his church, where you will be able to rest."

They drove up Central Park West, with the Park in view all the way. Suddenly Zak made a left turn. "Ah, and here it is," Valdieri said.

Matt looked out of the window of the limo. There was no church in sight. Just a dark brown building that looked like an old warehouse. Then he noticed a small cross above the red painted door. Well, this place was certainly a comedown from the Vatican.

Valdieri helped Zoé get Matt out of the car, with Zoé looking anxiously around. Urquet stayed in the car, speaking on his phone.

Valdieri turned to Vicky the jogger. "Slip inside and tell the others to stay put. I don't want everyone rushing to see what's happened."

"Hold on a moment, Vicky" Matt said. Now that he had got his thoughts properly together, he wondered why a jogger would have been behind that large rock. There was no path there. "What were you doing there when you've found me?"

Vicky smiled. "I think it was God who found you."

Matt shook his head, and it still hurt. He'd not considered Vicky to be involved in the mugging, but now she was sounding a little crazy. "God?"

Vicky continued to smile. "I go jogging in central Park most days. I have a small backpack with my Bible in it. I sit on the rock, read the Bible and pray. It's how I start the day, with a quiet time alone with God."

Matt believed her. It was too crazy a story for anyone to make up. "Thanks, Vicky, I'm glad."

As soon as she had disappeared, Valdieri went ahead through the red door and led them to a room with three brown leather sofas that Matt thought were called couches over here, with bright red and white cushions. Matt noticed the bowl of flowers on the central table. The place looked homely and welcoming. Clearly a woman had decorated and furnished this room. This deduction cheered him up. At least his brain was functioning okay.

Valdieri told them to sit down, and said quietly, "I want to give you all the help I can. Apart from Mr. Urquet, no one from outside the church fellowship need know you're here for now, although the fellowship will of course have to be told soon. We all need to pray together."

Matt frowned. "All? Pray?"

"This building has a church, with meeting rooms and my office and this reception room below. On the upper floors there's accommodation for myself, for church workers and people who need shelter. You're welcome to join us here." He smiled. "And you can rest easy, Matt. Prayer isn't compulsory. We call this the Symbol of Hope Church, because there's hope for everyone here who's looking for God. Probably not an original name, but we aim to have a great ministry in the area."

The reassurance that prayer was optional came as a considerable relief. Then something occurred to him. "Will they mind the baby crying?"

Zoé stamped her foot. "We do not have a baby! Your memory, I think, it has not returned."

Matt shook his head. "You're right, Zoé. For a moment I was thinking we're still in the hotel and I haven't been out in the Park yet."

Zoé broke down in tears. "Why would anyone want to steal Jack? If they saw us on the television, they must know we have no money. And they know Jack needs the treatment most urgent. Why would anyone want a baby like that? It does not make the sense, unless they know someone who can remove his eye, no questions to be asked. I just hope his eyes were not harmed by all the bright lights at JFK yesterday."

Matt did his best to console Zoé, while Valdieri ran his hands through his non-existent silver hair. Clearly some habits died hard. "What about the bright lights? Tell me exactly what the problem is with your baby. Why did you bring him to New York?"

While Matt explained about the heterochromia and the retinoblastoma, Valdieri said. "Is that a common problem with ... what is it ... heterochromia? I've only seen it once before. There was a senator on the news recently. Senator Harding. His baby had different color eyes."

"They put a senator on television because his baby has different color eyes?" Zoé asked in surprise. She thought for a moment, then, "The baby had retinoblastoma?"

"No, no, he was fine. The baby got into all the media, and most reports were critical of the Senator's actions. What you said about the lights reminded me of it. Commentators said he put the baby's eyesight at risk with all the TV lights and flashes."

"Why on earth would the man want to show his baby's eyes on television," Matt asked. "We tried to hide Jack's away."

Valdieri shook his head. "Senator Cyrus B. Harding has been trying to push something controversial through the Senate, and he wanted to get public sympathy and support by showing off his new baby. The 'aaah' factor. Believe me, I'm convinced you're both innocent. So although I no longer have any real influence, I'll make it clear to the police that I'll be responsible for you while you're staying with me."

The door to the room opened and Simon Urquet came in.

Valdieri went to greet him. "I trust you're the bearer of good news, Simon."

Urquet shook his head. "I've been on the phone to the Assistant Chief. I've tried my hardest to convince him that the baby was snatched by person or persons unknown, not by Mr. and Mrs. Rider. I regret to say I was left with the distinct feeling I was wasting my breath." He turned to Matt. "I have to warn you of the seriousness of your situation. I've given a pledge that you won't leave New York, and will remain in contact with me or Stephen Valdieri at all times."

"That's going to be difficult," Matt said. "The police took our phones. They want to check our calls on them. There's only one, and that's from the clinic last night to tell us they'd finished examining Jack. I can see it from their point of view, but I hope it doesn't mean they're not looking properly for Jack."

Simon Urquet frowned. "The situation with the hostages in Wall Street is diverting much of their attention, but I believe they're giving this as high a priority as circumstances permit. For now."

"I can help you with temporary phones," Valdieri said, looking a bit sheepish. "I have several unregistered pay-as-you-go cell phones in my office."

Simon Urquet looked shocked, or maybe he just pretended to be. Not that it mattered. After all, Urquet was supposed to be on their side.

Valdieri laughed. "Not for any illegal purposes, but sometimes when we're helping people we need to do it with complete confidence."

"Sounds like a good idea," Simon Urquet said, smiling now. "Listen carefully. Zak will be picking us up from here just before two. I've arranged the interview at the precinct for two-thirty. And you'd both better be ready." He gave a brief smile. "We have to play this one absolutely straight. It's no good refusing to answer their questions. You're innocent, and I'll be there to make sure they don't try to catch you out and get you confused."

Simon Urquet added that he was staying with them until Zak came, assuring them that his legal services were available for as long as they were in New York. Again, he reminded them that they were not to leave the city without letting him or Stephen Valdieri know first.

Valdieri explained that the small team of workers, of which he was only a part, would like to meet them later. If that was all right.

"I know you'll find everyone friendly and helpful, and they'll definitely respect the need for confidentiality. Now, these are the cell phones. I'm putting them on charge. They've not been used for several weeks. Mr. Urquet, we all need to exchange phone numbers so that we can contact each other when the need arises. I also have pledged myself to be responsible for Matt and Zoé and not let them leave the city. "

Urquet nodded. "It's good of you to take them in like this, Archbishop."

Valdieri smiled. "Not Archbishop any longer. My parents christened me Stephen, but to everyone here, staff and church members, including all of you, I'm Steve."

"Wow, if you're sure." Matt felt amazed by this man's humility.

Steve Valdieri clapped his hands. "Mr. Urquet..."

"Call me Simon."

"Simon, you need to tell the police that while Matt and Zoé are staying here, they are not to pass on this address to the media. If that happens, Matt and Zoé will have to leave. If my congregation sees reporters gathering outside, I can assure you that we would have a very empty church for our daily evening times of worship and praise."

Matt realized that Valdieri must have caught his look of horror, for he added, "Relax, Matt. Like prayer, worship here is entirely voluntary."
Chapter 12

Zak drove up in the DCI limo exactly on time. Simon Urquet gave Matt and Zoé a final briefing on the way to the precinct, after checking that Matt was certain he didn't feel confused following his injury in Central Park.

The interview was loud and unpleasant, and Matt felt relieved that Simon Urquet was there to give them support. The interview included signing statements, fingerprinting, and giving blood samples and a DNA swab.

"Mr. Rider," said the lieutenant who was interviewing them, "we've now made enquiries, and have no reason to believe that your baby was snatched in Central Park."

"But," Matt protested, "there are witnesses."

"Witnesses? There are no witnesses. We think you and your wife could be in this together, and you've been extremely devious in faking a kidnap. I suggest that you dropped your baby off some time after you left the clinic yesterday evening. Maybe dropped him in a dumpster. We're searching every garbage bin and dumpster between the clinic and your hotel. We see no point in searching Central Park any further. Besides, we're short of manpower at the moment. All of Manhattan is under the tightest security."

"That is ridiculous," Zoé shouted. "We took a cab from the clinic straight to the hotel. How else could we have got back to the hotel so quickly if we walked? It is several blocks."

"Calm down, Mrs. Rider. You could have taken two cabs. Got the first one to drop you in an area with a lot of restaurants, killed the kid and dumped him, then caught another cab back to the hotel. We're still trying to track down the buggy driver Mr. Rider says he spoke to in Central Park. If he really exists."

Zoé reacted angrily to the accusations. "The hotel, they saw us with baby Jack when we got back from the clinic. And he cried in the night. He could not have done that if he was not there."

"And what do reception say about this morning?" Matt demanded. "They saw me take our baby out for a walk. The receptionist even wished me good morning. And the buggy driver in Central Park noticed Jack."

The lieutenant shook his head. "We've had statements from the evening receptionist and the morning staff. All they saw was a bundle the size of a baby in the sling on your wife's front in the evening, and the same with you in the morning, Mr. Rider. No one reported hearing a baby crying in the night. As I said, a devious trick."

"Let me ask you a simple question, lieutenant." Matt turned to Simon Urquet who nodded to him to continue. "Who mugged me in Central Park?"

The lieutenant held up his hands. "You could have pretended to be hurt and dazed."

"Someone hit me. There's a lump on the back of my head to prove it."

"You could have lain down and deliberately knocked your head on the ground."

Simon Urquet intervened and asked the lieutenant if he had any proof that this had happened. Had anyone seen Matt injuring himself? Was there someone more senior available to continue the interview? The lieutenant shook his head. No, the hostage situation was deemed more important.

Two hours later they emerged feeling mentally battered, unsure if the police believed their story or not.

"What do you think?" Matt asked Simon Urquet as they got into the limo.

The DCI lawyer took a deep breath. "I spoke to the lieutenant as we were leaving, and he gave nothing away. I think the police will be keeping a close eye on you, to see what you do next. Or maybe not, if the hostage situation in Wall Street isn't resolved quickly. Extra patrols covering the whole of Manhattan has diverted a considerable number of police resources. It looks like the terrorists will be dug in for a few days while they negotiate."

Simon Urquet came in with them when they reached Valdieri's church. Matt and Zoé shared the news of the grueling interview with the ex-archbishop.

"Has anyone told the clinic that Jack isn't coming for treatment today?" Matt asked.

"I phoned them this morning when you were resting," Zoé said. "I should have told you. But why are we here? We should be out looking for Jack."

Matt jumped to his feet so quickly that his head began to throb. He wasn't over his concussion as quickly as he'd imagined. "You're right. Where exactly was I mugged?"

"By the Pond in Central Park," Zoé said, sounding almost enthusiastic. "Very close to the road. That is why the police and the ambulance and everyone else were able to get to you so quickly when Vicky phoned for help. I think we ought to go there and look for clues."

Matt unfolded his map. "Can Zak drop us off there now?"

Urquet nodded. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea. If the police are watching, they'll be less suspicious than if you stay here doing nothing for the rest of the day."

"If I may, I'd like to come with you," Valdieri said, with what looked like a gleam in his eye.

"Thanks," Matt said. "That's a really good idea, if you can spare the time. It might save me from another mugging. You look much more like a New Yorker than we do."

Valdieri smiled. "That, of course, is the idea."

Zak and Urquet dropped them close to the rocks where Matt had been mugged. A couple of police officers were some distance away, poking around with sticks in the undergrowth, but there was no sign of a full search being underway. Perhaps it had already happened.

Matt knew it was no use looking for crime scene tape. Zoé suggested they make their way right round the Pond and keep their eyes open.

Reaching the other side, Matt stood looking at his surroundings. "I came straight to the Pond from the hotel over there, and... Ducks, of course. I was standing by those rocks and... Oh no!"

Zoé tried to hold onto him as he ran forward and flung himself into the water. A few quick strokes and he was by the bed of reeds, clutching a white bundle

"Hey, you in the water." A large black man wearing a navy track suit appeared from nowhere. "You're not allowed to swim here."

Matt waded to the bank with a filthy white bundle in his arms. He could easily have walked there to recover ... what? An old blanket?"

"I thought it was Jack," he said, spitting several times to clear the water from his mouth. It tasted sour. "It was completely under the water, but I could see something that didn't look like it belonged. It proves the police aren't doing much of a search for Jack."

Zoé took the blanket and threw it back where it landed in the reeds again. The ducks had long gone, scared by the massive splash made by Matt.

"You can't do that," the large man said. "It's not my business, but there are laws in this park about litter. There are cops up there. Don't let them catch you doing that."

Valdieri came forward. "She was only putting it back where it came from."

"Hey," said the man pointing at Zoé, "aren't you the mom with the baby with the bad eyes? I saw you on the box last night."

Valdieri now came between the man and Zoé, while Matt stood dripping wet on the bank. "You must leave us," Valdieri said. "These people have had a shock."

"Hey, have they had a problem with a baby? Only I've heard the buggy drivers talking about a man who got mugged and a baby got taken." He pointed first at Zoé and then Matt. He sounded almost excited. "Hey, was that you guys?"

"Just move on," Valdieri said firmly.

Matt thought that if Valdieri had spoken this firmly while in the Vatican, it was no wonder he'd managed to get the Pope to Tourvillon for treatment in the spite of much internal opposition.

"Look, guys," the man said, "I was a cop once. Maybe I could help. I'm a security guard now, but I know a thing or two about tracing missing people."

A crackpot, Matt thought, but he didn't say it. He just wanted the man to go away so that he could return to Valdieri's church and change his clothes. Not that he had any with him. They were all in their room at the hotel. Maybe Valdieri could help with clothing, but hopefully not with cast-offs from a flea-ridden homeless man.
Chapter 13

Zoé pointed out that it was going to be difficult getting a cab with Matt so wet. As he squelched his way across the grass, with Zoé and Valdieri keeping him an embarrassed company, he became aware of someone following. A few people had given him curious glances already, but he hoped none would be inclined to follow.

He turned to see the so-called expert in tracing lost people hurrying towards them. "I still want to help," the man gasped. Clearly his security work didn't require fitness. The man was overweight by quite a few pounds.

Matt waited for the man to catch up. Quite why the security guard was so interested he had no idea, but perhaps every bit of help would prove useful in getting their baby back safely.

Valdieri didn't seem so keen on engaging the man in conversation. "You have to leave us," he said. "The New York police are already on it. So please just move along."

Zoé looked agitated. "No, no, if this man can help, the least we can do is to let him help in the search."

"I agree," Matt said. He bit his lip as a sudden idea occurred to him. "We don't have any money," he said. "There's no reward."

"Hey," said the man who seemed to have recovered his breath, "that never even crossed my mind. If I can help, I will. No reward. Agreed. But first..." He pulled Matt and Zoé to one side. "Before I do anything, I need to be sure you guys are innocent. If your kid was deformed, who am I to judge you? I'll just walk away and forget it. The cops don't owe me anything."

Matt nearly hit the man. "That's a terrible thing to suggest. Just leave us alone."

Zoé stood in shocked silence.

"Hey, no, man. I just needed to be sure, that's all. Didn't mean to offend you. If you want me to help you, I have to trust you." He raised his hands. "Easy now, let's keep it cool. You passed the test. Okay? Five?"

Matt kept his hands down, but nodded. "Okay, no hard feelings."

"I just want to help you two guys find your baby."

Matt shrugged. "That seems okay to me. Here's how you can contact us." He fished in his pockets but only came up with scraps of soggy paper. Fortunately, his new phone was still charging back at Valdieri's church. It would have been a shame to have wrecked it so soon.

Valdieri pulled a small notebook from a back pocket of his jeans. "Always prepared for things like this." He gave an embarrassed shrug and turned to Matt. "I take it you really do want to give your contact details to this man?" He made it sound as though he had some doubts.

"He can have the number of the new phone you're lending me, if you know it." Matt looked at the man. "And we need your details. But we can only pass on information that the police want released."

"Hey, yes, sure. My name is Wendell. Wendell Harris." The large black man took the notebook that Valdieri offered and wrote down his name and phone number with Valdieri's pen. "Hey, and one thing more. If you can, don't mention my name to the police. I was a good cop, but things went wrong. I guess you know that, seeing as I'm a security guard now on a lot less pay."

Matt was about to share his own experience with the police back home, how he'd had to leave the force after a case with an MP's son didn't work out as expected. And certainly working for Ken Habgood wasn't even close to half the pay of his police job. Without Zoé working as a nurse at the hospital, their standard of living would be rock bottom. To make things worse, Zoé was now on maternity leave.

He shook his head and took a deep breath as the full horror of the situation came to him. To qualify for maternity leave you presumably had to have a baby. He could only hope that Zoé's maternity leave didn't turn into compassionate leave.

"Matt, you are shivering," Zoé said. "You need to get into the things that are dry."

Matt could only agree, although whether he was shivering from his wet clothes or the possibility of never seeing baby Jack again, he wasn't sure. "You'd better come with us, Wendell. We're getting a cab back to Arch... to Steve's church." He had so nearly used the word archbishop.

He noticed the concern on Wendell's face, and it made him laugh. "Don't worry, Wendell," he said. "I had the same thought as you. I promise, you don't have to go to any of the services. I need to change, and as soon as I'm ready we'll tell you all we know. I hope the cab driver doesn't see how wet I am."

Stephen Valdieri occupied one of several small apartments on the upper floors of the church building. While the ex-archbishop was looking out some dry clothes for Matt, Zoé insisted he took a shower. "A long, hot shower, with plenty of shower gel. You have started to smell," she said, without a flicker of a smile.

He sniffed his arms. She was probably right. He sniffed around his shoulders. She was definitely right. It must the mud from the Pond rather than the water that was responsible.

A quarter of an hour later Matt was refreshed and dry, wearing clothes the church kept for those in need. Wendell Harris had been sitting patiently in the large reception room.

"We could start by knocking on a few doors," Matt suggested.

Wendell laughed. His laugh was loud, but not unkind. "Hey, think how many doors there are around Central Park, Matt. Thousands. Tens of thousands. And in Manhattan? Must be millions. You've got to trust the police on this. But I'm here to help too. I've got friends, contacts and who knows what. Lots of them, from Philadelphia all the way up to Boston. We need to find someone who's got a tiny baby they didn't have yesterday."

"Isn't that like all the doors? Millions of them?" Matt asked.

"Hey, maybe not. A door is a door, but a baby is a baby. People notice babies. They don't notice doors. How old was your kid?"

"Six weeks," Zoé said."

"Six weeks. It's not like a brand new baby coming home. Imagine one of your neighbors back home suddenly turned up with a small baby, and the woman hadn't been pregnant."

"She might have adopted it," Zoé said.

"Okay," Wendell agreed, "but that reduces the odds. It's a lot better than knocking on every door."

Matt nodded to himself. Wendell Harris seemed to know his stuff. He could prove useful.

An hour later, after eating a meal rustled up by someone in the church kitchen, Wendell Harris was on his way, telling them how many friends and other contacts he had. He was going to contact them all, and would do his best to drum up enough help to get the baby back.

Once again Matt had reminded Wendell that there was no possibility of any reward, apart from Wendell arranging his own interviews with TV stations. Assuming, of course, he managed to recover baby Jack.

Matt phoned England. Surely Ken Habgood would still be awake at home. He might even be poking around in the office, muttering about his new computer. That man was useless with it. With the latest model he was never going to come to terms with the new programs it needed.

"Mrs. Habgood and I have been watching the news about a terrorist attack. Is that anywhere near you, kiddo?"

"Several miles away, but it's diverting a lot of police attention. I phoned to tell you that Jack has been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped? Your little baby Jack? Ever so sorry to hear about it. They're not saying anything about it on the news here, but I guess babies go missing a lot over there. Not that that's any consolation to you. Can't see how I can help, I'm afraid. But let me know if you think of anything I can do. I feel so sorry for you both. I'll tell Mrs. Habgood straightaway."

"I just want to keep you in the picture, Ken. Oh, and the police think Zoé and I are guilty."

"As they do."

"It's not funny, Ken. The good news is that Simon Urquet's in New York and he's helping us, which is fantastic."

After a few more explanations of what was happening, Matt ended the call on his new, fully charged cell phone and shook his head. "Ken's sympathetic," he said to Zoé, "but there's nothing he can do over there. But at least he is sympathetic, which I guess is something for Ken."

Stephen Valdieri had been sitting on one of the couches, obviously listening. And why not? Matt knew they owed the ex-archbishop a lot for his help so far.

"So what now?" Zoé asked, her eyes red from weeping.

Matt turned to Valdieri. "Any suggestions?"

"How about prayer?"

A predictable answer that Matt knew he should have seen coming. He remembered how back in England Father Alban had once mentioned prayer when he thought Zoé was lying dead in the old cottage on the Mount. What had Father Alban said? Something about prayer not being a magic wand. Yes, definitely not a magic wand. The young priest at the homeless charity had said it was a way of getting closer to God. An open door. Well, he'd not bothered much about God in his life, leaving it to other people.

Zoé looked surprisingly enthusiastic. Okay, she'd been brought up a Catholic, and maybe felt comfortable with that sort of thing. He put an arm around her waist and looked at Valdieri. "You're on. But I'm leaving it to you to say the words. Zoé and I will just say Amen at the end."

Zoé nodded. "And then we will all light a candle for baby Jack."
Chapter 14

The candle has hardly been lit when the police phoned on Matt's new cell phone, and told them to stay where they were at Valdieri's church. Only they didn't use the word church, they called it Valdieri's base. This made Matt think of a base camp at the foot of a mountain. But they weren't climbing up. They were facing a dark hole and climbing down into it quickly.

A police psychologist called Melanie was coming to see them.

Matt knew that the police were still suspicious. The police psychologist, a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties but was probably older, took a ridiculously long time to work around to her whole reason for coming.

"Supposing I put it to you," she said, after fifteen minutes of what seemed like meaningless chat, nervously twiddling a pen in her hand, "that our Chief suspects that you've done away with your baby? Tell me your response." She looked quickly from Matt to Zoé and then back again, presumably searching for some hint in their body language.

"Supposing I put it to you," Matt said, "that you have no idea what really happened. If you think..." He broke off as Zoé started to cry openly.

"Now see what you've done," Matt said. "Do you really think we came all the way from England to drown our baby in Central Park, or whatever your Chief thinks we've done with him? This interview is over."

The school kid psychologist looked taken aback. Matt guessed she didn't have enough experience to see that one coming. "Well," she said, standing up quickly, "I think that will be all for now." She tried to look intimidating, but seemed to be failing miserably. "And you can be sure I will be making a full report to my superiors. You certainly haven't heard the last of this."

Matt felt justifiably riled. "I should hope we haven't heard the last of it," he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "You and your Chief, and the rest of the team, are supposed to be finding our baby, not making serious allegations against us."

"I'm sorry you take it that way, Mr. Rider, Mrs. Rider. It certainly wasn't my intention to cause offence. I apologize."

She looked like a naughty schoolgirl caught out in telling a lie, and for a moment Matt felt almost sorry for her. Well, not that sorry. But hopefully he'd made the point, and the young woman calling herself Melanie might take back a positive report that would encourage the police to take the case more seriously.

Valdieri had been sitting quietly on one of the couches in a corner of the reception room where the interview was taking place. He stood up. "I think Mr. and Mrs. Rider have made their point. If it's any help, Melanie, I have absolute belief that they are telling the truth, and someone has snatched their baby."

Melanie dabbed at her eyes with a small tissue, although Matt could see no tears there. "I'm sorry," she said. "As you can probably tell, I'm quite new to this. But I had to find out if you were hiding something. I may not have gone about it the best way, and if that is the case I apologize. I shall indeed be taking back a report that will make my Chief give this one a high priority."

"Top priority, I hope."

"I can't promise anything, Mr. Rider. Not while the situation in Wall Street is ongoing. But it will certainly be near the top of the list."

"I suppose we can be grateful for that," Matt said. "Does this sort of thing happen very often?"

"You mean I make a mess of things? Or a baby gets taken?"

"Melanie. May I call you Melanie?" Matt felt his English reserve breaking down a little.

She nodded.

"I mean a baby gets taken."

"I don't think so. It's certainly a first for me. Can I see the picture again?"

Matt showed the photo of baby Jack looking at the camera. It was taken without flash, so there was no reflection from the back of the eye. Melanie took it and studied it closely.

Valdieri leaned across and said, "I told Matt little Jack reminds me of Senator Harding's baby. One blue eye and one green eye. I think everyone saw him on the news recently."

Melanie handed the photograph back to Matt. "Oh yes, I did. This baby looks beautiful, and more healthy than the Senator's baby."

"The Senator's baby he is ill?" Zoé asked, suddenly taking an interest in the proceedings.

Melanie started to blush. "My Aunty Jane knows the family a bit. I don't want you to think I'm namedropping. My aunty had already mentioned the baby's eyes to me. I'd never even heard of heterochro... whatever it is, so I wanted to see what the eyes looked like when the Senator decided to show his new baby on television." She seemed to be recovering from her embarrassment. "I'll always remember the joke he made," she said, brightening up. "Well, I suppose it was a joke."

Everyone in the room waited, looking at Melanie. "Oh yes, the joke." She sounded flustered again and was still blushing. "I can't really remember it properly. Something about when the baby grows up he might be a singer, and be known as Old Blue Eyes Old Green Eyes. Or it might have been Old Blue Eye Old Green Eye. Yes, that's what I think it was." She gave an embarrassed giggle. "Oh dear, I didn't mean to make light of what's happened by repeating the joke."

Nobody laughed. Matt thought the joke was in almost as poor taste as some of his, and he looked to see what Zoé was doing. She just stared openmouthed at Melanie.

Eventually Zoé said, "But the baby, he is not ill?"

"Aunty Jane says she's heard Mrs. Harding has been concerned about the baby not being very strong, but I think he's healthy. But please don't pass that on. I really shouldn't be mentioning it. All I wanted to do was to cheer you up and let you know you're not alone with having a baby with different colored eyes."

Everyone looked at each other until Zoé said, "I hope the baby isn't like Jack, suffering from retinoblastoma."

The young psychologist puts her hand to her mouth. "Oh no, Mrs. Rider. It's just that I remember how strange it must be to have different colored eyes. Oh dear, I hope I haven't upset you."

Matt could see that she had indeed upset Zoé. "I still think it's time for you to leave."

Valdieri and Zoé nodded in agreement, and Melanie, complete with her pen and clipboard, made a speedy exit.

"I hope she uses a bit of her psychology training to be more careful with her questions in her next interview," Matt said when she had gone.

"Ah," Valdieri said, "I'm wondering if she knew exactly what she was doing. That was one astute young lady. A brilliant act to draw you both out."

"But she apologized for upsetting me," Zoé said, frowning.

"Of course she did," Valdieri said. "The apology was to make her intentions less obvious." He looked thoughtful. "Did you notice the way she went red when she mentioned the Senator? I'm not so sure that was part of her act. I think she was embarrassed to be namedropping, as she called it. And probably embarrassed to have betrayed a confidence about the baby's health. I can't imagine the Senator would want that bit of information passed around."

"The apology certainly worked with me," Zoé said. "And now I would like to find out more about Senator Harding and his baby. If he is what the young woman called not very strong, perhaps he does have retinoblastoma. Maybe they treated it successfully."

"You're clutching at straws, Zoé," Matt said.

"Matt, straws are all we have to clutch at. _Se raccrocher aux branches_. A man who is drowning will clutch at anything in the water, even a piece of straw. And we are drowning. We could contact Senator Harding in Washington."

"I always pictured a man sliding off a haystack and grabbing onto the straw thatch covering it. Does it matter?"

Zoé gave an exasperated sigh and turned to Valdieri. "How do we contact a senator?"

"I respect what you're doing," Valdieri said, who was again pushing his hands through his non-existent silver hair, "but I can't see how you could mention the baby not being strong without dropping Melanie in it -- unless of course the baby's health is common knowledge."

"Jack has heterochromia, and even if her baby is not ill, I think Mrs. Harding she will want to talk about the baby. It is what all mothers like to do. Please help us." Zoé had now stopped crying, leaving her eyes with red rims.

Valdieri nodded. "Believe me, I want to do everything I can to help. I will see what I can do about finding the Senator's home phone number. I still have contacts in the Vatican."

Matt suddenly felt helpless, but at least Stephen Valdieri hadn't cut himself off from his past. Or maybe it was the other way round. His former colleagues in the Vatican hadn't abandoned him when he set up this... What was it? It was like a Christian church that belonged to anyone and everyone. There was a word for it. Ecu-something.

Valdieri led them to the door. "I think you should both go up to your room now. It's late, and you need to rest. I promise to wake you if I hear anything in the night. Otherwise, sleep well, and remember that we're all praying for you."

***

Matt's cell phone rang just after 8:00 the next morning, but at first he didn't realize it was his phone because the ringtone was new to him.

"Answer it," Zoé said urgently, sitting up in bed. "It might be some news from the police."

The phone was in the front pocket of the old jeans Valdieri had loaned him. Zoé tutted impatiently while he got out of bed and fished for it.

"It's Wendell with news," he whispered to Zoé. "That was quick."

Zoé came closer, trying to listen. Matt lifted the phone away from his ear so that they could both hear.

"Hey," Wendell said, "I may have some great news for you both. Only don't go holding your breath."

"Go on," Matt said, trying to disguise his excitement. He didn't want Zoé thinking baby Jack was coming home any time soon.

"I'm on my way up to Boston," Wendell said. "I could have a reliable lead."

"Boston? What sort of lead. Are you working with the police?"

"Hey, no, no, not really."

"What does that mean exactly?" Matt demanded. Then he realized. "Are you working with the press?"

"Hey, no, man. I've been talking to an old girlfriend up there. She's only just seen it on the news about the kidnap. She phoned me to see if I knew anything about it. We got talking. She said it's a funny thing, but yesterday afternoon a little kid turned up suddenly in the apartment block opposite her place. What do you think?"

Zoé was pulling a face of despair. "He is talking the nonsense," she whispered.

"And?" Matt asked. Zoé was probably right. He couldn't see what all the excitement was about.

"Well, my friend's been over, and the kid's got one blue and one green eye."

Matt's sighed and shook his head. "Wendell, there are currently hundreds, maybe thousands of kids with eyes like that in America. It's called heterochromia. And I suppose this kid is a baby?"

"Better than that. This kid is only a few weeks old, according to the neighbors. And the baby has dark hair sticking out at the front like in the photo you gave me."

"You're not in Boston yet, Wendell. So who's been speaking to the neighbors?"

"I told you, I know this woman who just happens to be a bit nosey. She didn't hear about your baby going missing at the time, but she was fascinated because she knew the girl a bit, but didn't know she was pregnant. So Ms. Nosey starts wondering where the baby came from, seeing it's not brand new. And then she sees it on the news, and it all comes out."

"Didn't the girl look pregnant?" Matt asked, recalling Wendell's earlier conversation about babies suddenly appearing.

"Hey, my friend says she was big which is why didn't know she was pregnant. Sometimes happens with very big people, she says."

Zoé who was listening in, nodded, so that sort of made sense.

"Seems she's already has one kid. Don't have the details."

"Perhaps she's adopted it," Matt suggested. "Zoé mentioned that possibility."

"Not according to Ms. Nosey. Her pop's been telling the neighbors it's her own. Anyway, as I said, I'm on my way to Boston now. You guys will need to be there with me to identify the baby, of course. Hey, let me warn you now. She lives with her pop, and he's very protective. And listen to this. The pop is friends with a struck-off surgeon. I don't know what he knows about eyes, but the scoop is that he was struck off for illegal abortions. So I imagine he knows how to use a knife if the eye needs to come out. He's not likely to let you just walk in and look at the baby. You're a PI, so hey, I'm sure you'll come up with something. So when are you coming?"

"You need to tell the police in Boston. It's not our job to chase that up."

"And suppose the police start asking questions at the door. If they're suspicious, they go away and get a search warrant. And abracadabra, the kid isn't there when they come back. You two don't need a search warrant. Just push your way in and see the baby as soon as they open the door."

In a way that sounded good. "How do we get there?" Matt asked. "I don't want you rushing in and messing things up on your own. You're right, if the police alert them they'll do a runner."

"Hey, yes, got it. Get the train to Boston. You can be here in less than four hours. I'll pick you up at Boston South if you let me know when. Four hours. Get it? Her pop could easily have got from New York to Boston in time for my friend to see the baby arrive home."

Zoé shook her head. And she looked really anxious. She beckoned to Matt to put his finger on the mic. "Tell Wendell we will call him back shortly," she whispered.

"No," Matt insisted, "we need to get to Boston quickly, before anything happens to baby Jack." He brought the phone back to his mouth. "Hold on there, Wendell. A small problem here. Give us ten minutes and I'll get back to you." He finished the call and turned to Zoé. "So what is the problem."

"It is Wendell. You have to ask yourself, Matt, why any man would turn up in Central Park, know who we are, and suddenly he thinks he has found Jack in a city miles north of here. You are the detective. So why are you not suspicious?"

"Maybe because Wendell was suspicious of us at first. Remember how he questioned us to make sure we weren't involved in the kidnap? If anyone has a reason to be suspicious, it's him. Get some clothes on, Zoé, and we'll go down and ask Valdieri what he thinks."

Valdieri looked serious when he had heard about Wendell's theory. "I didn't hear your conversation with Wendell Harris," he said, "but I have to agree with Zoé that things have moved remarkably quickly."

"So what do you suggest?" Matt said, trying to sound patient, while everything inside his head was screaming at him to get on the next train to Boston. If the protective father could do it in four hours, so could they. He repeated the conversation with Wendell, including the news of the over-protective father

Stephen Valdieri took a deep breath. "I think Wendell Harris should share his suspicions with the Boston police when he gets there. Anyway, remember you both have to stay here in New York."

Zoé stood up, sounding unexpectedly calm. "I am the mother of baby Jack, and the feeling of my gut is that Jack is somewhere closer than Boston for us to find him. Call it the instinct of a mother, but I am convinced he is still alive."

"So we do nothing?" Matt said in exasperation.

"No, we do not do nothing, if that makes the sense," Zoé said. "Yes, I agree we will phone Wendell Harris now, and we tell him to use the local gendarmes, the local police, in Boston."

Matt frowned. "So what do we do here? I'm not prepared to sit around all day waiting for the police to contact us."

"You are right, we have to do something just to keep our marbles. Is that an expression English?"

"Sounds good," Valdieri said. "You'll be pleased to know that I've already been in touch with my contact in the Vatican for Senator Harding's phone number. For his home, not his office. I'm expecting to hear back from him very soon now."

"And then I will phone his home," Zoé said calmly. "If Mrs. Harding will speak to me, I will tell her about baby Jack being kidnapped, and that he has heterochromia. If her baby is ill I am sure she will be ready to share. It is what mothers do."

"No, Zoé, Melanie only told us about that in confidence. Maybe the baby only had a cold when Melanie's aunt saw him."

"Maybe he had retinoblastoma and was cured," Zoé said. "Melanie said Mrs. Harding was worried about his health. We need to know where she took him. If another clinic cured him, then maybe that is where we should be taking baby Jack."

"If we get him back." Matt felt sick for even thinking it, let alone saying it. "You know what I mean. Of course we're going to get him back."

He shook his head in despair. Zoé had become fixated on the Senator's baby, and somehow in her mind the heterochromia had turned to retinoblastoma. Surely she knew that thousands, millions, of babies had heterochromia, and probably lots of them were ill for all sorts of reasons. All mothers were concerned for their child's health. Well, most of them. Zoé, certainly. "I want to go to Boston. Why on earth do you think Senator Harding's baby has retinoblastoma? Melanie didn't say anything about it. She just said the baby isn't very strong. Not the same thing at all."

"Yes she did," Zoé insisted. "She may not have said it in so many words. It is what I think she meant."

"If I'm not to be seen to interfere," Valdieri said, "I think you both have a valid point. Matt, you can use my computer to find the train times to Boston, while Zoé and I wait to hear from my contact about the Senator's home phone number. Once Zoé has spoken to Mrs. Harding, and if her baby is fine, we can put that one away and concentrate on Boston."

While Valdieri was speaking to him, he became conscious of Zoé talking on her new cell phone, and she was mentioning Florian again. Clearly this had nothing to do with Senator Harding. Zoé realized he was listening, and turned away. Almost immediately she said au revoir, made a kissing sound and ended the call.

She looked embarrassed. "What?"

"Where you just phoning Florian?"

"Non, ma mère. I have just been telling my parents about Jack. They want to be kept up to date on the search."

"And I suppose your mother is still blaming me."

"Of course she is. But do not worry, Matt, I made it clear that it is not your fault. My mother said if I had married Florian this would not have happened."

A disturbing thought flashed into his mind. "Your parents aren't coming here, are they?"

Zoé shrugged. She put a comforting arm around Matt's waist. "No, Matt, I do not think my parents will be coming here. If I know them, they will be on their way to Clermont-Ferrand to light enough candles in the cathedral to set the place on fire. And Florian, he is most definitely not coming."

"Let's hope you're right. About your parents and Florian, I mean. I'm okay about the candles."

"Have you let your mother and father know?" Zoé asked.

"Not yet. I've not heard from my mother in years. I think she's somewhere in Spain with a man. My father hasn't even been to see our baby, so I can't think he'd be worried to know Jack's missing. I don't know, maybe I'll try and contact him."

Stephen Valdieri had been using his phone. He ended the call and smiled. "I have good news. A friend, well, someone I know, has access to the Capitol Hill book of personal details, including home addresses and phone numbers. But please don't ask me who or how. Matt, do you have any train times yet?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, I got diverted. Before we do anything else, I think it would be good if one of us could phone Senator Harding's home, explain about us and our baby, and see if we can speak to the Senator's wife." He was going to add, And then we can concentrate on finding Jack, but he managed to keep quiet.

Valdieri showed Zoé the piece of paper on which he'd written the Senator's home address and phone number. "It would be best if you did it, Zoé. Mrs. Harding is more likely to take a call from you rather than from a man. If that's alright, I'll dial the number for you on the office phone."

Zoé shook her head. "If the cell phone you have given me cannot be traced, I will use that. We will put money on the card to pay for every call we make."

While Valdieri said that was not necessary, Zoé dialed the number and held the phone away from her ear far enough for Matt to hear as well. A young sounding woman answered the phone.

Zoé took a deep breath. "May I speak to Mrs. Harding please?"

"This is Joyce Harding. Who's calling?"

"I'm phoning from the medical center about your baby."

Matt hoped Zoé had thought this through. He remembered how in France she'd pretended to be a pharmacist to get information. It seemed she was doing something similar again. No wonder she wanted a phone that couldn't be traced. Surely it would have been better to state the real reason for calling.

"I have already told you not to call me again."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Harding," Zoé said, "but this is most important. I have a few questions to ask about your baby's health, that is all." She paused, and a look of panic spread across her face as she let the phone fall to the floor.

Stephen Valdieri caught hold of Zoé's arm before she could join her phone on the carpet. "You'd better sit down," he said, leading her to a couch.

"What's the matter?" Matt asked. Zoé had seemed to be getting over her depression, but it was hardly surprising if she felt faint. They were both undergoing a terrible strain.

"It is Jack. It is our baby," Zoé said.

Matt sat down beside her and took her shaking body in his arms. "It's all right, it's all right," he said. "We're going to find Jack. That's a promise. That's why we're going to see Wendell Harris in Boston."

Zoé was taking deep breaths and risking hyperventilation. "Our baby he is not in Boston. He is in Washington."
Chapter 15

It took several minutes for Zoé to regain her composure. A middle-aged woman with short gray hair came in, and Valdieri gave her a kiss and said something quietly to her. She nodded and left the room. Zoé was still shaking when the woman returned with a glass of water.

"Calm down, Zoé," the woman said, kneeling in front of her. "Take a few sips of this before you do anything more. You've obviously had a great shock. Steve's already told me about your missing baby. I and our small team of helpers have been praying for you both, and for the safe recovery of Jack."

Valdieri smiled. "This is Lauren," he explained. "She's been out of town visiting family. She is..." His voice trailed off as Zoé jumped to her feet, spilling the water and recovering sufficiently to fling herself at Matt.

"It is Jack. I know it is Jack. The wife of the Senator has got him in Washington."

Matt looked at Lauren and Valdieri with an apologetic smile, but he said nothing. Surely they'd realize that Zoé had broken down under the strain.

"Matt, Matt, I heard him crying."

"I heard a baby crying too. Forget it. We already know Mrs. Harding has a baby. That was her baby we heard crying."

"No, no, Matt. It was Jack."

Matt sighed. With Zoé worked up like this, they were clearly in no state to take a train journey up to Boston. He turned to Lauren. "I think it would be a good idea to call a doctor," he said quietly.

"It was Jack. I know it was our baby. Do you think a mother does not know the sound of her baby crying?"

Matt felt numb. "I... I..."

"You all think I am going mad," Zoé shouted.

Lauren picked up the glass from the carpet and wiped Zoé's lap with a bunch of white tissues. "Try and keep calm, honey. Tell us exactly what happened on the phone."

"It was Jack," Zoé repeated. "Have you ever had a baby, Lauren."

Lauren shook her head. "I've helped many families with small children. I think some moms can recognize the sound of their own baby crying in a room full of other moms and babies. But I don't know if they can do it on the phone."

"Well, I did it on the phone," Zoé said, sounding calmer now. "We must tell the police in Washington, and they can go and rescue him."

Matt's phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. "It's Wendell again," he said. Then into the phone, "Are you sure? ... Yes, we're trying to sort things out here. ... Look, phone me back in half an hour. ... Yes, yes we're coming. Please don't be so impatient. On our way. Almost."

"That was Wendell," he repeated. "He knocked on the door of the apartment, pretending he was looking for a different family and then said he had the apartment number wrong. The young woman who came to the door was holding a tiny baby in her arms. He says she looked flustered. He's only got the photograph of Jack we gave him to go on, but he said the eye colors and dark, sticking out hair match Jack's. The baby turned up out of nowhere. So what are we going to do? My money is on Boston."

"And my money, it is on Washington," Zoé said firmly.

Valdieri looked serious. "I don't think we should rush into anything. If your friend Wendell Harris gave a convincing excuse for calling on the family in Boston, they won't be suspicious. And if Mrs. Harding in Washington doesn't realize that Zoé is the mother of Jack, she won't know that the baby's cry meant anything to Zoé. She will be puzzled why the medical center phoned her, but nothing more than that."

To Matt's surprise, Lauren got to her feet and gave Stephen Valdieri a hug. "You're a wise man of God, Steve. What do you suggest?"

Valdieri did nothing to remove Lauren's arms. He didn't even look embarrassed. "I think I should explain," he said. "Lauren is my fiancée."

Seemingly unaware of the gasp of surprise from Matt, Valdieri continued, "Marriage wasn't an option while I was at the Vatican. Now that I've left the official Church, I believe the Lord has led Lauren and me together. So now, what are we to do? We have three options."

While Zoé gave Lauren a small kiss of congratulations, Matt said, "Two options. We either go to Boston or we go to Washington."

"Or you both stay here," Valdieri said. "That's the third option. Personally, I favor you stay here. It's what the police have instructed you to do. I'll use what influence I can to get the police to visit the family in Boston, and also see if they can get access to Senator Harding's baby."

"I still think we should go to Boston," Matt said. "Wendell has seen the family with the baby that appeared unexpectedly, and it has a blue and a green eye and sticking out hair. That's good enough for me to be on the next train."

"But not for me," Zoé said firmly. "Me, I am going to Washington. I have heard baby Jack crying, and that is good enough for me. You can come with me if you want to, Matt."

Matt's phone rang. "It's Wendell again," he said. "Yes, we're still sorting things out. ... Can you get the local police in Boston to take this on? You've got a police background, and surely you can handle it. ... Just hang around and be patient. I'll phone you soon."

"That was a short call," Zoé said. "Is Wendell telling the police in Boston to call on the family?"

"He's not doing anything until we get there. He says he doesn't want to blow it. He needs us to identify the baby on the doorstep. He still thinks if they get suspicious, the family could move the baby out of Boston and we'd never trace it. He's right. They could say they'd been looking after it for a few days for a friend. You know, babysitting or something."

Zoé's sighed loudly in despair. "Matt, you are a detective who is cynical, and yet you are a detective who can be so naïve. How do you know that Wendell Harris is on his way to Boston?"

"Is that your maternal intuition again?"

"No, Matt, it is a mother who is being very careful. How do you know baby Jack is in Boston?"

"Because... Well, that's what Wendell Harris thinks. He's an ex-cop. What on earth has he got to gain by lying to us? We're not paying him any money."

Valdieri nodded. "We could check where the call came from, but it would take a few days. Is that what you want?"

"We have to go to Washington," Zoé insisted. "Now."

"Okay, okay." Matt held his hands up in surrender. "We go to Washington this afternoon. But first I have to tell Wendell Harris what we're doing. He can get the local police to call, because my gut feeling is that he's right. A teenage girl appears with a tiny baby a few hours after Jack is kidnapped, and the baby has heterochromia. According to Wendell's nosey friend, the girl wasn't even pregnant. Everything fits. It's Jack. And don't call me naïve, Zoé. I agree there's something a bit convenient about the way Wendell Harris turned up while I'm climbing out of the Pond with that old blanket. I'll tell him we're going to Washington, and he has our full authority to involve the local police in Boston and go banging on the door of that apartment."

"So we are definitely going to Washington?" Zoé said.

Matt nodded. "This afternoon. That's a promise, unless we hear anything more from Boston. I don't know what we're going to do when we get to Washington, but I'm sure we'll think of something on the way. And you definitely don't phone the Senator's house again. The last thing we want is Mrs. Harding expecting us." He paused, then, "I'd give anything to know what's happening in Boston. I'm going to phone Wendell."
Chapter 16

The phone rang in Valdieri's office. He got up from the couch he was relaxing on in the reception room and asked to be excused as he went to answer it. Matt carried on telling Lauren about Zoé's concerns over Wendell's trustworthiness. Valdieri returned to the room looking serious, his eyes fixed on Matt.

"Matt," he said quietly, "we need to have a chat in my office." He looked at Zoé and then at Lauren. "You two ladies had better stay here."

However skilled Valdieri was at pastoral matters, Matt could tell that something extremely serious was taking place. With a sinking feeling he accompanied Valdieri to the office. The feeling sank even lower when Valdieri shut the door and beckoned Matt to come with him to the far side of the office.

"They've found Jack," Valdieri said. "He's dead." It wasn't a question. He was stating what was so clearly obvious. "Sit down, Matt. Detective Chavez is on his way. He wanted to make sure you were here."

"I'm under arrest?"

"Detective Chavez says they've found Jack in Green-Wood Cemetery."

"Someone's buried him in a cemetery?"

Valdieri shook his head. "I'm so, so sorry, Matt. You need to identify the body. The detective says there's a lot of blood. Would you like me to go with you? I can't imagine what this is going to do to you both."

As the full implications of the situation started to sink in, Matt's first thoughts were for Zoé. "I'll be okay," he said. "Your place is here with Lauren and Zoé. You're going to have to prepare Zoé for the worst. Try and break it to her gently, and don't mention the blood."

Valdieri put a hand on Matt's shoulder. "Of course not. I've counseled many people before. Don't forget, my first parish was here in New York before I moved to Rome." He took a deep breath. "Somehow, with you and Zoé it's different. We've only known each other properly for a short time, but my heart goes out to you both in a way I hadn't thought possible."

Matt turned and gave Valdieri an embrace. It felt such a natural thing to do with this godly man. "I'll be okay. Now it's happened, I guess I've already been prepared for it, in spite of the show of optimism I've been putting on to help Zoé. So where is Green-Wood Cemetery?"

"It's in Brooklyn. A huge area of parkland with over half a million graves spread out everywhere. Detective Chavez will be here shortly. I suggest you wait outside for him, so you don't have to tell the ladies anything. Leave that to me."

Matt felt relief to hear that offer. "You need to tell them the police think they may have a lead and there's no need for Zoé to go with me. How's that?"

"Not good. I think I should prepare Zoé for the inevitable, but without going into details."

At that moment a bell for the main entrance rang. Lauren and Zoé came into the hallway. "Is everything okay, sweetie?" Lauren asked. She caught sight of Matt's expression while Valdieri was going to the main door. "Oh," she said, "let's go back to the reception room, Zoé. This looks like something for Steve and Matt to sort out."

Within a minute Matt was in the car with Detective Chavez, leaving him with no idea how diplomatically or caringly Stephen Valdieri was dealing with things back at the church. He was glad the ex-archbishop had stayed behind with Zoé.

Detective Chavez explained they needed to cross by the Williamsburg Bridge to get to Green-Wood Cemetery rather than use the more convenient Brooklyn Bridge. "We need to keep away from downtown Manhattan," he said. "That hostage situation has brought much of the area to a standstill."

They traveled in silence for what seemed like an hour, leaving Matt alone in the back seat to churn over in his mind how Zoé could possibly cope with this in her present condition.

Suddenly Detective Chavez turned in his seat while they waited at some stop lights. "Do you know Green-Wood Cemetery?"

"I know it's somewhere in Brooklyn," Matt said. "So go on, tell me what's happened."

Detective Chavez stayed quiet for a moment, then after a long pause he said, "It's one hell of a mess. Some kids on a school trip found the baby's body this morning."

"Kids go to a cemetery on school trips?"

"It's huge and full of history. It's also a wildlife preserve. Plenty for everyone to see, but you can imagine this came as a shock to the kids."

"And you think it's Jack, or you know it's Jack?"

"Missing persons came up with a match, Mr. Rider. Hair color and body size match."

The traffic was slow and for some reason Matt wanted to get there as quickly as possible. He wasn't sure why. "And the face? And the two different color eyes?"

Detective Chavez stayed quiet.

"Missing Persons must have shown you a photo of Jack. They know about the heterochromia. And can you put a blue light on the roof like they do in the films?"

"Sorry, Mr. Rider, I can't do that. Forensics won't be leaving for some time. We don't want to tread on their toes."

"I won't be treading on any toes. You show me Jack, I identify him, and then you take me back."

"We're guessing it is your missing baby, Mr. Rider."

"How many missing babies are there a few weeks old with different colored eyes?"

Detective Chavez negotiated around a stationary bus and the street ahead was clear. "There's a problem with the eyes. The right eye is blue, but we don't know about the left. Everything else fits."

"What's happened to the left eye, Detective Chavez?" Matt had a feeling that this was a nightmare. The left eye missing. Surely no one had cut...

The detective stopped the car at the side of the street. "You might as well know now, Mr. Rider. The left eye is missing. And the face is a mess. Okay, I'm being blunt, but I believe in telling things how they are. You still want to go ahead and look?"

"You mean the left eye's been cut out? Someone tried to take Jack's eye out and it killed him? What sort of hospital would do that?"

"It wasn't a hospital, Mr. Rider. Your baby was killed by someone slitting his little throat. That's why there's so much blood."

Matt sank down into the seat. Detective Chavez was never going to get a job as a counselor, but in a way it was good to be prepared for what lay ahead. He had to thank God that Zoé wasn't here with him. Thank you, God. There, he'd done it.

"This is it. The cemetery has now been closed for the day, so there won't be any rubberneckers around."

Wide metal gates led from the street to a massive Gothic stone building like the front of a medieval cathedral. The area looked more like an English country park than a cemetery. A police car with a bored-looking cop stood at the gates. The officer opened the gates after checking the detective's badge.

"Which way?" Detective Chavez asked.

The bored cop was obviously prepared, and from the passenger seat of his car he produced what was probably a standard visitors' map. An area had already been marked on the map with a cross. "You can't miss it. Forensics have a large tent there."

As Detective Chavez drove forward, Matt could see that the Cemetery had small roads running through it in every direction. There were hills and dips, with small and large graves, and fancy monuments mixed together. They all looked old. He'd never imagined a place such as this existed anywhere in the world.

Chavez drove with the map on his lap, and after a few twists and turns Matt could see a large blue forensics tent amongst a widely spaced row of gravestones.

He felt sick as Detective Chavez stopped the car, and he would probably feel even more sick when he saw Jack. But it had to be done. He now wished he'd brought Stephen Valdieri with him. Detective Chavez reminded Matt of the cops from American TV shows he'd watched as a kid at home: hard, and ready to suspect everyone.

One of the team came forward, a middle aged woman in a white forensic suit. "Are you Matt Rider?"

Matt nodded, feeling numb.

"I'm Bridget. I'm sorry to get you here, Matt, but we'd rather you saw the baby before we move him. I don't know what Detective Chavez has said to prepare you, but this is going to be a serious ordeal for you."

"I know. I gather my baby's in a bit of a mess. I just need to see him."

Bridget put a hand gently on his arm. "Did Detective Chavez tell you how the baby was found?"

"Some school kids apparently. So who cut Jack's eye out?"

"Ah, I don't think Detective Chavez told you everything. There was a school party here this morning, on a historical walk. Lots of famous people are buried here. A couple of the kids left the group and started chasing each other round these gravestones. There are always two in any group, you can count on it."

Matt glanced towards the tent. The gravestone connected to the crime scene would be inside.

"That's when they spotted the baby boy. They screamed, and that brought some of the other kids running. The teacher in charge called 9-1-1, and that's why we're here. Are you sure you're feeling up to identifying your baby?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. Do you have any idea who took his left eye out? Are there any clues?"

"Matt, the baby boy has been here we estimate for no more than two days. It could be as recently as yesterday. There's wildlife in the cemetery. Raccoons especially. As you probably know, raccoons are carnivorous."

"They've been eating Jack? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, Matt, it upsets me a lot to say they have. The face has been heavily mutilated. We can see identifiable tooth and claw marks caused by the raccoons. Raccoons are the only large carnivorous mammals in the cemetery. And that's why the left eye is missing, or at least enough of it is missing so that we're unable to check the color. We're hoping there'll be some other identification marks that will confirm this is your baby."

"My wife would be better at that, but there's no way I'm letting her near Jack if he looks as bad as you're suggesting. Let's do it."

Several people wearing white coveralls were working inside the tent, but they moved out as soon as Bridget entered. Matt stared at the blue sheet on the grass, covering the body of the baby. "Should we be walking about in here? There must be clues."

"The kids trampled around on the ground too much for us to get many clues. One of them even poked the baby with a stick. That's kids for you. We've finished in here, now. Are you ready, Matt?" Bridget gently pulled the sheet back far enough to reveal the baby's head and upper body.

Matt took a deep breath. "It's Jack," he said, staring in horror at the mutilated face. His throat had been cut so deeply that the head lay at a slight angle. Blood covered the grass around the head.

"We need to be sure, Matt."

"I can tell by his hair. It always sticks out in front like that." He pointed to a folding chair by the table. "He looks worse than I imagined. I need to sit down."

"Matt, we need to be more certain than that. Are there any identifying marks on his body? The raccoons didn't attempt to get through his baby suit."

"Nothing I can think of. I know it's Jack, but I guess you'll be doing a DNA test. The precinct took blood samples from me and Zoé."

"We will, but that takes time. I'm going to pull the sheet right back. We've already removed the baby's clothes and diaper, looking for further injuries and possible clues."

As Bridget whisked the blue cloth away, like a waiter clearing a table, Matt looked more closely at the white, naked body of a tiny boy. "It's not Jack."

"We need you to be certain."

"For one thing this baby's much too thin. Jack has only just been kidnapped."

"That's rather subjective, Matt. You said for one thing. Is there anything else?"

"The tummy button. The navel. I do my share of changing nappies. What you call diapers. That tummy button looks like someone cut the umbilical cord with a blunt knife. My wife is a nurse. There's no way she'd have been satisfied if the midwife had done that. I'm telling you, it's not Jack."

"I understand, but we'll still need to do a DNA test. But for now I'll inform the detective team, and they can start looking for the parents of this poor little child. Murder is bad any time, but taking an innocent life like this..." Bridget, the forensic scientist who must have seen literally hundreds of bodies, sounded overcome with emotion.

"I'm going to phone Zoé. I don't know what she's been told I've come to see, but I'm sure she's suspecting the worst." He stopped for a moment. Please, God help me. He made his call, and Valdieri answered on Zoé's phone. Matt assured Valdieri the baby wasn't Jack and said he'd be back soon.

"Bridget, this has really shaken me. How could someone slit an innocent little throat and leave the body here?"

Bridget stayed silent. Forensics. What a job to be in.

"I'd like Detective Chavez to drive me back now." He nodded to Bridget. "Thanks. This can't be easy for you either."

Detective Chavez hadn't finished. From his attitude, Matt knew that the police were far from satisfied that he and Zoé were innocent. Chavez was leaning against his car chewing something. He spat it on the ground. "Someone might say it's mighty convenient the baby can't be easily identified."

"You think I did this?"

"We're checking the surveillance cameras."

"Okay, I know this isn't Jack, but let's say it is. How could we have got him here? The sign by the gates says this place is open from seven forty-five in the morning till five at night. We were at the clinic long after closing time here, and Jack was snatched in Central Park before the cemetery opened. Detective Chavez, you're sick."

The detective shook his head. "The person who did this to the baby is sick. You say this isn't your baby, but then you would say that. Why do I have a strange feeling you're putting on an act? You've already given blood samples at the precinct, so let's wait for the test results. Don't think of leaving New York. The blood tests are going to tell us a lot."

"You're right. The blood tests will show that this isn't Jack. Why would we kill someone else's baby?"

"I've got this thought in my head. The blood test will show that your wife is the mother of this baby, but you're not the father. You discovered this when the clinic did their blood tests, so you decided to do away with the kid. How's that for a good theory?"

Matt pointed back to the forensic tent that covered the mutilated baby. "Detective Chavez, I suggest you stop wasting time with your wild theories and start looking for the real killer. Check out the name on the grave for a start."

"Already done it, just for the record of where we are in the cemetery. Henry Mattison, October 1876. Lucky for you the guy's dead. He might have seen you slitting the baby's throat."

"There's no need to be sarcastic. Mattison. Check it out. There might be a family connection."

"What are you, some sort of detective?"

"A PI, but I don't do murders. Just trying to help, that's all. And fax a photo of the baby's navel to the clinic. They'll be able to confirm it's not Jack. Much quicker than blood tests. You can take me back now."

"You need to stay at that church place for the remainder of the day. Forensics might need you again."

***

While Matt did his best to downplay the whole incident, Lauren fussed around him, making sure he wasn't in shock. There was no way he was going into the full details of what he'd seen in the cemetery. He didn't even give a hint. Just said that the body of a baby had been found and they wanted him to confirm it wasn't Jack. Later he'd tell Valdieri, and only Valdieri, but not yet.

While everyone was drinking coffee, Wendell Harris called on Matt's phone. Still in a daze, Matt answered. He went into the hallway and briefly explained what had happened at the cemetery. In spite of the trauma he and Zoé had suffered, Wendell Harris was insisting they come to Boston as soon as they could. His nosey girlfriend had just discovered that the girl might already have a baby who was about six months old.

"Wendell, that's biologically impossible."

Wendell said it was what his friend thought, and she should know. She lived in the same street.

Although Matt felt his mind was falling apart, he had an idea. And it made sense, too.

"Wendell, give us the name of the family and the exact address, and I'll hand it all over to the police here who are working the case. They're the ones leading the search."

"You mean the exact name and address?" Matt could detect some uncertainty in Wendell's voice.

"Yes, Wendell. The exact address. I don't want cops knocking on the wrong apartment and alerting the family if they live close."

"Hey, yes, Matt. The thing is, my friend took me to it. I know the family are called Garcia, if that helps. I can recognize the door on the apartment block, not the number. Stupid of me, but there you are. Sure, I'll check with her now and phone you back. In the meantime, let me know the time of that train so I can meet it."

He could see Zoé shaking her head. He wanted to be on a train bound for Boston, but he had to back Zoé's instinct that the train they should be on would be going to Washington. He briefly explained about Zoé's phone call to Washington, but decided not to ask Wendell Harris to follow it up. Someone like that blundering into the Senator's house in Washington wasn't going to help.

Wendell said he couldn't see why a baby in Washington had anything to do with the kidnap.

"I agree with you," Matt said, "but Zoé seems to think it's worth checking. She wants to go to Washington and talk to the Senator's wife. You know, mother to mother, that sort of thing."

Wendell drew in a sharp breath. "Don't mess there."

"I can't see it will do any harm -- if it helps Zoé," Matt said.

"Yeah, well, good luck with that. But I seriously don't recommend it."

Matt stuck to his decision not to go to Boston, and made Washington the excuse. Wendell's girlfriend didn't sound too reliable.

"So what are we doing?" Zoé demanded, as soon as Matt had finished his call and explained about the second baby.

Lauren came and stood between Matt and Zoé and put her arms around them both. She was obviously an affectionate person. "Why don't you two guys go with Steve and see the police? Tell them all about Wendell and Boston, and share Zoé's suspicions about Senator Harding's wife in Washington."

Valdieri shook his head. "I don't advise we tell the police about Washington. I'm convinced they won't take any notice of such a wild accusation against a senator."

"But they might," Zoé said.

"And if they did," Valdieri said quietly, "what would they do? They'd send a very senior officer to warn them that an English couple, who they believed had harmed their own baby, were about to accuse Mrs. Harding of kidnapping. No, no," he said as Zoé was about to speak, "that is what they would say. It is not what I think. Lauren and I are certain you're both innocent in this. But the police here in New York aren't convinced of your innocence."

"It is late in the day now to go to Washington. I do not want Senator Harding to come to the door if he is back from work. I will take the train there tomorrow morning on my own if Jack has not been found," Zoé said firmly. "And you, Matt, you can go to Boston."

Matt gave her a kiss. "No, not on your own. We are going to Washington tomorrow morning." He turned to Valdieri. "Stephen, I know we're supposed to stay here in New York. You're going to have to cover for us if Simon Urquet or the police start asking questions."

Stephen Valdieri nodded somewhat reluctantly, and only after receiving a dig in the ribs from Lauren's elbow.

Matt saw Lauren wink at him, and that made him feel better. "Stephen," he said, "I hope you have the full address as well as the phone number for the Harding's house. Not that we're going to phone them. We're just going to turn up unannounced and talk our way into the house \-- unless Mrs. Harding comes to the door holding Jack." Which she wouldn't, because Jack was in Boston.

They stayed back at the church for the rest of the day, as instructed by Detective Chavez. There was no point in arriving in Washington in the evening and finding a hotel. They planned to be there and back the same day.

***

Matt wanted to leave for Washington soon after breakfast and get the obsession out of Zoé's mind when she saw that Mrs. Harding had a healthy baby of her own. Valdieri reminded them that they were supposed to stay in New York, but he didn't sound as though he was about to inform on them. However, he suggested they wait until later in the morning in case the police needed to contact them again. It would not be good to be two hundred miles away! Lauren was clearly supportive of what they were planning.

They heard nothing from the police, and by eleven o'clock Matt insisted they leave. He wanted to get back in the evening and not have to pay for a hotel. They took the subway down to Penn Station. Armed police stood at entrances and at the top and bottom of the escalators. There seemed to be relatively few passengers. Fear from the hostage situation was making the public wary of being caught in an underground explosion. This was a really bad time to be in Manhattan. Okay, but much worse to be one of the hostages. That certainly put things into perspective. But then, with Jack missing... Fortunately, Zoé interrupted his thoughts by suggesting that they should have contacted Simon Urquet for legal advice.

"The last thing we need is legal advice," Matt said. "We want to get our baby back. And we're going to do it no matter how many laws we break."

"If we have to stay the night, Simon could give us some more money if we tell him what we are doing. He promised us generous expenses."

"We've both got cards. Even if we have to max them out, I'm not telling Urquet anything about this. Not yet. When we're behind bars, that will be soon enough to get his help."

Zoé didn't reply. She gripped his arm tightly, bringing him to a halt.

"Don't chicken out now," he said. "It was your idea to follow this up."

"No, I have not changed the mind. We are definitely going to Washington. Please do not laugh at me, but just for a moment I saw a man over there. He has gone now. He looked a lot like Wendell."

"Lots of people look like Wendell." He started walking again. "Wendell's in Boston, and I'm still waiting for him to call back with that name and address."

Zoé dropped off to sleep almost as soon as the Amtrak train began to move. They had two comfortable seats with good leg room for stretching out, but Matt stayed wide awake. As they passed through Philadelphia Zoé gave a genteel yawn and rubbed her eyes. "Me, I have been thinking about how we are to get to Senator Harding's house."

"You've been asleep, not thinking."

"Me, I have been thinking in my sleep. It is what I do. How do we get to the house? It has been going round and around in my mind."

"A bus?"

"No, that will be no good. If we have to break in and snatch little Jack, we need to have a quick escape. We cannot be found waiting at a bus stop."

"What you mean, break in? I thought we're going to let the police deal with it if we see Jack."

"No, Matt, I thought we do not trust the police. They think we are guilty, so they are not going to listen to us. So we have to rent a car. That is what they call it in America, I think. You say hiring, they say renting. And we may need Urquet's money to do it."

Matt shook his head. "We're not snatching anyone. We knock on the door, ask to see the baby, and when they've shown him to us we'll know if it's Jack or not."

"And why will they show us the baby?"

Matt thought for a moment. "Could we say we're health visitors?"

Zoé seemed wide awake now. "They do not have health visitors in America. I think someone from the Bureau of Child Welfare makes a visit. One inspector from England and one from France calling ourselves health visitors. Yes, I am sure we will be very convincing. Especially as you are dressed in some old clothes that Steve has given you."

Matt decided to ignore that. "The police have got our passports, but we've got our driving licenses. We've got bank cards. Okay, we can hire or even rent a car." He yawned. "Let's worry about it when we get to Washington. It's my turn to doze off and do some thinking now."
Chapter 17

Washington Union Station seemed much busier than New York Penn, a sign that what was happening in New York was New York's problem, although there were more police around than Matt expected. A row of cabs waited outside, but Matt pointed to one of the car rental agencies.

Zoé gave a gasp and pointed in the opposite direction. "There, look. It is Wendell Harris."

Matt turned quickly. He could see several black men about the age and size of Wendell Harris, and a couple of them looked a bit like him.

"I know you do not believe me, Matt. I am not the one who was hit on the back of the head. My brain, it is working perfectly. And so are my eyes. It was definitely Wendell."

A sudden thought occurred to Matt. Zoé was not one to imagine things. Supposing it was Wendell? Supposing he'd followed them from New York. So why was he claimed to be phoning from Boston. Why would he have come all the way from Boston to Washington.

"Why is he here, Matt?"

"If it really was him... Yes, okay, it was him. That means he's a cop, and he's been sent to trail us. The Deputy Inspector said they'd be keeping an eye on us. Perhaps the police think we're going to lead them to Jack."

"Then that is the best thing that could happen. Wendell follows us to Senator Harding's house, sees us snatching the baby and comes to our help. Mrs. Harding she gets arrested, and so does the Senator if he is there, and everything ends with the happiness ever after."

"Yes, happily ever after."

"Except for Mr. and Mrs. Harding. They will be serving a long time in jail for what they have done to us. A very long time if baby Jack is dead."

"We'd better get in the queue and see if we can hire a car for the day."

"It is called a line in America, Matt. Not a queue. And as I have already said, you rent a car over here, you do not hire it."

"I know that, Zoé. And you don't go up in a lift, you go up in an elevator. And now we're going to join the queue and hire a car."

Renting the car presented few difficulties, although Matt had to sign away the possible loss of a small fortune if the car got stolen or wrecked.

The rental agency had a range of local maps, with one showing the area with the Senator's street a few miles beyond Alexandria. Driving out of Washington in the busy traffic gave Matt a few concerns. Although he was used to driving on the right hand side of the road, it was mostly on narrower roads in France with no more than two lanes each way. He let the traffic zip past him left and right as he got used to driving an automatic. Turnoffs to the left and right made it important to be in the correct lane. He hedged his bets and kept in one of the central lanes until he felt more confident.

They got a momentary sight of Capitol Hill, making Matt wonder if Senator Cyrus Harding was in his office. Hopefully he was, because it was going to be hard enough dealing with Mrs. Harding -- assuming they got as far as talking to her. And the chances of her coming to the door with a baby in her arms were, frankly, just too much to hope for. But he wasn't going to share his thoughts with Zoé.

They crossed the Potomac and were soon going through Alexandria.

"Me, I am feeling hungry," Zoé said.

"What are we going to do?" Matt asked. "It's the middle of the afternoon, and I'm certainly hungry, but if we stop we'll waste too much time. First priority is to find the Senator Harding's house."

"Look," Zoé said, "there is a pizza place that is fast over there. We will grab something to eat and drink, and go and find Senator Harding's house. If no one is in the house, we can sit in the car and keep watch."

While Zoé hurried into the take out pizza bar, Matt studied the map again. Judging by the high house number in the address, the Senator's street was long. Although house numbers weren't shown on the map, the house was going to be near the far end.

Zoé sounded exhausted as she crashed back into the passenger seat and handed Matt a flat cardboard box and a six-pack of Coke. "You eat it," she said. "I am not feeling hungry any longer. But I will drink the Coke. It might help me keep alert."

"Eat some of the pizza, Zoé. We need to keep our strength up and keep our wits about us. I can't see how, but this might turn out to be dangerous."

"Did you try phoning Wendell again while I was getting the pizza?"

"I'll do it now." He let it ring for over two minutes, without success. There wasn't even a voicemail option. "Of course," Matt said, "if Wendell is an undercover cop, he's not going to answer it, because there might be some background noise that would give away where he is. If we see him, it's best if we pretend we haven't."

"I know he is not in Boston. I saw him in New York, and again when we got off the train at Washington Union. You were with the police, so you ought to understand how they work. If they are suspicious of someone they follow with the shadow."

Matt let that one pass. Zoé had a valid point anyway. Unless they were planning to break and enter at the Senator's house, they weren't doing anything illegal -- apart from leaving New York without permission. "Do you think we should phone Steve?"

Zoé decided to sample the large pizza. "Oh, so he is Steve now, not Archbishop Valdieri."

Matt laughed. "Stephen, I suppose is a good compromise. Okay, if we don't hear from him soon, I phoning him. We need to keep in touch."

"I think he would have contacted us if he has heard anything from Boston. Boston I think is what you English call the chase of the wild goose. Wendell Harris is an undercover cop, planted to stay with us to see what we are doing. That is why he has followed us here."

"I don't see why he'd want to send us on a wild goose chase to Boston. It doesn't make sense."

"If he is with the gendarmes, the police, then it will be a test to see if we go or not."

"Why?"

"We would not bother to go if we have thrown Jack's little... You know, thrown Jack into a dumpster in Manhattan."

Matt let the two cars that had been following go past. Both were driven by older white women. "Then we failed the test. We didn't do anything."

"Yes we did. We came here." Zoé kept silent for a moment while she swallowed a large chunk of the pizza slice she was holding.

Matt said nothing, just glad that Zoé was keeping her strength up.

A gulp from her can of Coke, and Zoé was ready to talk again. "No wonder they are following us. They are puzzled. We have made them puzzled by coming to Washington."

"I've been checking the rearview mirror all the way from the rental agency. See, I got it right that time. Rental agency. Apart from those two women I'm sure no one's been following, especially not Wendell. There's no way they could have put a tracker on this car, because they didn't know which car we'd be hiring until we got into it. Okay, renting, not hiring."

"Pull in here and stop, Matt. We will see who else goes by us. Just in case it is the police local, and not Wendell."

"We wouldn't be able to recognize a plain car police tail anyway. It's not going to be a large white cruiser with red and blue flashing lights on the roof. Let's keep going and we can suss out the house. It can only be a couple of miles now."

The Senator's street had expensive houses set back amongst an assortment of trees. Most houses had large front yards that Matt said he could only think of as gardens. Then on the right he spotted something completely different. On an isolated stretch of the street, between two areas of woodland, a high wall concealed all but the top of a house. It was almost certainly a large house judging by the extent of the roof and the number of chimneys he could see beyond the wall. A large, expensive house with the right house number on a cast metal sign. He stopped opposite the large, ornamental steel gates that were wide open. He noticed an intercom box on one pillar and two security cameras on a post by the gates.

"It looks like Mrs. Harding won't be coming to the door carrying the baby. We'll have to ring the intercom to say who we are and what we want," Matt observed. "We need to think this one out"

"The gates they are already open. Are we going to drive in?" Zoé asked.

"They're definitely not open for us. Senator Harding may be on his way home. I'll move forward a few feet and we may be able to see inside better. If it looks clear, I suggest we walk straight in and confront Mrs. Harding."

As the car moved, Zoé touched his arm. "Look, a black van it is parked inside. Move over to my side and you will see it. They are getting a white box out."

Without thinking, Matt said, "It's a coffin. A very small coffin. I think they call it a casket over here."

The van had discreet gold lettering on the door for a local funeral parlor.

Zoé gave a scream. "It is Jack. They have killed him, and now they are taking him away to bury him."

Matt knew he would have laughed at the ridiculous suggestion if their situation wasn't so tragic. "They're delivering the casket, not taking it away. I'm noting down their phone number. Let's not go in. There's clearly a problem there. I'm going to call Stephen Valdieri to give him an update, and check he's not heard anything."

"I hope he is not too busy with Lauren," Zoé said.

"Now who's being cynical?"

"It is you, Matt. You have made me like it. I was never cynical before I met you."

Matt could hear no giggling in the background when Valdieri answered. The ex-archbishop said he'd been hoping to hear something positive from Matt. No, Wendell Harris hadn't phoned, but Valdieri said he'd contacted the Boston Police Headquarters and explained what had happened.

"The problem is, Matt, until Wendell phones we only have the surname Garcia, but we don't even know the district where they live. It seems Boston has far too many Garcias to even start to narrow it down. The senior guy I spoke to said they were taking my report very seriously. Although they've never heard of Wendell Harris, they'll certainly listen to what he has to say if he contacts them."

"Okay, keep in touch, Stephen." He rang off.

"So now what do we do, Monsieur Detective? Walk in and ask the driver of the van what he is doing?"

Matt was already dialing. "I'm phoning the undertaker. Or as they call it here, the funeral parlor. And they spell it without the letter 'u' near the end. See, I'm almost American now. You'd better do the speaking. You're good at making up convincing stories on the phone. Tell them that..." He paused as Zoé took the phone from him.

"Yes, Matt, me, I am the expert. Be quiet now, it is ringing."

She moved the phone to her right ear. "Good afternoon. I am phoning on behalf of Senator Harding. I am his secretary. He is still in the office, but he wants confirmation that you have called at his house as agreed. ... Yes, and just to confirm what you have delivered the casket. ... There is to be what, did you say?"

Matt watched in horror as Zoé screamed and threw the phone into the footwell. He retrieved it and immediately pressed the red off button. Whatever had been said, he didn't want the person on the other end to hear any more.

"It is Jack," she said.

"What is Jack?"

"They said they have just delivered the baby casket Mrs. Harding ordered. There is to be a private burial at the house tomorrow. They said it is for the family dog, but I know it is for our baby. They have killed Jack, and now they are going to bury him."
Chapter 18

He waited while the van from the funeral parlor drove out and turned towards Alexandria. The gates swung firmly shut. "Tell me exactly what the funeral parlor said." Matt took a deep breath. "Did they really say they're going to bury Jack?"

"Not in the words so many. Why else would they want a casket for a baby? And they are going to bury Jack in the garden, and that must be so that the police they will not know."

"And the woman at the funeral parlor said all that?"

"It is not what she said, it is the way she said it."

"You're not making sense. Tell me the exact words she used."

"She said they have delivered the baby's casket. No, they have delivered a baby's casket. Mrs. Harding ordered it. The burial of the family dog is to be in the garden tomorrow, and she wanted to confirm that the funeral parlor is not involved any more."

Matt leaned over and rested his head against Zoé's shoulder. "It may not be what you think. You need to phone the funeral parlor again."

"But I screamed and threw the phone down. They will not speak to me again."

"Wait a moment, until you've calmed down. Then we'll phone them again and you can tell them you were stung by a wasp. Tell them you're sorry you rang off so----. Hold on a moment, there's a police cruiser coming. Just sit quietly as it goes past. They won't be here for us."

The large white cruiser with red stripes, its blue and red lights flashing, drew up in front of them. The tannoy crackled, and a loud metallic voice said, "Get out of the vehicle. Put your hands on the roof, and let us see your hands at all times."

"How can they----?"

"Get out! Now!"

"Better do as they say, Zoé. But don't mention anything about baby Jack. It's best if they don't know what we're doing here. They're probably mixing us up with someone else. Well, let's hope so."

Slowly, hands in the air, he and Zoé emerged from the driver's side of the rental car. They put their hands on the roof, their backs to the police. One of the officers, the older of the two, stood holding a handgun while the younger officer was speaking into the radio.

"Identity," ordered the older officer with the gun.

Matt nodded towards the back of the car, making sure his hands stayed still. This could turn nasty, especially if they were being confused with some dangerous criminals or fugitives.

"State your business," the older officer said. He had put his gun away, which was reassuring.

The younger officer, having presumably finished his radio check, joined his colleague. "What have we got, Dave," he asked.

Matt sighed inwardly. This didn't look like a case of mistaken identity, unless the car had been used in a robbery shortly before they picked it up at the agency.

"We're on holiday from England," Matt said. "We stopped here to eat a pizza we bought in Alexandria. We're not doing any harm. You can search the car if you like."

The older officer nodded. "We had a report of a couple behaving suspiciously outside Senator Cyrus B. Harding's house. We assume that's you."

"Who's Senator Cyrus B. Harding?" Matt asked, hoping he made the question sound innocent.

"State the purpose of your visit to Washington DC."

Matt could see they had a problem. The question was, should they pretend to be touring the States, or should they risk telling the police about their suspicions? Judging by the way these two officers were acting, it was better not to reveal too much. "I can't think why anyone would report us," he said. "We picked up this car at Washington Union Station a couple of hours ago. We stopped off for a pizza in Alexandria, and now we've stopped here by the side of the street to eat it." He pointed to the flat box.

"Not much of a view," the older officer said, his right hand holding the gun again. Matt hoped it was just a habit. "You're English, aren't you?"

Matt nodded. He wasn't going to complicate things by saying Zoé was French.

"You English have strange ideas. Me, I guess I'd find a nice view of the Potomac. Move along another mile, and you can park up and eat as much as you like." He put his gun back in the holster and laughed. "I hope we didn't scare you too much. It's just that we have to follow up any reports like this where Senator Harding is involved."

Matt removed his hands on the roof without waiting for permission, and noticed that the officers took no action. "Whoever Senator Harding is," he said, "he certainly has a big house."

Both men were climbing back into the cruiser. "And a big ego to go with it," one of them said, but Matt couldn't see which one.

He waited until the cruiser had done a noisy turn in the street with its tires screeching, and watched it disappear back the way it had come towards Alexandria. "I guess we'd better move on to the picnic site," he said. "I don't think this is the right time to bother Mrs. Harding. At least we got away with it this time."

"Yes, this time," Zoé said.
Chapter 19

The picnic site, more of a large pull-off really, had a view over houses, fields and woodland all the way down to the wide water of the Potomac. Not that Matt was taking much notice, nor was he really interested in the cold remains of the pizza.

"Let's not risk phoning the funeral parlor again. Any suggestions?"

He watched Zoé finish the final dregs of a second can of Coke. "Of course, Matt. We need to get in there before the burial tomorrow."

"How, Zoé?"

"Me, I want to ring the bell, force my way in, and make them confess that they have killed..." She broke off in tears.

"It's an idea, Zoé. But it's not one that is going to work."

"If we had a ladder we could look over the wall."

"Yes, if we had a ladder. But we don't."

Zoé hit him on the arm. "I know we do not have a ladder. Maybe we can get one."

"And what are you expecting to see on the other side of the wall?"

"The grave, of course. The grave they have dug for baby Jack."

Matt rubbed his arm. Zoé had given him quite a heavy blow. Not that he was going to complain. She was desperate. And so was he. If there was a way to get inside the grounds or even look over that wall, it would be good. But the thought of seeing a freshly dug grave was traumatic.

"Hold on," he said. "That casket was only delivered half an hour ago. I can't believe anyone's been buried yet. I got the impression Senator Harding wasn't back from work. Didn't the funeral parlor say the burial is tomorrow?"

Zoé nodded. "You are right, Matt. Whoever is being buried there, they are not going ahead without the Senator. Perhaps we could go back to the house tomorrow and force our way in."

"And the police come back and we get arrested. And then we never find out what's going on."

Zoé gave a long sigh. "I think we need to phone a friend and get another opinion. Perhaps Steve Valdieri. Or Simon Urquet."

Matt shook his head. "We're leaving Simon Urquet out of this. If we're going to need his help later, we need him to claim, hand on heart, he knew nothing about our plans. Not sure about Valdieri."

"Ken."

"What's Ken got to do with it? He's back in England." Matt looked at the dashboard clock. "It's going to be evening in England. Perhaps a bit too early for Ken to be tucked up with his wife having a passionate session right at this moment, although he does turn in early."

"Ken is passionate?"

"I doubt he can even spell it. Anyway, what made you think of Ken?"

"He sometimes has the ideas bright. That is what you tell me."

Matt started the engine and signaled a turn.

"Where are we going, Matt? We must not get arrested."

"We're going to drive back past the Senator's house. We're not going to stop, but let's see if there's anything interesting happening behind those gates. Mrs. Harding might be out with the baby in a stroller -- as they call them here. You're right, we need to speak to Ken." He laughed. "Better to do it now than later and spoil his night of passion."

The large metal gates to the Senator's house were closed. No sign of any vehicle or anybody. Not even a sight of the house which was hidden around a curved drive and a row of conifers.

A mile further on Matt saw a turning to the right that led to a development of less exotic houses. He checked his phone and noticed he had good signal strength. Ken's wife answered after a lengthy ring, and to Matt's disappointment she didn't sound out of breath. The night of passion hadn't started.

Ken sounded annoyed when he got to the phone. "We're just having a late supper. We're off to bed soon. Where are you, kiddo? Locked up in some Yankee prison?"

Matt explained Zoé's suspicions that Jack had been taken on orders from a Washington senator.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I really am. Washington. Big place. Have you phoned to update me, or is there some way Habgood Securities can help?"

"Ken, how can someone look over a high wall without being seen?"

"Is this some sort of riddle?"

"No, Ken, it's what we need to do."

"Then use a ladder."

Matt could hear Ken's wife saying something in the background.

"Ken, listen. The local police knew when we stopped the car outside the gates. There are a couple of surveillance cameras on a post. They're going to notice us getting a ladder off the roof of the car and leaning it against the wall."

Whatever Mrs. Habgood was promising, it wasn't enough to entice Ken to bed. "You remember that parachute thing you did at the Helios Academy last year? You know, when you caught that naked woman by surprise?"

"Paraglider, Ken. I had a camera on my helmet and was taking photographs over the high wall. And it was an official job."

"I was just wondering, kiddo, if there's a high hill near the President's house."

"Senator, Ken. And there's no hill."

"How about a naked woman?"

"Be serious, Ken. Anyway, how could I get hold of a paraglider out here?"

"Sorry, kiddo." Mrs. Habgood had started up again in the background. Something about the food getting cold. "Sorry, can't help you this time."

"Ken, Ken, you're a genius!"

"Eh?"

"Aerial photography. Brilliant!"

"Eh?"

"You've cracked it for us, Ken. I know exactly what to do now. As long as I can find the right person to help. Take it easy tonight, and think of your heart."

As Matt finished the call, Zoé caught hold of his arm, but gently this time. "You are going to hire a helicopter?"

Matt shook his head. "Not even rent one."

"Do not joke with me, Matt. An aeroplane?"

"They called them airplanes out here. Sorry, another poor joke. You're close. We're going back to Alexandria. I saw a model shop when you were getting the pizza, but I didn't take much notice of it at the time." He looked again at the dashboard clock. "If we hurry I guess we can be there before it closes. And I want to phone Simon Urquet after all. He needs to top up my account. We just don't tell him we're in Washington."
Chapter 20

Driving back to Alexandria, the large police cruiser that had bothered them earlier passed them again, going in the opposite direction. No siren, no flashing lights, but Matt reckoned the police were keeping an eye on them. This would make his plan even more difficult.

The model shop was closed, but Matt could see a light at the back and somebody moving about. "If the guy who keeps his place is anything like Mac the Hack, he'll probably be fiddling around with bits and pieces until the early hours."

"Mac the Hack makes models?"

"No, but Mac can't leave his computers and seriously illegal programs alone. At night he can get on with whatever he wants to do, without people like Ken disturbing him with trivial computer problems."

"And now you are going to disturb this man when he is getting on with whatever he wants to do?"

Matt drove into a side street where a passing cruiser was unlikely to spot the rental car. He had the feeling, anyway, that he was being a bit too paranoid about this.

The shop window had an assortment of model cars and planes in an untidy arrangement. Matt took this as a good sign. The owner was likely to be a guy who was more interested in making models than selling them.

His first knock on the door brought no response. "You try, Zoé. He'll probably open up to an attractive woman. I would." He thought about what he'd just said. "I mean, I would open up to you. Not to any other pretty woman. If you see what I mean."

He realized he was wasting his breath with this rambling explanation. Zoé was already hammering loudly on the door. Matt stood to one side while a man cupped his hands against the glass and stared out at Zoé.

"It is the business most urgent," Zoé called through the door, clearly unwilling to share any details at this stage.

The scruffily dressed man opened the door on the chain. Matt felt even more confident now, assuming they got inside the shop. The man might indeed be another Mac the Hack, who would take on any challenge just to prove how good he was.

Matt stepped forward, showing his hands. "I'm a private detective. A private eye. And we need urgent help on a surveillance job. From what I can see in the window, you're just the person to help us."

Whether it was the look of desperation on Zoé's face, or the challenge of work, the man slipped the chain and let them into the shop, locking the door behind them. The man introduced himself as Pete.

"So what is this urgent surveillance job?" Pete seemed unable to hide a look of eager anticipation.

"We want to hire, rent, a model plane that can carry a camera."

"Is this job legal?"

Matt shrugged. "Probably not." He detected a look of uncertainty on Pete's face. This wasn't looking so good after all.

"Sorry, I don't do illegal."

"It is our baby," Zoé said.

"Sorry, lady. No babies here. You've got the wrong place."

Zoé wasn't to be put off. "He has been kidnapped, and we think Senator Cyrus Harding has taken him."

"Senator Harding! That----" He broke into a sequence of expletives that made even Matt feel uncomfortable. "Go on, lady, tell me more. I might be interested in helping."

Matt let Zoé tell the story. Coming from a distraught mother it might be the tipping point, although a carrot didn't seem necessary. Clearly Senator Cyrus B. Harding was not Pete's favorite person.

Pete listened closely, nodding at times, with the occasional hard smile on his lips. "So where do I come in, lady?"

Zoé turned to Matt. "Let my husband tell you. It is his idea. And we are desperate."

Matt decided to be cautious. "I'm being absolutely open with you, Pete. If you can't help us, I don't want you running off to the police."

Pete gave a hollow laugh. "Not much chance of that, with my record."

Once again Matt felt confident, providing this man had the kit. "Okay, we need a model plane with a camera pointing straight down. We want to fly over Senator Harding's garden."

Pete frowned. "You mean his back yard?"

"Does that include a lawn and flower beds?"

Pete laughed at Matt's question. "Of course it does."

Matt shrugged. "To me, a yard has flagstones, not grass and beds. Anyway, there's a grave that's only just been dug, presumably in the lawn or flower beds. And we think they're going to bury our baby. Dead or alive."

Pete took a sharp intake of breath. "Hey man, that's really scary."

"Certainly is. A baby's casket was delivered this afternoon. We phoned the funeral parlor and they said it's for a dog. Could be, I suppose. We only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it was a very fancy coffin ... casket ... you know what I mean."

Pete looked puzzled. "I might be able to fix us up with a plane and lightweight camera. It won't be able to fly around over the house all day waiting to see what happens. And we wouldn't be able to monitor the pictures. I can't do CCTV."

Matt felt encouraged by the use of "us" and "we". "Just one pass over the house and yard should do it. Providing the camera has good resolution. Oh, and a wide-angle lens."

Pete, the American version of Mac the Hack, gave a genuine smile. "Now you're talking sense. But no wide-angle lens. If we fly over low, they're gonna be more suspicious than if the plane flies over quite high. See what I mean? An ordinary lens will give just as good definition, but from higher up."

It was time to tackle Pete over his inclusive word, we. "I get the impression you're going to be there with us."

"Sure thing, man. This kit is expensive. Wouldn't trust it to anyone."

Matt felt a great relief. The job wasn't going to be like flying model gliders with radio control on top of the Mount. "We'd better talk money before we start," he said.

Pete sniggered. "Money? If we can dig some dirt on Senator Harding, I'll be paying you!"

If Pete and the Senator had their differences, Matt wasn't going to enquire into what they were. This wasn't just promising, it was amazingly promising. At that moment his phone rang in his pocket. "Yes?" He wasn't going to reveal his identity until he knew who it was on the other end.

"Simon here. Simon Urquet. I've been in touch with Stephen Valdieri. He clammed up as soon as I asked where you were. Where are you?"

"You don't want to know, Simon. You really don't want to know."

"You're under strict instructions from the police to stay in New York. Are you following up a lead?"

"Simon, we'll probably be needing you soon to get us out of trouble. The less you know at this stage the better. We don't want you being party to what we're doing."

"My official legal advice is that you stop what you're doing immediately. My personal feeling is to wish you good luck. Or as Zoé would put it, bon chance."

"Thanks, Simon, I'll tell her. And if you can put another thousand dollars into my bank account, it might come in handy for what we're doing."

"You realize that putting money into your account will be condoning whatever offence you're committing."

"You can put your hand on your heart and swear to whoever wants to know, that I have assured you the money will be used for perfectly legal purposes." That sounded good, and would surely let Simon Urquet off the hook. The money for illegal purposes would be coming out of his own pocket.

"I can guess what you're thinking," Simon said. "As devious as ever, I'm sure."

"Did Stephen Valdieri say anything that we should know?"

"Nothing. I suggest you phone him and tell him what you're doing, assuming he doesn't already know. Someone needs to know where to start searching for you both if it all goes wrong -- or, knowing you, maybe I should say when it all goes wrong. Please, Matt, I urge you to be very cautious. Don't assume I can get you out of trouble every time. You could be way out of your depth if you're messing with kidnappers."

After a brief word of thanks to Simon, Matt finished the call. "That was Simon Urquet. I'm going to phone Steve now." Just using that name felt awkward. Well, when you've kissed an archbishop, perhaps it did bring you onto slightly more familiar terms in the relationship. But Steve? "Going to phone Stephen," he added.

Pete was standing by impatiently. "Look, you guys, you can make all the phone calls you want later. Right now, we need to sort out the details of this flight. Where we're going to take off from, where we're going to land, and how we're going to know when the plane is over the yard."

"I take it you have a computer," Matt said.

"Of course."

"Then let's look at Google Earth. We find Senator Harding's house and see how big the whole place is. I suppose we might need to fly over it several times to get it all in."

Pete shook his head. "If we keep flying up and down, the cops will be there immediately. There and back will have to do. Senator Harding has a thing about security."

So that was why the police cruiser came so quickly. This was certainly going to be difficult if they weren't going to be caught.

Pete had to download the latest version of Google Earth which took several minutes. Eventually the three of them crowded around the bulky computer monitor. Matt showed him on the rental agency map where to find the house.

The sprawling house, with outbuildings and an area of woodland, took up much of the space. The only area where a grave could be dug, even a small grave, was quite limited.

Pete ran his finger over the glass screen. "The camera has a small motor drive built in. We can fire off multiple shots as the airplane flies over the yard. I'll put a servo on the take button. We'll fire off a burst going along here." He ran a grubby finger across the grubby screen. "Then I'll turn the plane here." Another grubby imprint. "Fly over the yard again, and land back here where we started. You got a car?"

"It's across the street, out of sight. Why?"

"I don't want to get caught with the plane. I'll be using my bike. Japanese. Five hundred cc engine and off-street capability means a quick getaway if trouble comes. But I'll take the camera when the plane lands, so if you're caught there won't be any evidence to show you've been snooping. You can claim you were just having fun flying a plane, but don't say you got it from me."

Matt nodded. It made sense, although being caught with a plane in Senator Harding's smart residential street would be a difficult one to talk their way out of. Model plane enthusiasts surely wouldn't be flying there for fun.

An hour later Pete was showing them out of the door and locking it behind them. To Matt's disappointment, Pete was not exactly like Mac the Hack. Unlike the computer wizard back home, this man valued his beauty sleep, and he also had business to attend to in the morning. They were to call at two o'clock to pick up the model plane and its associated equipment. Pete would follow as a safe distance, and meet them in the so-called picnic area a mile beyond the Senator's mansion.

The evening felt quite chilly, and Matt didn't feel like sleeping in the car. "We'll find a budget hotel for the night. We don't have any luggage, so they'll probably think you're the local talent."

Zoé looked too depressed to give any sort of reaction. All she said was, "Don't forget we have to phone Stephen Valdieri and let him know we are staying until tomorrow. Maybe he has the good news."
Chapter 21

Matt woke early. Not surprising really, in view of the noise of traffic coming through the badly fitting windows of the budget hotel. He checked his phone in case a text had come through in the night during the one minute he'd managed to get some sleep.

Nothing.

Last night Valdieri had said he was working on a plan that would help, but that was as much as he prepared to say. He was meeting someone important, and would give an update early in the morning. Matt looked at the time on his phone. Six thirty-seven. He wondered what time an ex-archbishop called early.

He took the phone to the bathroom, which was just as well, because Valdieri phoned while he sitting on the john.

"Matt, I hope I haven't interfered too much, but I felt led to talk to the Supervising Chief of Police here in New York about your case."

Matt groaned inwardly. He was suspicious of people who felt led to do things. "Go on."

"His name is Greg Vernon. I told him you're in Washington. And why."

"No, you mustn't do that!"

"Hear me out, Matt. Zoé's suspicions might be a bit tenuous, but he contacted his equivalent in Washington, and he's prepared to help."

Matt felt trapped on the john, so he stayed put. "Stephen, we have it all in hand."

Valdieri laughed. "I'm sure you do. However, it's important that we do this one by the book. You must not go blundering into the grounds of the Senator Harding's house. If you get arrested, then my judgment is that you can say goodbye to getting any further help with your search."

"I'm not convinced," Matt said. "Have you heard from Wendell Harris?"

"That's one of the reasons I'm phoning you," Valdieri said. "I've just got an update on Boston. Wendell phoned a few minutes ago. He's made some enquiries himself rather than leaving it to his nosey girlfriend. He's discovered that the Boston baby was born in the local hospital. So that's a no-go."

"Did he say anything about the girl having an older baby?"

"He's still checking that one."

A sudden thought occurred, apart from realizing how uncomfortable the seat was. "We think Wendell is really an undercover cop, put in place to shadow us. He claims he's a security guard, but he told us he'd been with the police. Zoé thought she saw him here yesterday. Was he phoning from Boston or Washington?"

"I imagine it was Boston, although you did mention Senator Harding to him on the phone. But I can't see why he'd be interested in Washington."

"Okay, I forgot he knew about that."

"It's pointless me saying this, Matt, because I can tell the sort of person you are. Just be careful. If the Senator really has got baby Jack in the house, and he discovers you're onto him, you could both end up in jail and never get your baby back. Stay in the range of your cell phone signal. I think something positive might be coming from my phone calls yesterday evening. I'll be in touch soon."

"We're staying put this morning. We can't do anything until two o'clock. I'm not telling Zoé this, but I think Jack's dead. I think they're planning to bury him in the garden this afternoon."

***

They made up their minds to leave the hotel after breakfast for a walk around the old part of town, making sure they always had a strong phone signal for whatever Valdieri had in mind. They were fed up with the guests and staff in the hotel staring at them and talking amongst themselves. It was the price they paid for arriving with no luggage. Matt felt that at any moment Zoé might be made an offer by one of the male guests who were eyeing her up and down. If they were hoping to remain inconspicuous they were failing.

Two police officers in uniform stood in the lobby, and outside the entrance door they could see a white police cruiser with red stripes. Matt recognized the officers as the two who had harassed them yesterday, and he and Zoé must be the reason for them waiting there.

The older officer came forward. "Mr. Rider, Mrs. Rider, you're to come with us. Don't worry, you're not in any sort of trouble."

"How did you know where to find us?" Matt asked.

"The night patrol found your car parked outside this hotel, and checked it was still rented to Mr. Rider here."

Matt wanted to sound confident as well as innocent. "So why are you here?"

The young cop smiled. "We're taking you for a little ride."

"We have a lawyer who's helping us," Matt said quickly. "So we're going nowhere."

"We're going to try and help you get your baby back," the older officer explained patiently. "Our Assistant Chief has this idea that he's at Senator Harding's house. Don't know why, but I guess he has his knife in the Senator's back. Long history between them. But we have to walk on eggshells, he says. Doesn't want this one ending with him getting moved out to grass early."

"This is Valdieri's doing," Matt said. "This is what he was talking about on the phone. It seems things have moved faster than he expected. He certainly carries a lot of clout for an ex-archbishop."

"We should tell Pete the job is off," Zoé said.

"Pete?" said the older officer, looking decidedly interested.

Matt shook his head. "Just another idea we had. You're our only real hope."

"So Pete----" Zoé started to say.

Matt tried to signal to her to say no more, and she seemed to understand his facial expression. "No," she said, "we will definitely forget about Pete. We will not see Pete again. He will be no help to us now."

Matt sighed. Zoé was rather overdoing it. "Come on, Zoé, let's get in the car."

As he approached the cruiser, he tried to look through the heavily tinted glass, and could make out someone sitting in the back.

Zoé stopped, and let out a gasp. "It is Wendell," she whispered. "Wendell Harris."
Chapter 22

Matt put his arm around Zoé. The passenger in the police cruiser was clearly a woman, and when the older officer opened the rear door he could see no reason for Zoé having been confused.

"This is Velma," the older officer said. "She's here as part of the family support program."

Velma smiled and slid across the wide rear seat to give Matt and Zoé plenty of room. Matt let Zoé go in first so she could sit next to Velma. Seeing Velma smiling and looking so friendly, he wondered why Zoé had even thought the woman look like Wendell. It must have been the dark glass and her unsettled mindset. He was becoming concerned that Zoé was seeing Wendell Harris everywhere they went.

The two officers got into the front, the younger one behind the wheel. As they drove away silently, no siren, no lights, the older officer turned. "It seems our Chief is taking no chances. Velma is here just in case she's needed. It seems like a long shot to me, with very little evidence. But you never know, we could strike lucky."

Striking lucky presumably meant bringing disgrace to the Harding family, not necessarily recovering Jack alive. Matt wondered what the Senator had done to deserve such a level of hostility, but he was glad of it. At times he felt Zoé had acted irrationally in claiming to have heard baby Jack crying on the phone. At other times he clung to the hope that Zoé had used a deep maternal instinct to recognize a cry in a way that only a bonding mother could. But all the time his professional instinct was telling him that Boston could be it. Wendell and Ms. Nosey might be mistaken about where the baby was born.

The older officer turned again. "Look, I'm sorry we had to pull you over yesterday. We received a genuine 9-1-1. Suspicious characters outside the Senator's house. Me, I guess I'm afraid of upsetting the Senator. He's one powerful guy. Our Assistant Chief might want to put one over on him, but I'm coming up for retirement soon. Like any sensible cop, I don't want to jeopardize my pension. Just so you know where we're coming from, Mr. Rider."

"As long as you do a good job, I'm happy," Matt said. "We've had someone called Wendell Harris on this. I can't work out if he's an undercover cop or an ex-cop. I don't suppose you've heard of him."

The two officers shook their heads.

"He went up to Boston," Matt explained. "Seems he thought he was onto something there, but we heard just now that he thinks the family is legit."

A car was passing from the other direction. It was only the second car they'd seen on this street. Zoé jumped and turned in her seat and looked out of the rear window.

"Turn around," she ordered.

The driver touched the brakes and stopped. He turned to his boss. "What do I do?"

"What is it, Zoé?" Matt asked.

"It was Wendell Harris. He was driving that silver car. But he was trying to hide his face."

Matt groaned inwardly. This was Zoé's fourth sighting of the man.

"Boss?" said the driver.

"Is that the man you were talking about? The one who went to Boston?" the older officer asked. And certainly his voice betrayed more than a small amount of skepticism.

"I think we should go on and visit the Senator's house," Matt said, squeezing Zoé's hand gently. "If it was Wendell," and it probably wasn't, "then he has my cell phone number if he's come up with anything important."

"Then why is he here in Washington?" Zoé said quietly.

Matt caught Velma's eye and raised his eyebrows, trying to indicate there was a problem with Zoé's state of mind.

"Honey," Velma said, "let's go first and see Mrs. Harding. Our priority is to get your baby back. If he's not at the Senator's house, then your husband can contact Wendell Harris and check where the man is. He may have a perfectly good reason for being here."

It sounded a bit as though Velma was trying to humor Zoé, but Matt was prepared to let it pass because she calmed down immediately.

The older officer seemed to have taken no notice of Zoé's outburst. "Now here's the plan, guys. Mr. Rider, you stay in the cruiser outside with my partner here. I go in with Velma and Mrs. Rider. And we all try and to be as diplomatic as we can."

"Does Mrs. Harding know we're coming?" Matt asked.

"Of course not." The older officer sounded genuinely surprised. "It's going to be a shock for the woman, so she won't have a prepared story."

"That's good," Matt said. "But surely I can come in as well as Zoé. We both need to look at the baby."

"You're assuming your baby's there," the younger officer said.

"Our baby, he is there," Zoé insisted. "I heard him crying on the phone."

"No, Mrs. Rider, no one is doubting you heard a baby. We're here to establish the identity of that baby. As soon as we've found a baby, and if Mrs. Rider is one hundred percent certain in identifying him as your Jack, Velma here will come out and fetch Mr. Rider in. In the meantime I want Mr. Rider to sit in the car with Junior here. That way everyone stays calm."

"And what happens then?"

The older officer nodded. "Good question. We call for backup, and we keep with Mrs. Harding and the baby until help arrives. Right, Velma, Mrs. Rider, let's get going."

Matt watched in frustration as the older officer reached the high gates, rang the bell and spoke into the intercom box. Almost immediately the electric gates swung open. It was almost as though they were expected.

He was in no mood for small talk with the young cop, but somehow he got drawn into explaining what has happened in Central Park.

"Terrible situation to be caught up in, sir," said the young driver. "I'm surprised you've both managed to stay sane."

Whether this was a dig at Zoé, Matt wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to get riled.

"So what got you here?"

Matt was about to explain about the phone call, but it seemed so ridiculous now. Here they were, outside an important Senator's house, and the family was about to be accused of baby snatching. The Washington Assistant Chief must have some serious issues with the Senator to even think of going ahead with this.

"You need to excuse me," Matt said. "I'm exhausted. All I want is to get our baby back safely." He felt tears welling up in his eyes.

The young cop turned and faced the front. Fortunately he seemed sensitive enough not to continue with the questions.

It was just over twenty minutes later when the gates opened again and the older officer came out, with Zoé and Velma walking slowly behind. Matt didn't need to see the expressions on their faces to know that their visit had been unsuccessful. If baby Jack had been there, surely Zoé would be holding him now. Or at any rate she wouldn't be crying.

What had he expected to see? Zoé clutching baby Jack? The woman screaming at the gates to hold the baby one last time?

Velma helped Zoé gently into the back seat of the cruiser.

"So what happened in there?" Matt asked when everyone was seated.

"The baby he is not Jack," Zoé sobbed. "I told Mrs. Harding that I had been the one to phone her, and thought I could hear my baby crying in the background. She seemed very nice about it. She wanted us to see her baby."

"Did you look everywhere?" Matt asked.

The older officer took a deep breath. "We made a search of the whole house, Mr. Rider. Mrs. Harding said she was heartbroken to hear about your loss. She let us look in every room. Her own baby boy was sleeping in a crib in the nursery."

"Did the baby have heterochromia?" Matt asked.

"The baby was asleep," Zoé said quietly, now holding back her tears. "She would not let me touch him in case I woke him. But he is not Jack."

"Go back in there and check again," Matt said.

The older officer turned around. "Mr. Rider, Mrs. Harding is the wife of a very important man. She was more than corporative."

Matt wasn't convinced. "And what about the coffin ... casket?"

"That was easy," the older officer said. "Their dog died two days ago, and she wants to bury it in the garden later this afternoon."

"In a fancy casket?"

"Yes, Mr. Rider, in a fancy casket. I guess the dog was like family. They're going to have a private burial ceremony when Senator Harding gets back. The gardener has already dug the grave. "

"And she showed you the dead dog?"

"Mr. Rider, your baby is not there. I'd bet my pension on it."

"No, Matt, we did not see the dog that is dead," Zoé added. "I wanted to, but Mrs. Harding said it was wrapped up ready for burial."

"But you saw the grave?"

"Mr. Rider, that's enough. We saw no reason to search the yard. We're going back to Alexandria, and you can return your car and return to New York by train. That's where you say your baby was taken from. My guess is he's still there somewhere."

The cruiser turned quickly in the street, throwing Matt against Zoé as the driver accelerated back the way they had come.

All the way back Zoé kept crying. "Where is our baby? Where is our little Jack?"

Matt kept his arm around her shoulder. "Did Mrs. Harding look at all suspicious? You know, was her behavior odd? Was there a part of the house she wouldn't let you search?"

Zoé shrugged. "No, she did not try to stop us looking into every room. She had a rather vacant smile on her face as she opened each door for us. I think Senator Harding married her for her looks rather than her brains. I know you would call her very attractive, Matt, but there was something rather strange about her."

"Drugs?"

"No, I do not think so, but she was certainly what you would call odd. Distant, I think, is a word that is kinder."

"Oh well, I guess that being attractive and distant doesn't make someone a baby snatcher. We'll return the car and catch the next train back to New York. We can be there after lunch. There's nothing more to be done here."

So his gut feeling was right, and Zoé's maternal instinct was wrong. He couldn't blame her. It was a straw to clutch at, and no harm seemed to have been done. All they had to do now was tell Pete that the job was canceled and make arrangements to go up to Boston.
Chapter 23

The train journey passed in silence. Zoé was too upset to speak, leaving Matt to consider their next move. Some time after leaving Philadelphia he fell asleep, in his dream reliving the real nightmare of the baby with the slit throat in the Brooklyn cemetery.

He'd phoned Valdieri from Union Station before leaving Washington, and the ex-archbishop had insisted that he and Zoé continued to stay in the small apartment they already occupied at the church. He gave them little choice, because he'd already collected their luggage from the hotel.

On the phone, Pete seemed disappointed not to be getting one over on Senator Harding, but he told them that if his package worked he could offer an aerial photography service to anyone. So he thanked them for the suggestion, and was going to try it out, but only where there was an open space.

The hostage situation in downtown Manhattan was still ongoing, and the police were at all street junctions, checking vehicles. A frustrating journey in the traffic in a yellow cab dropped them eventually at Valdieri's church. The subway would have been quicker, but not necessarily safer. There had already been several alerts of suspicious packages found on platforms.

They lay on the bed in the small apartment, which was more basic than Matt had initially anticipated when Stephen Valdieri offered it, but Zoé seemed relieved to have a place to crash out in.

"Don't forget your medicine," Matt said. "Here's a glass of water. I want to see you take your tablets before I go downstairs."

Zoé looked zapped. "Where are you going, Matt?"

Matt watched while she swallowed two tablets. "You need to rest. I'm going to have a chat with Stephen."

"Steve," she said. "His name is Steve."

Matt shook his head. "I still can't get my head round that. There's too much history there from the convent in Tourvillon."

Zoé gave what almost looked like a smile. "Lucky you. Not everyone gets to kiss an archbishop." She smiled more broadly now. "And undress him."

Matt couldn't believe the tablets were working so quickly. This was the old Zoé. "Try and get some rest. We don't know what lies ahead."

He bent down and gave her a kiss on the lips. "Now that's what I call a kiss," he said. "Beats kissing an archbishop any day."

As he left the room, he looked back. Zoé was still smiling.

Downstairs, Stephen Valdieri ushered Matt to one of the leather couches in the reception room. "I'm so sorry, Matt. I have to say I wasn't optimistic about Washington, but at least that one's sorted now. Oh, and I've had a warning from my friend the Assistant Chief here. It seems that his colleague in Washington has just received a serious mauling from Senator Harding for getting his men to call at the house unannounced. So you're not even to think of going back there."

"No point. Zoé saw the baby. He was asleep, so she couldn't check his eyes. But that didn't matter. She insists it definitely wasn't him. So where do we go from here?"

Valdieri took some time before replying. "What is your opinion on Wendell Harris?" he asked. "Do you really think he could be an undercover cop?"

Matt shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"There's something about him that I don't trust," Valdieri said. "I take it Zoé is resting."

"It's a strain for both of us. Zoé really believed we were onto something in Washington. So did I \-- I think. So tell me again what Wendell said."

"He phoned me an hour ago to say he had some news. That was all he said. I've not been able to get him to answer his phone since. You're sure you're not paying him money for his help?"

"Absolutely sure. I made that clear when he first offered to help. If he's not an undercover cop, he's a security guard with a social conscience. I wouldn't grudge him his moment of fame if he gets our baby back."

A soft tap at the door and Lauren entered. "Where Zoé?" she asked.

Matt nodded towards the ceiling. "Upstairs, resting. Probably best not to disturb her."

Lauren sighed. "Poor lamb. Poor you, too. I can't even start to imagine what you're both going through. I know Steve here has spent many hours in prayer. So have we all in our little community."

"Thanks, Lauren. Please pass on my thanks to your whole team." To his surprise, he didn't feel the slightest bit embarrassed to know that people had been praying.

Lauren stayed in the doorway.

"Come and sit by me, Lauren." Matt put his hand on the couch cushion. "It's good to have a bit of a female company at a time like this." Surely she wouldn't take this to be a pass.

Lauren came and sat down by him, keeping a respectable distance away. "Steve tells me you had your hopes dashed in Washington. Don't be hard on Zoé. I know a mother's instinct can be very strong. Which doesn't, of course, mean it's always right."

Valdieri spoke up. "Matt knows that the Washington door is firmly closed now."

Matt nodded. "I need to be doing something, not just sitting around waiting for the phone to ring."

At that moment the bell at the entrance door rang, making Matt jump.

Valdieri went to the door, and Matt could hear him talking to a man. It wasn't Wendell Harris.

"I'll tell him you're here," he heard Valdieri say.

Valdieri came back into the room. "There are two people to see you, Matt. But don't get your hopes up. They say they're from the police but they don't have any news on Jack. Lauren and I will leave you alone."

Matt shook his head. "Please stay. I don't know why they're here, but I'd like you to sit in on this one." If they'd come to accuse him again of harming baby Jack, he needed support from friends. "And you can phone Simon Urquet if it all starts to go wrong."

An older man in police uniform, with gray hair and a cap with a gold band, stood in the doorway. His jacket was covered in badges, including one that said Police Department State of New York. The other visitor, a middle aged woman with a mature figure, wearing a smart black business suit, managed to look like Matt imagined social workers all over the world looked.

The man seemed rather put out to see Valdieri and Lauren. "Mr. Rider, maybe you'd rather we spoke to you alone," he said.

Did they think he had something to hide? "They're staying," Matt said firmly. "I gather you don't have an update on the search."

The woman, introducing herself as Courtney, said it was fine for Valdieri and Lauren to stay.

"Then what is this about?"

"Mr. Rider," said the uniformed officer, who had yet to introduce himself, "we're from the precinct, and we just want to run over your statement again."

"I need to see your identity," Matt said.

The man laughed. "I am in uniform."

"I wasn't expecting to see you, with or without uniform. I'd expect the police to make an appointment. I'm a private detective. A private eye. It's my job to be suspicious."

"Quite right too, Mr. Rider." The man showed his identity badge. It said Deputy Inspector Michael O'Reilly.

"And you," he said to Courtney. He was almost enjoying this, and they were now the ones on the back foot. The woman's badge said Courtney Mitchell. It didn't give a police rank.

"Okay, so tell me why you're here." Yes, he was definitely putting them on the back foot. They now looked a little embarrassed. This could be like the interview with Melanie all over again.

Deputy Inspector O'Reilly looked around the room in an obvious gesture. "Is Mrs. Rider here?"

Lauren said, "She's upstairs at the moment. Sleeping. This has been a terrible shock."

"I'm the one you need to speak to," Matt said. "I'm the one who was mugged. Our baby was taken from me. Zoé, my wife, was only just entering Central Park at the time. There's a witness. "

"Yes, we've already established that," Deputy Inspector O'Reilly agreed.

"Good. That means you don't need to bother her anymore. And if you really think I'd harm our baby after coming here all the way from England to New York for treatment, then you have no right to call yourself a policeman. Let alone a Deputy Inspector. I take it your search in the dumpsters didn't turn up anything suspicious. What a waste of time. Your officers should have been searching Central Park, not trying to find food for their families."

Lauren placed a hand gently on Matt's shoulder. "Try and stay calm, Matt. I'm sure these people are here to help."

"Then they can help by getting out there and trying to find out what's happened to Jack." He thought for a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. You've no idea what this has done to me and Zoé. Okay, you've got a job to do. So tell me why you're really here."

Courtney Mitchell made small soothing noises, which Matt thought were an attempt at apology. A spoken one would have been better. "Michael and I need to clarify a couple of points," she said, turning to O'Reilly.

"I'm ready," Matt said.

The Deputy Inspector coughed what sounded like an infectious cough. "You say the last thing you remember before regaining consciousness on the ground were footsteps behind you. In your report you mentioned that you thought it was your wife. Why did you say that?"

Matt shrugged. "They were just footsteps. I thought perhaps Zoé had come to join me on the walk. It was our last time for bonding with Jack before the major surgery."

"So maybe you were feeling aggrieved that Zoé hadn't started out with you on the walk," Courtney Mitchell suggested.

"Not at all. Zoé wanted to rest. It was a long journey coming here from England. And the change in time zone was making things difficult for her. Zoé was diagnosed in England with postnatal depression. It's no secret, and it's in my statement."

Courtney Mitchell nodded knowingly. "Yes, postnatal depression. That can do strange things to a new mother."

Matt jumped to his feet before Lauren could stop him. "Is that why you checked up on where my wife was at the time? Do you really think she'd hit me on the back of the head and taken Jack? What, and drowned him in the Pond?"

"Please sit down, Mr. Rider. Such a move would not be beyond possibility. Yes, we had to check up. Of course we did. It would have been irresponsible not to. We managed to track down the young man who left the hotel with your wife, and he has confirmed her story. We know she is innocent of the attack. And we've tracked down the driver of the white horse buggy. He confirms seeing you with the baby."

"You could have done that to start with. Right from the start you've had us down as child killers."

O'Reilly gave a sort of apologetic shrug. "Mr. Rider, we had to act on our immediate suspicions. The buggy driver was out on a long tour of Central Park at the time, and then he went straight home with an upset stomach. Yes, I admit we were remiss in not persisting in trying to track him."

"That sounds like a poor excuse." Matt sat down again. "I've more or less been accused of killing a baby in Green-Wood Cemetery. How many other police failings have there been?"

That didn't get an answer.

O'Reilly shifted uneasily on the couch. "We're not expecting a ransom demand. If it did happen, the kidnapper wouldn't know how to contact you. They would most likely go to Mr. Urquet. DCI have paid for your visit to New York, and he's heard nothing. Of course, you must let us know immediately if you receive any demands. We're the experts here."

"We don't have any money," Matt said.

O'Reilly nodded. "Yes, we've already checked that. That's why we've more or less ruled out a kidnapping for ransom."

The questioning continued for nearly hour. Matt was made to go over what he could remember, time and time again. By the end of the questioning he had almost confused himself, and doubts started to creep into his mind about his own role in the kidnapping. No, there was no way he could have harmed Jack. And if he had, someone would have found him by now in Central Park. Perhaps a dog walker. Somebody had definitely taken little Jack.

The visit to Green-Wood Cemetery had been traumatic, but this was more than ridiculous. He put his hands on each side of his head and gave a long groan. "All these questions, all these questions. Please, just tell me, have you come here to arrest us? Is that it? Are you hoping to break me down by repeating these stupid questions?"

"I think Mr. Rider has been through enough," Valdieri said firmly. "He's answered your questions openly and consistently. I suggest you both leave now, or I will have to call his lawyer."

The two visitors looked at each other, nodded, and agreed that their questions had been answered satisfactorily.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Rider," Courtney Mitchell said. "I'm sorry we've not found your baby yet. Believe me, we're doing all we can, but the hostage situation is taking valuable police resources. That's not an excuse."

"It would have helped if you'd believed me when I was mugged."

"The two officers who were called to the scene unfortunately were over-suspicious in their report."

"And so was Melanie who came here to question me. I'm a PI, but I shouldn't have to be searching for Jack on my own."

The Deputy Inspector nodded, looking serious. "We don't want you interfering with the search. Your trip to Washington demonstrates how inexperienced you are with police matters. Just leave it to us, and we'll say no more about breaching your orders to stay in New York. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Matt said, "I understand what you're saying." He understood, but he wasn't going to give a promise. Boston beckoned. "So tell me exactly what you've been doing to find Jack? Where have you searched?"

"The appropriate area in Central Park, of course."

"Someone didn't spot the old blanket in the Pond. I had to dive in for it."

"Yes, I heard about that, Mr. Rider. The blanket had nothing to do with your baby. Our officers aren't litter collectors."

"So, to repeat, Deputy Inspector, what exactly have you been doing?"

"We've contacted all hospitals and medical centers in every State, and are in the process of alerting all doctors' surgeries. And naturally the airports and sea ports have your baby's details."

"And what doors have you been banging on?"

"Mr. Rider, please leave any banging on doors to us."

"Okay, so what are you actually doing to get out there and find Jack?"

"What do you suggest we do?"

"You can find him, that's what you can do. At least Zoé and I are showing some initiative."

"Please refrain from showing any initiative and leave it to us, Mr. Rider. Thank you for your time. We'll be on our way now." Michael O'Reilly shook hands, and Matt wondered if he was trying to read something into the handshake.

Valdieri showed them to the door, and Matt could hear a rather heated exchange on the doorstep.

"Have they gone?" he asked, when Valdieri came back into the room.

"Yes, gone. Neither of you realized who Courtney Mitchell is?"

Both Matt and Lauren shook their heads.

"She's a very senior police psychologist. I've come across her before in my work here."

"She was here to see if I was a nutcase? You should have warned me."

"No, Matt, she wanted to see you being yourself. The police rely on her a lot in cases like this. It was best you didn't know who she is. Your answers might not have been quite so direct, and she would have sensed you were putting on an act."

"So you think I did okay?" Matt said. "Did they really need to interview me?"

"They did," Valdieri said. "As Courtney Mitchell explained to me as she was leaving, Melanie went back with a report that confirmed the initial doubts the police had formed."

"But they know Zoé wasn't near me at the time. And they now have witnesses that Jack was with me. If I did it, where was baby Jack when Vicky found me? I kept asking them that, but they wouldn't answer. I thought I really was going mad. If they'd stayed here any longer, they might have talked me into making a confession." He gave a nervous laugh. "A false confession, of course."

"Matt, I'm sure they left here convinced that neither you nor Zoé are involved in any way in the kidnap. And please, call me Steve, not Stephen."

"It's difficult, Stephen," Matt said. "There, I've done it again. It's just when we met at the Little Sisters you were an archbishop."

"And you still see me that way?"

"No, not really, but you're, well, a senior sort of person."

Lauren laughed, but it was a kind laugh. "You saved Steve's life. He looks up to you, Matt."

Matt laughed as well. "The famous kiss of life. Zoé still teases me about it."

"Ah yes," Lauren said, "the famous kiss. Don't worry, I know all about it." She laughed again, a gentle laugh. "Steve and I will be eternally grateful to you. You kissed a frog. A frog from the Vatican. And he turned into a prince. My prince. Prince Valdieri. You already know we're engaged. I expect Steve has told you our exciting news."

She looked at Matt and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

Matt shook his head. Surely Lauren wasn't pregnant. "What exciting news, Lauren?"

Lauren stood and gave Matt a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. "He obviously hasn't told you. That's just like a man. Steve and I are getting married in two weeks' time. Naturally you're both invited to the wedding."

"Lauren," Matt said quietly, "I wish you well, but in two weeks I hope Zoé and I will be back in England with little Jack safely in our arms. But we wish you and your Frog Prince a long and happy life together."
Chapter 24

Attracted by the laughter that followed, Zoé appeared in the doorway, her dark hair a mess and her eyes red and wet with tears. "It is not a time for fun," she said. "I have just been speaking to my parents on the phone. They want to come over immediately."

Matt kept quiet. This was not the time to upset Zoé further.

"I'm sorry, honey," Lauren said. "It was thoughtless of us."

Zoé seemed to take no notice of the apology. "Who was here?"

"Just two people from the police," Lauren said, taking over as spokesperson.

Zoé's bleary eyes lit up for a moment. "They have news of Jack?"

"I'm ever so sorry, honey," Lauren said. "Come and sit here by your husband. The police have no news, but they wanted to see if Matt could offer any further help."

Matt nodded to himself. What Lauren said was absolutely true. The "help" they needed from him was an admission of guilt, but as long as Lauren didn't explain the real reason for the visit, Zoé was likely to be satisfied.

"I have not been asleep," Zoé said. "Me, I have been praying. No, Matt, you must listen to what I say. I was thinking about my first Communion when I was seven, dressed all in white. I was really scared I might do something wrong in the church and God would punish me. Lauren she has explained that God is a God of Love, although he is also a God of righteous anger."

"I don't get it," Matt said.

"Nor did I. Then Lauren showed me that cross on the wall. She said it is only a symbol carved from wood."

Matt looked at. Okay, so it was made of wood. But Zoé was on a roll now. "Go on."

"Lauren told me the reason Jesus died on the real cross is to shield us from that anger. Lauren says God reaches out to everyone in love and forgiveness. All we have to do is ask."

"You never told me about that before, Zoé. I've never put you down for a believer."

"You are right. When I was in my teens, I decided everything in the church was just a lot of show and make-believe. But now?"

Lauren took Zoé in her arms. "Sometimes we need sorrow in our lives before we can look for help. But remember to come to the Son of God, not to a piece of wood."

"Yes, you are right," Zoé said. "Please, Steve, pray for us all, and tell us what we have to do next."

Valdieri's prayer was surprisingly short, but it was certainly clear. Wherever Jack was, he needed to be safe. And the authorities needed wisdom in knowing where to search. And Matt and Zoé needed God's peace in their hearts.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Matt's phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. "It's Wendell," he said. "What should I do?"

"Answer it of course," Zoé said.

Matt shook his head. "I can't. I've had enough. I keep seeing that baby lying on the grass inside the tent in Green-Wood Cemetery."

"You should have let me go with you. I have seen plenty of dead bodies."

"Not like that, you haven't." He tossed the phone to Zoé. "You answer it."

She tossed it back. It was still ringing. He took a deep breath. "Hi Wendell. ... Where? ... What, now?" He lowered the phone. "Wendell thinks he may have a good lead to Jack."

Zoé gasped. "Boston?"

"Here in New York." Matt turned to Valdieri. "Have you heard of the Children of Celestial Light?"

Valdieri nodded. "Why?" he mouthed.

"Wendell, you'd better come here straight away," Matt said. "You could be onto something."

Zoé was already on her feet. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"Wendell Harris thinks there's something suspicious happening at a religious commune here in Manhattan. It's called the Children of Celestial Light."

"It is a home for babies and little children?" Zoé asked.

Matt turned to Valdieri. "Tell us about it. You know all about the Christian groups around here."

Stephen Valdieri shook his head. "It's not a children's home and it's not a Christian group. They're a pseudo religious group. For all ages. They've taken some prophecy from the Mayans and the Bible, and mixed it up with a study of the stars, the sun and the moon. It's what we would call a cult, although I believe they call it a commune. It's a full moon tomorrow, so I'm sure they'll have something exciting planned."

Matt was about to ask if that involved child sacrifice, but he glanced at Zoé and knew he had to stay quiet.

Valdieri looked grim, as though reading Matt's thoughts. "The churches see them as a bit of a threat. They've managed to entice a few families away from the Christian churches with promises of safety and healing. They have a room of crystals for which they claim special powers."

"Well," Matt said, "Wendell Harris is on his way here with some photographic evidence. He didn't say what it was." There was no point in speculating what Wendell had found, but he needed to find out a bit more about the Children of Celestial Light before the undercover cop, or security guard, or whatever he was, arrived.

Valdieri explained that the cult had taken over a large house in the Harlem district. They had good security and didn't welcome visitors.

Matt looked closely at the ex-archbishop. "Do you have someone on the inside?"

Valdieri shook his head, but Lauren spoke up. "My Steve knows people all over the place, but not there. He still wears his Archbishop's hat, protecting Christians and churches from heretics and dangerous influences." She smiled at him and gave him a hug. "And I love him for it."

The bell in the outer door rang, and then rang again as Stephen Valdieri made his way to answer it. Wendell Harris came in, all smiles, holding an expensive digital camera. He sounded excited. "I've put some pictures from this onto a memory stick. Do you have a computer I can plug it into? The pictures on the camera screen are too small to see the detail."

"Detail of what?" Matt asked.

Wendell smiled broadly. "You're going to be surprised, and I hope very happy."

Valdieri led Wendell to his office and showed him the computer on his desk. Matt followed with Zoé and Lauren, and felt a tingle run down his spine. He had no idea why Wendell Harris was here, but he looked confident.

Valdieri plugged in the memory stick, found the file of images, and opened it. Wendell took over, ran quickly through a couple of photos, and then stood back. Matt managed to look between the eager figures of Zoé, Stephen and Lauren. The picture showed a dark brown building with iron fire escapes, and stone steps leading up to a wide brown door.

Wendell turned to the next picture, and the words Children of Celestial Light were easy to read where the camera had zoomed in on the front door.

"And?" Matt asked.

Wendell nodded. "I got a tipoff from a colleague in the security business, and I staked the place out this afternoon. They keep the front door locked, but members can come and go. They're not allowed their own keys, but there's a grill on the front door ... you can just see it there ... and they speak into the grill and someone inside recognizes who it is and opens the door."

"And?" Matt asked again. Maybe he was too impatient, but this seemed to be getting nowhere. The building of the Children of Celestial Light was hardly a secret. They had their name on the door.

Wendell pressed the next-page key. A new picture showed a close-up of a woman in a yellow and black sweatshirt and black jeans holding a baby, with a tall man speaking into the grill. "We need to zoom in on the screen," Wendell said. He seemed to know his way around the program on Valdieri's computer, and clicked the plus button several times. He centralized the picture on the woman and baby and turned to Zoé. "Is the woman holding Jack?"

He didn't need to ask that question. Zoé had already given a gasp and put a hand to her mouth. Valdieri and Lauren moved to one side, allowing Matt to move closer to the screen. He reached for the keyboard and pressed the plus key three more times. Wendell's camera was certainly good, because even more detail now showed, but apart from the jutting out dark hair he could see little more than the nose and chin of a baby wrapped in a shawl.

"It is Jack," Zoé said almost in a whisper. "It is his hair, and his nose and chin."

"We need to see the next picture," Matt said.

Wendell Harris shook his head. "That's it," he said. "Look at the next picture and you'll see they've already gone inside and the door's closed again."

The next picture showed a young Hispanic woman holding the hand of a child aged about four leaving the house, and the next an elderly couple going in.

"I hung around for two more hours but nobody else came or left so I've come here. What do you suggest we do?"

Matt was already checking the rest of the pictures. Wendell was right, the only picture of the woman holding a baby was the one they'd already seen. "What was the tipoff you got?"

Wendell Harris held his camera tightly. "Like I said, I've got contacts. This isn't just any baby. My contact says it doesn't belong to that couple holding it. They came back with it soon after your baby went missing. They said they're looking after it for a few days for a friend. My contact isn't a hundred percent sure, but she thinks the baby has odd colored eyes. Is that suspicious or what?"

Matt looked round at Valdieri. "We get the police to raid the place," he said bluntly. "Either that, or we go there and do it ourselves."

Valdieri took a deep breath and breathed it out slowly. "We need to think about this, Matt. Let's all sit down and discuss it."

"You all sit down," Matt said. "I want to see if I can enhance this picture a bit."

Zoé was in tears now. "There is no need to enhance anything," she said between tears. "It is Jack. I know it is Jack. Those people have taken him into that building. He is going to grow up there, and they are going to indoctrinate him. We must go straight away and rescue him or we will never get him back. Come here and stop fiddling with that computer, Matt."

Matt nodded and came across with the flash drive and handed it back to Wendell. "I've copied the image onto the computer."

"I didn't tell you to do that," Wendell said rather brusquely.

Matt was surprised by this reaction, but perhaps he should have asked first. "We need it on the computer to be able to print it." He turned to Valdieri. "Stephen, I'm assuming you can you print it."

Zoé was still crying. "We do not need a picture of Jack. We need to be there at the Children of Celestial Light to bring our baby back."

Matt shook his head. "We need evidence, Zoé. We can't go to the police without a picture to show them."

"We are not going to the police," Zoé said. "We are all going round there now, and Stephen will use his authority to insist that we go in and check every baby in the building."

Valdieri shook his head. "You overestimate my powers, Zoé. This isn't some matter in the Catholic Church that I could investigate, even if I was still an archbishop. We simply have to involve the police. Two senior police have just been here and warned Matt not to get involved."

"That is because they do not want to be shown up for being useless," Zoé said.

"Matt and Zoé, please don't worry. I'm onto this straight away."

Wendell Harris nodded. "Mr. Valdieri is absolutely right," he said. "You can't do this without the police."

"It is going to take too long," Zoé said. "That couple might hear that the police they are coming and run away with Jack. And then we will never find him."

Valdieri went to his computer and the printer clicked then whirred, and a piece of paper fell into the tray. He made two more copies and handed one to Matt. The prints were large, on glossy paper, probably letter size rather than the A4 he was used to back home. Certainly big enough to impress the police.

Matt studied the print. The sticking out hair at the front, and the part of the face that showed did look familiar, but to him all babies tended to look alike. If the face was front-on it would be better.

Zoé took the print. "It is Jack."

Matt looked up and caught Valdieri's eyes. Valdieri seemed to be sharing his doubts. The problem was, Zoé had got it wrong about the baby's cry in Washington, which didn't instill a lot of confidence in her maternal observations. He shrugged.

Valdieri showed one of the prints to Lauren. "If Zoé says it's Jack," Lauren said, "then we have to assume it is."

"You do not believe me," Zoé said, starting to cry again. "Every moment we wait, those people could be leaving with Jack and we will never find them. They may only have been visiting."

Wendell Harris shook his head. "The couple acted like residents. The man went straight to the grill to speak to someone to let them in. There's a separate bell for visitors. He didn't use it."

Matt turned to Valdieri. "You get in touch with the police, and I'll go straight round there with Zoé. We'll wait outside to make sure no one walks out with our Jack."

"I'll come with you," Lauren said. "It's not the smartest or the safest area in town. Three of us will be safer there than two. Steve, you and Wendell can call round to the precinct immediately. And take that print."

Valdieri looked unsure. "The police will need a court order before they can raid the place. It will take time."

"I guess it will," Lauren said. "We'll take turns to wait outside the building all day and all night if necessary. Steve, phone us as soon as you have any news. Come on, Matt and Zoé, we'll go get a cab."

### Chapter 25

Two cabs were passing when they reached Central Park, both going north. The cabs dived to the curb, and Matt hurried to the one in front. It was pointing in the right direction and also seemed a bit faster and the driver a bit more daring. The sooner they got to the Children of Celestial Light the better.

Lauren gave the driver the address and told him to hurry. The address was important, but being told to hurry seemed unnecessary. The cab took off with a screech from the rear wheels, which was probably the way the driver always did things.

"I'm hoping Wendell Harris didn't make his presence too obvious," Matt said. "If anyone spotted him taking photographs, and if they've got a kidnapped baby inside, it won't be there now."

Lauren, who was sitting in the center, put a hand gently on each of their shoulders. "I'm going to pray that we get there in time," she said. "You're welcome to join me."

Matt shrugged. He doubted God would listen to him, but Lauren seemed to be a godly person. She probably had a hotline straight to God.

"There's no need you to join in out loud," Lauren said, with an understanding smile. "But you can say Amen at the end if you like."

Matt decided it was worth joining in. The only time he'd ever prayed properly was that time on his way to the Mount where Zoé lay seriously injured when he was on his way back from Prague.

He nodded. "Please," he said. He looked across Lauren at Zoé. "And you," he added. "We want to do everything we can to get our baby back."

Zoé looked sideways out of the window. "I do not think God has been listening to me." She turned and looked at Matt. "But yes, it is a good idea if Lauren prays. And me, I will not just say the Amen at the end. I will join in with Lauren. I have not completely forgotten how to pray."

Lauren prayed as though speaking to a friend. No old-fashioned words, just a simple request for them to get the baby back quickly. And if Jack was at the Children of Celestial Light, that they would find him unharmed. Almost inaudibly, Zoé echoed some of the words.

The cab turned right and then left and then right again. Matt wondered why they were taking so many turnings. He hoped they weren't being kidnapped themselves. No, that was ridiculous. There was no way the cab driver would be in on the plot to take Jack. Then he realized that they were working their way through a maze of one-way streets.

One more turning and the driver stopped in a residential, tree-lined street without saying a word. On the opposite side of the street Matt could see a row of dirty brown buildings with stone steps coming down to the sidewalk. They looked like the buildings in Wendell's photographs.

While Lauren paid the driver, Matt took stock of the situation. He spotted the name of the cult on one of the doors. If there was a coffee shop on their side of the street, they could go in and watch from the window. As it was, he felt they stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Matt decided to take charge. "We'll walk to the end of the block. They won't be able to see us from the house, even if they're suspicious of us. We can keep an eye on the steps from there. I'm guessing there isn't a back exit, or they wouldn't have the fire escapes at the front. If someone comes out with a baby, or a bundle that looks like a baby, we can walk up and see what's happening."

Lauren's phone rang in her purse. The ringtone reminded Matt of a hymn he'd once heard. Trust Lauren to find a ringtone like that. She took it out and spoke briefly, shook her head and put it back. "That was Steve," she said. "Not very promising news I'm afraid, guys. He and Wendell are at the local precinct, but Steve can't get to speak to somebody high enough to organize a search warrant."

They reached the corner of the block. Matt wanted to sound confident. "Stephen will persuade them in the end," he said. "We stay here until the police come." He looked around. "But I think we ought to be doing something rather than just standing about."

Zoé took hold of his hand. "Matt, I do not like the way people are looking at us. We do not look dressed for this neighborhood."

"You're wrong, Zoé," Lauren said. "It might look a bit rundown, but there are plenty of professional people here. It's a very mixed neighborhood."

Zoé didn't seem convinced. "So where are they?"

"Probably all at work," Matt said. "The main thing is no one is taking too much notice of us. But I wish we had something to do, rather than just hanging about."

Zoé still held his hand. "It was your idea to come to this corner," she reminded him

"Okay, I agree we might look suspicious waiting here, but we'd look even more suspicious standing around staring at the building of the Children of Celestial Light. I suppose we could split up and wander around a bit, but----"

Lauren's cell phone played the hymn tune again. He paused while she took her phone from her purse and answered it.

Lauren spoke for a couple of minutes, and it didn't sound like good news. "Keep praying," she said, and blowing a kiss she replaced the phone in her purse.

"Tell us the worst," Matt said, holding Zoé's hand even more tightly.

"Steve says he's had a word with the lieutenant, and he's not interested in getting a search warrant on the basis of Wendell's photograph. But they might be able to make a routine call tomorrow."

"So that is it, I think," Zoé said.

Matt shook his head. "It's not. Definitely not."

Both women had been staring down the street at the house and turned quickly to look at him.

"It's not just young people living there, in spite of the name," Matt said. "Wendell had a photo of an elderly couple going in."

"Matt, how does that help? You are saying the things most silly," Zoé said.

Matt pointed towards the house. "The elderly couple were at the residents' grill, not ringing the visitors' bell. According to Wendell that means they live there. I'll show you the photograph on the computer when we get back."

Zoé let go of Matt's hand. "We gave the memory stick back to Wendell, but maybe he will let us borrow it again."

"We don't need to borrow it again," Matt said. "I copied all the photographs onto Stephen's computer when you all thought I was trying to enhance the photograph."

Lauren looked impressed. "Sneaky, but clever."

"I'm a private detective," Matt said. "It's my job to be sneaky."

"But not always so clever," Zoé said, with a hint of a smile. "I cannot think why the photographs will be any use. There is only one photograph of the man and woman with Jack. So why are we going back to look at the photographs again?"

Matt returned the smile. "I don't know, but we've got them now, not just Wendell Harris. Anyway, we're not going back. We're going in."

Lauren looked surprised. "You were told to leave it to the police."

"And what are they doing for us?" Matt asked.

Lauren thought about it. "Maybe not a lot. I don't know, to be honest. But they won't let strangers in there to look around, I'm sure."

"They will if we're interested in becoming Children of Celestial Light. Lauren, you're going to be Zoé's Aunty Lauren. We've had enough of church and the Christian faith, and we're looking for Celestial Light in our lives."

"Will it work?" Lauren asked. "I have to say I have my doubts. They may recognise you both. You had quite a bit of coverage on the news when you arrived."

Matt shook his head. "If they're a weird cult, they probably don't believe in television or newspapers. Or journals as you call them -- assuming there's a difference."

He was already walking towards the building. He turned to Lauren who was hurrying to catch up. "We've done this before, and Zoé is very good at thinking up convincing stories on the spot. We'll ring the bell and play it by ear. The more we think about it, the more we're likely to mess up. Here we are. You go first, Aunty Lauren!"

Lauren looked more than anxious as they climbed the stone steps that were covered with dust and scraps of paper. Matt frowned. Maybe it would be cleaner inside. Keeping steps clean on the street was likely to be a problem.

"What happens if they do recognise you both?" Lauren asked.

Matt shook his head. "Zoé will think up an excuse. Come on, let's risk it."

Reluctantly, Lauren rang the bell marked for visitors.
Chapter 26

They waited a couple of minutes. No sound came through the brown front door that, like the steps, had collected more than its fair share of dust.

"Ring it again," Matt said.

Lauren stood still, probably petrified by the thought of what they were about to do. Matt reached past her and pressed the bell again, a longer press this time. It definitely worked, because he could hear it ringing somewhere in the house.

There was the sound of a bolt being withdrawn, and the door swung open. A small man, probably in his early sixties, stood somewhat defiantly in the doorway. "This is a private residence," he said. "We do not buy at the door."

Lauren stayed petrified, and Matt decided that if someone was going to tell lies, it ought to be him. He did it for a living, and surely recovering their baby was justification enough.

"Is this the Children of Celestial Light?" He felt a bit stupid asking, because the sign above the doorway clearly said it was. "If it is, the three of us are interested in joining. I'm Peter. This is my wife, Anna, and Anna's Aunt Lauren."

Fortunately, Zoé didn't correct him.

The man stood his ground. "Why are you interested in us?"

Matt forced a smile. "We've had enough of organized religion. The three of us."

The man tapped his foot impatiently. "We are very organized here at the Children of Celestial Light."

Lauren suddenly came to life. "We mean the organized Christian religion."

"Ah, that's different."

It seemed to Matt that this man clearly had something against Christians. He would need to play on that to get this man's sympathy. "Definitely against it," he said.

The man still didn't look convinced. "How did you hear about us? It's usual for people to come here sponsored by someone. The ability to support oneself and contribute to the running of the Children of Celestial Light is important."

Zoé stood forward. "There is an elderly couple who live here. We met them in a coffee shop and they told us a lot about the Children of Celestial Light."

"That sounds like Proteus and Cressida. We use the names of celestial bodies here. No one uses their worldly name."

Zoé nodded. "They didn't give us their names. But they recommended that we give it a go."

The man frowned. "Give it a go? Are you French?"

"French Canadian."

Matt wanted to congratulate Zoé for such quick thinking, but it would have to keep.

"I'll need to see your passport, Anna. And yours as well, Peter. You sound English."

Matt was unable to think of a quick retort, but Zoé seemed to be well fired up. "Of course," she said, "but first we would like to look around and learn more. Do you have a brochure?"

The man seemed to crumble. Maybe he fancied Zoé -- or even Lauren. Matt was just glad to get inside.

"Before I could consider admitting you here as Children of Celestial Light, we would need to have a long talk and a trial period. Everyone here would need to be convinced that you are not simply here for healing. Being a Child of Celestial Light is a lifelong commitment."

"Of course," Matt said. "Lifelong. Now you've mentioned healing, the elderly couple mentioned a room of crystals. It sounded intriguing."

The man looked enthusiastic. "The Star Room of Healing, yes. Stardust and crystals that did not originate on Earth. Mysteries that have traveled here over eons and have been found in many places in the world. However, as I said, healing must not be the main reason for coming here. Are any of you seriously ill?"

They all shook their heads. Vigorously. The man seemed satisfied, but Zoé turned to Matt and clutched his arm. "Healing." She didn't need to add anything. Matt understood.

The hallway was dark, and certainly there was no Celestial Light here. But the place looked clean as far as he could see in the gloom.

"I've noticed the wedding bands," the man said looking from Matt to Zoé. "I assume you're both married."

"Married to each other," Matt said with a smile. He noticed that Lauren had removed her engagement ring before they entered the house, and presumed she wanted to look unattached. Pretty clever.

Zoé was certainly on the ball. "Aunty Lauren is getting over a broken engagement," she said. She took Lauren's left hand and showed it to the man. "You can see where the ring was. Her fiancé was a Christian fanatic. She has had enough of him controlling her."

Lauren blushed, but kept up the pretence. "A terrible man. I'm glad to be free of him. Would he be able to trace us here?"

"If I let you join?"

Lauren put a hand to her mouth. "Oh yes, of course, that's what I mean. As ... Anna said, we would like you to show us around. This place could be our future. We do have money to support ourselves, and could certainly help generously with your everyday expenses."

The mention of money seemed to work wonders. "Everyone is in the dining room at present. It's important that the people here get on with each other. For this reason it's vital they see you and you see them before we can make any sort of decision about a trial period. Follow me."

Matt caught Zoé's eye. Meeting everyone in the dining room was the perfect way to check for baby Jack. He took her by the arm and they followed the man along the dingy hallway to where they could hear voices behind a large brown door. Everything here seemed to be brown. Maybe the Celestial Light shone upstairs.

The man clapped his hands inside the doorway. "Children," he called out, "we have three visitors. I would like you to meet them, and if they and we agree that they might be suitable to become members of our family, we can get to know them better before we make any sort of decision on a trial. This is Anna, Peter and Lauren. Lauren is..."

"My aunt," Zoé said, presumably guessing the reason for the hesitation.

Lauren simply nodded, but she seemed to be running out of steam. Well, being engaged to an ex-archbishop probably made this sort of deception difficult. Matt wasn't bothered. He and Zoé still had plenty of steam left in them.

The man started to introduce the people who had looked up from their meals with interest. There were probably thirty adults in the room. Most of them were young, and there were several children.

The man pointed to two couples at the first table, with four children aged eight or ten. "This is Carina and Themis with their children Triton and Aurora. And Belinda and Rigel, with Celeste and Cressida."

Matt leaned towards Zoé and whispered, "Belinda?" Was Belinda a celestial body? She didn't match up to his idea of one.

Zoé whispered to him to shut up.

No one offered to shake hands, but nodded with what seemed to be genuine smiles. Matt suddenly realized that Zoé was no longer with him. She was running across the room, in and out of the tables, to where a couple sat with a baby in a small crib by their side. He knew at once what was happening. The man looked tall and he had a moustache. The woman was wearing the orange and black sweatshirt. They were the couple in the photograph.

The man who had let them in hadn't introduced himself by name, but might be Pluto for all Matt knew. He called out to Zoé to stop as he ran towards her. But Zoé was too quick. "You have stolen my baby," she shouted, as she bent down to lift a small bundle from the crib. "This is----"

Matt knew immediately it wasn't Jack. Somehow they had to talk their way out of this. People were already standing, and Pluto had caught Zoé by the arm. "You must leave immediately or I'm calling the cops. I don't know what you're doing here, but you are not harming any of my children."

The tall man with the large moustache stood up and pointed at Zoé, then at Matt. "It's those two," he shouted. "I recognise them from the television. They killed their baby and now they're trying to take one of ours."

Matt shook his head. So they did have television here after all. He held up his hands. "Please, you must excuse us. We're desperate to find our baby. He was kidnapped in Central Park."

Pluto was trying to calm everyone down. "Children, please stay seated. I know who you mean. I saw them too. I thought they looked familiar when they came to the door, but they gave false names." He turned to Matt and Lauren who stood by the doorway. "I can assure you that there is only one small baby here and you've seen him. Leave immediately, or I definitely will call the police. We cannot have the Children of Celestial Light invaded in this way by outsiders who have entered by deception."

Matt became aware of Lauren pinching his arm. He looked at her and frowned. She was pointing almost imperceptibly up the staircase. Matt listened. He could hear a baby crying upstairs, but even as he became aware of the cry, it stopped.

"And there are definitely no other babies here?" Lauren called out.

Before Pluto could answer, Matt was in the hall and racing up the wide staircase. For a moment he heard the cry again. It was coming from one floor up. He was aware of Zoé and Lauren trying to block the doorway from the dining room. He had to find the room first go.

He stood for a moment on the next floor, as a mass stampede thundered up the old staircase. There, he heard it again. Just a momentary cry of a baby. The door to the room where the sound came from was slightly open. He pushed it wide. A large black woman with huge breasts sat on a chair feeding a baby. The woman had huge lungs to match her breasts, judging by the lengthy piercing scream, and probably not doing a very good job of breastfeeding judging by the crying he'd heard from downstairs. Mother and baby were both black. The woman took another deep breath and continued to scream loudly.

Matt turned in surrender to face the angry mob from the Children of Celestial Light who didn't look at all heavenly at that moment.

"Call the cops," the tall man with a moustache shouted. "They tried to take my baby. Listen, my wife is going hysterical downstairs. I'd do anything to protect our baby. And that goes for every other father here. "

Pluto had his cell phone to his ear and already seemed to be phoning for help. Lauren stood dejectedly in the middle of the angry crowd -- presumably having thought that Matt was onto something good.

"You are stupid, Matt," Zoé called. "Why did you run up the stairs like that? I could have told you that it was not Jack crying. And now you have got us into the trouble most serious."

The man with the moustache, sounding angry enough to be called Taurus, stood blocking the top of the staircase, but Matt had lost all incentive to run. They'd made fools of themselves, or rather Wendell Harris had let them make fools of themselves. That man had a lot to answer for. If Zoé thought she could tell the difference between a white and a black baby crying, maybe she was onto something with Washington.

The sound of a siren outside heralded the arrival of the police. Pluto had already made his way down the stairs to let them in. Matt could hear the man shouting angrily in the hallway, followed by the sound of heavy feet coming up the stone staircase. A thought flitted through Matt's mind that this must have once been the house of a relatively wealthy owner. As Lauren had said, professional people were still living here, so maybe there had often been well-off people in this house from the time it was built.

Matt shook his head. Thoughts like this were not going to help them now. After several minutes of hopeless explanation, and wild accusations that they were stealing a child, Matt, Zoé and Lauren were handcuffed and led outside. No amount of pleading to search the whole house for Jack helped, although the police did seem interested in the identity of the black woman upstairs. No wonder Pluto hadn't mentioned her.

Lauren now sounded surprisingly feisty. "You don't understand the situation," she said to the older officer, a sergeant. "Let me phone my fiancé. He's an archbishop in the Catholic Church."

"Ma'am," said the sergeant who was clearly in charge, "I suppose you think I was born yesterday. I know for a fact Catholic priests aren't allowed to marry."

Lauren shook her head. "I meant to say he was an archbishop. He was in Rome in the Vatican until eighteen months ago. He was personally responsible for the Holy Father's welfare. But he's left holy orders. He runs the Symbol of Hope Church now in Harlem."

"Ma'am," the sergeant snapped, "just shut it."

"I know the Symbol of Hope Church," one of the two young officers said. "My girlfriend took me there once. She said the guy in charge used to work in the Vatican."

"And you shut it too," the sergeant snapped.

"That's Stephen Valdieri," Lauren said, rather bravely Matt thought. The sergeant seemed in no mood for chitchat. "Steve Valdieri. He's my fiancé," she added. "Phone him and he'll explain why we're here. Here, take my phone. His number's on speed dial."

The sergeant seemed to be melting slightly. "Okay, ma'am, let's sort this out at the precinct. We can make our calls when we get there and see what's what."

"Are we under arrest?" Matt asked.

The sergeant shook his head. "Not yet. I'm working on it though, so let's all take it calmly and go to the precinct. I've called for backup."

"Do we look dangerous?" Lauren asked. She was clearly not prepared to be subdued. Stephen Valdieri had got himself one feisty woman.

The sergeant raised his hands. "I said shut it, ma'am. We need another car to take you down to the precinct to sort out this mess. Missing baby indeed. Missing brains more likely. You three could be in serious trouble if that lot press charges. The Holy Father won't be able to get you out of this one, if I have my way."

As it turned out, the Holy Father's help wasn't needed. Valdieri was still at the precinct and was just leaving when the two police cruisers drew up. Lauren, Matt and Zoé were hustled out of the leading one.

Lauren turned out to be correct after all. Stephen Valdieri did have enough clout to give a satisfactory explanation, and after a bit of double-checking they were allowed to leave without anyone being charged -- on condition they never visited the Children of Celestial Light again. At least not without a police search warrant which was definitely not going to given. Ever.

Wendell had managed to slip away before everything hit the fan. The remaining four were given a lift back to Valdieri's church in a police car, which brought a fake smile and cheery wave from the precinct sergeant as he saw them off.

Lauren confessed to Steve that she'd said terrible things about him at the Children of Celestial Light, but assured him that they were absolutely not true. He wanted to know what she'd said, but all Lauren would say was that she'd only done it to help get them inside. She put a comforting arm around Zoé who was looking lost. "Honey," she said, "running to the mom with the baby was a mistake that any anxious mother could have made. You mustn't blame yourself for what happened."

"The baby did look quite a bit like Jack," Matt said, joining in the hug with Lauren. "But both eyes were blue, and the hair hardly stuck out at all. And there was one other significant difference."

"What was that?" Valdieri asked.

"The baby was a girl."

Nobody laughed, and Zoé tried to pull away.

"I think Jack is still there." Zoé dabbed her eyes with a tissue and sniffed loudly. "Whoever took him thinks the healing room will help his eye. They might keep Jack in there all day and night if they think it will make him better. The police, they would not search any of the other rooms. If that black lady was there with the baby, how many other babies are there? They would not let me look. They simply would not let me look."

Matt shook his head. "The only reason we went there, Zoé, was because of Wendell's photograph. Let's look at all the photos Wendell took." He turned to Valdieri. "Can I use your computer again?"

Valdieri went to his desktop computer in his office and turned it on. As soon as it was running, Matt brought up the image file. He stared at it the list of images for a moment. "This is odd," he said. "These aren't all the photographs. Come and see."

He flicked through the five photographs. "Three photos are missing, straight after the photograph with the couple we thought were holding Jack."

"How can you tell?" Lauren asked.

"Each photograph has an identification number. The camera puts it on automatically. If it didn't, every photograph would have the same file reference, and that's impossible. Look, here's the picture we thought was Jack. It has a completely different reference number."

"Why?" Zoé asked.

Matt shook his head. "My guess is that he's used a photo program and done something to it."

"Enhancing it to show more detail?"

"Could be, Zoé." Matt zoomed in further and further on the baby's head until a mass of large pixels filled the screen. "I'm no expert, but look at the hair sticking forward. Something doesn't look right about the arrangement of the pixels. My bet is that Wendell has tricked us by adding the hair."

"Even if you are right, Matt, something most suspicious is happening in that house," Zoé said.

Valdieri came over to have a look. "I don't understand what's going on, but we can ask Wendell straight out for an explanation."

Lauren looked at Zoé, "Girl," she said, "you look bushed. I suggest an early night. We'll have an early supper and you can both disappear upstairs for the night. There won't be any more excitement today."

### Chapter 27

Matt woke first, and decided to let Zoé sleep on. He went downstairs attracted by the smell of food. Valdieri had a private kitchen with a breakfast bar. He'd not met the other residents yet, apart from Vicky. Lauren said it wasn't a problem, as he and Zoé needed some privacy.

Lauren and Valdieri were sitting at the bar with an open Bible between them. They looked up and smiled.

At that moment Zoé appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, still in her pajamas. She looked distraught. "Why are you down here, Matt? I have been having a dream most terrible. I was in the clinic with baby Jack. Dr. Marks was trying to pull him away from me, and I tried to hold him tightly." She stopped and shook her head. "It was terrible." She pronounced the word as French. "There were two nurses with Dr. Marks and they were holding scalpels and waving them in my face."

Matt moved to put his arm around her shoulders and give her a cuddle. "It was a dream, that's all. You were dreaming you were back at the clinic of the Little Sisters in France."

"No, no, Matt. I was definitely at the clinic here in New York. The physician was shouting that he was going to cut Jack up into little pieces and feed them to the other patients. It has made me feel sick. I tried to hold on to Jack, but I knew that any moment I would let go. And then I woke up and you were not in the room. What do you think it means?"

"Some dreams can be very bad," Valdieri said quietly. "We must be careful not to let them upset us during the day. It's rare for a dream to have any meaning, although I believe God sometimes speaks to us through dreams. But surely not that one. A dream like that is understandable, considering all the stress the two of you have been through. In your dream you were mixing up your visit to the clinic on the first day, the loss of Jack in Central Park the next morning, and your ordeal at the Clinic of the Little Sisters in Tourvillon. Don't try and read anything into it or you'll only upset yourself more."

Matt kept his arm around Zoé. "We're both getting terrible thoughts," he told her. "All we can do is trust the police, and try to do a bit of investigating on our own. Not that we've done much good so far."

"It is the clinic," Zoé said, her voice unsteady. "I have understood the reason for the dream. They want Jack so they can harvest his organs."

Matt continued with the hug. "How could they do that?" It was best to listen sympathetically. "We'd be there and would stop them."

Zoé shook her head and broke away from Matt. "We are not there now. But maybe Jack is."

"Zoé, why on earth do you think Jack is there?"

"My dream tells me it is the clinic that has taken him. They studied his DNA and his blood group when we first got here. They may have very rich clients waiting for a donor who is a match. Of course they could not take his organs while we were there with him. Why do you think the doctor recommended we took little Jack away for the night? They had to kidnap him when he was away from the clinic."

Matt felt a shiver on his back and on his arms. It sounded crazy, but it could be true.

"Lauren knows..." Valdieri said suddenly.

Zoé spun round to look at him. "Lauren knows about this?"

"Not Lauren, but Lauren knows a senior nurse at the clinic. Esme Butland."

Lauren looked surprised. "I can't believe Esme's involved in anything terrible like that."

"Lauren," Valdieri said, "you could ask Esme if she's heard whispers of something suspicious happening. Now listen, Zoé, I don't believe for one moment that your dream has any meaning, but let's put your mind at rest by making a phone call. There's coffee here if you'd like it. Or juice."

Lauren said of course she'd phone Esme. Matt found it hard to tell if Lauren was genuinely concerned, or if she felt it was yet another time-wasting idea of Zoé's, like Washington and the Children of Celestial Light.

Lauren nodded, pulled her cell phone from her purse and flicked through the list of contacts. "Matt and Zoé, I want you both to stay here with me," she said, as she keyed in the number. It was answered almost immediately.

"Can I speak to Esme Butland? ... Thank you." Lauren turned to them both. "They're putting me straight through."

Matt noticed that Zoé welcomed his arm around her now. It was unlikely, but this could be grim news.

"It's me, Lauren. Has a very small baby being admitted in the last couple of days? ... Yes, I know about Jack Rider. Any other babies?... Yes. ... I see. ... Yes. ... Okay, phone me. I'm here for the morning. ... Thanks."

Matt found himself holding his breath. Whatever Esme Butland was saying, she was taking a long time.

Lauren finished the call and shook her head. "Esme's checking. There are only four room reserved for small babies. You'll be relieved to know that one of them is still reserved for Jack."

"And the other three?" Matt asked.

"Almost certainly empty at present, but she's checking. It may take a few minutes, so why don't you guys have something to eat. Keep your strength up for the day."

Matt didn't feel like eating the cooked breakfast of bacon and some sort of sausage, although the fried eggs looked good. He settled for some sort of lumpy, over-sweetened breakfast cereal called granola.

He was only on his third spoonful when Lauren's phone rang.

Lauren took it from her purse and answered it. "Yes, I'm listening. ... When was this? ... On life support? ... How do you mean, definitely not likely to live?" Lauren looked shaken as she listened to a long conversation. At last she spoke. "Esme, this is highly confidential and I don't want you to breathe a word of it. I have Jack Rider's parents here with me. Is there any way they could have a look at the baby? I don't want to discuss it on the phone, but this is absolutely urgent. ... Right, just as soon as we can get a cab."

Matt found himself taking deep breaths, noticing that Zoé was doing the same. "What did she say?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"Esme says we need to get to the clinic as soon as possible. A single mother was admitted with her baby shortly after Jack was kidnapped, but no one's supposed to know apart from a small team. She's asked some discreet questions and has heard from one of the assistant nurses that a sixteen-year-old girl is there with a baby boy who only has two or three hours left to live. Absolutely nothing can be done to save him. The girl's parents wanted nothing to do with their daughter when they knew the baby was dying. Said it was her own fault for getting pregnant. So her friend had a word with the clinic and asked about organ donation. Esme says there's no money changing hands with the single mom, but she agreed immediately, and bravely said she'd like other families to be able to save their children with some of her baby's organs."

Zoé threw herself on to the couch. "It is Jack. There is no teenage mother. Money, it is changing the hands somewhere, I am sure it is. They are going to kill Jack for money. What can we do?"

Lauren and Matt helped Zoé to her feet. "I'm certain we'll find that the mother and baby are nothing to do with your little boy. Just to set your minds at rest, we're going straight there in a cab. Esme is going to get us access to the baby's room. The mom is there all the time, and the whole thing is hush-hush, as both the girl and the clinic are insisting on confidentiality. She doesn't want the other families to know where the organs have come from. It sounds as though they'll be switching the life-support off within the next two hours. Esme says the baby's mom is resigned to it."

Zoé recovered quickly and was already running to the outside door. "Come on, Matt, be quick. Our baby only has two hours left to live."

Twenty minutes later, as they climbed from the cab outside the clinic, Matt found memories flooding back of arriving here with Jack, full of hope. Esme Butland, in green and white nurse's uniform, was waiting for them in the reception area. She didn't look at all happy as she pulled them to one side where they could speak without being overheard. "Not good news I'm afraid."

"Jack is already dead?" Zoé gasped.

Esme Butland shook her head. "I don't think it is your baby, but I do know the baby I told you about is still alive. The problem is there's no way I can get you access to the room."

"Sounds suspicious," Matt said. "Is there a photograph of the baby in the clinic records we could look at? Lauren says you're a senior nurse here."

Again Esme shook her head. "Access to those records is way beyond my authority because the whole matter is being treated with the greatest secrecy. The baby is on the third floor. That's not a floor where I'm on duty, and I would be reprimanded immediately if anyone saw me showing visitors around there." Then, "Third floor, room thirty-two," she added thoughtfully, nodding to Matt. "It may sound sexist, but if a visitor decided to wander around there on their own, a woman would draw less attention."

Matt felt a jolt of adrenaline. Esme Butland must know he was a PI, and surely this was a hint. Permission even. Zoé seemed to be reading his mind. She caught hold of his hand and gave it three quick squeezes. He could only hope it was one for each floor.

Esme said, "We'll go to the reception desk and I can book you in, and we can have a drink in the coffee area. Zoé, you can stay here if you like. But don't go up the stairs which are just around the corner to the left." She looked thoughtful again. "Visitors from England think the third floor is three floors up. Here in America what you call the ground floor is the first floor. So the third floor with room thirty-two is only two floors up."

Lauren seemed unaware of the subterfuge, which Matt thought was a shame because he and Zoé could do with one of her quick prayers right now. Hopefully Zoé had taken in the reason for the complicated explanation of floor numbers.

At the desk, the smart female receptionist in a white blouse and black tailored jacket pointed to the visitors' book. "Are your visitors staying, Esme?" she asked. She stood up and looked left and right. "I thought there were four of you."

Esme smiled confidently. "She'll be with us in a minute. I think she's just gone to get some fresh air. Do you need to book us in? We're only having coffee and then my friends are leaving."

Matt felt Esme would be good working for Ken Habgood, but she was unlikely to want to receive a tenth of the salary she'd be getting here. Yes, the receptionist said, they still needed to be booked in.

He tried not to look around too anxiously as Esme led the way to the open corner in the reception area where there were low tables with chairs. A coffee percolator on a cabinet made bubbling noises. Matt poured a cup for the three of them, but he didn't feel like coffee. He just wished he could be upstairs with Zoé instead of sitting down with these two women.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Any moment Matt expected to see a police car draw up outside and Zoé being bundled into it by the clinic security. Where on earth was she?

"Is Zoé all right?" Lauren asked suddenly, making Matt jump and almost spill his coffee.

Was Lauren really that naïve? Or was she sharing his concerns about what might be happening on the third floor? Lauren's question was answered at that moment as Zoé made her way across the reception area.

The receptionist stood up. "Where have you been, madam?" she called. "You need to be booked in."

"We are going now," Zoé said dismissively.

Matt was unable to read Zoé's face. She looked upset, but not angry. He and Lauren booked out, and with Esme they made their way onto the street through the main entrance, and stopped.

"Well?" Matt asked.

Zoé shook her head. "It was difficult. I had to wait at the top of the stairs until I could not hear anyone walking around. Room thirty-two is opposite the top of the stairs. The room it was not locked, and I slipped inside and closed the door. The poor baby has tubes and a ventilator. The mother looks like a child, and she is just sitting there sobbing with no one to comfort her.

"So it's not Jack?" Matt said, probably unnecessarily.

"No, Matt, it is not Jack. I was afraid to stay too long in case I got caught, but I spoke to the mother of the tiny baby. He is suffering from a terminal heart defect. The situation is too bad to even consider a heart transplant, and since he has been here his condition has deteriorated quickly. There is no way he could stay alive for even five minutes without the ventilator. The girl says she wants to pray with someone before they switch off her baby's life-support. Me, I did not feel I could do it. Not yet. Lauren, do you think they would let you in if you explained the situation?"

Esme turned to Lauren. "If you're willing, I think I can get you in, under the circumstances. Steve's name will help. But we won't mention that Zoé has already been in the room."

"You two go on back without me," Lauren said. "That poor girl sounds in great need. I'm going to stay with her for as long as she wants. Tell Steve I may not be back until tomorrow morning."

### Chapter 28

"I didn't want to phone while you were at the clinic," Valdieri said when they returned without Lauren, "but Wendell Harris phoned again. I didn't tell him where you'd gone. Anyway, he wants Matt to phone him as soon as you're back. I asked him about the different file number. He said he enhanced it because the baby was in the shadow. And the missing photo numbers were accidental shots of the sky, and he didn't bother to put them on the memory stick. He sounded genuine enough to me."

Matt rang the number Wendell had given him, and for once Wendell actually answered. They spoke for a couple of minutes as Matt told him about the abortive visit to the Children of Celestial Light, and their frustration at not being able to persuade the police to carry out a full search of the building, especially the co-called Star Room of Healing.

He put his finger over the microphone and turned to the eager faces in the room. "Wendell wants to say sorry. He insists he took the photograph outside the commune in good faith, acting on information from a friend that a baby had arrived there unexpectedly. He says if we thought it was Jack, how was he to know it wasn't? Anyway, he's sorry for all the trouble he's caused. He's now in Boston."

Zoé shook her head. "Why? Wendell has already told us that the family in Boston has an explanation that is innocent. The baby was born in the local hospital."

"That's what he thought, but now it seems his nosey girlfriend wasn't so clever after all. She got the baby mixed up with another family in the same building. She says the baby with the different eyes definitely wasn't born in the local hospital. He's checked that for himself. Wait, and I'm going to see what else he has to say. Wendell, are you still there?"

Matt spoke for several minutes, nodding from time to time, and looking at Zoé. He didn't want to raise her hopes, but this news from Wendell sounded more promising than any lead they'd followed so far. He told Wendell he'd phone him back in a few minutes when he'd discussed things with Zoé.

"Well?" Zoé and Valdieri asked, almost in unison.

"Wendell doesn't think the Garcia family is so innocent after all. The Garcia's young daughter came home a couple of days ago holding a very small baby. No one around knew the girl was pregnant. Wendell's Ms. Nosey friend got that bit right the first time. The girl's mother said that because her daughter was overweight, the pregnancy didn't show. She disappeared about four weeks ago and came home two days ago. Her father said she had to go to her aunt's in Lexington to have the baby because her aunt is a midwife. And what dad says, goes. He thinks the world of his daughter. Would do anything for her. What do you think?"

"Come on, Matt, I think we should go there," Zoé said. She was already standing. "Matt, we need to leave immediately."

"Let's not rush it," he warned. "We've just been through a terrible time at the clinic, especially you. We need to rest."

"We can rest on the train," Zoé said frantically. "If the father hears that someone has been asking the questions, we need to get there quickly. I thought you wanted Jack safely back as much as I do. Come on, we will go now."

Valdieri held up a finger of caution. "You have a concern I think, Matt. It would be wise to share it."

Matt shook his head. "Not really, but we've been saying that we ought not to trust Wendell, whether he's a security guard or still a cop. The lead to Washington turned out to be a dead end, and we've burned our fingers at the Children of Celestial Light, and now at the clinic."

Zoé caught hold of Matt's arm and started to drag him from the room. "Washington was nothing to do with Wendell. Nor was the clinic. They were both silly ideas of mine. And I was the one who thought the baby in Wendell's photo at the Children of Celestial Light looked like Jack. One of his friends mentioned a baby to him, and of course he had to tell us. It would have been irresponsible if he kept quiet. Me, I am prepared to trust Wendell. Me, I am prepared to trust anyone if it means we get our baby back."

Eventually Valdieri agreed that it was worth following up the Boston lead, whether it was genuine or nothing more than another test by the police to see what they did about it.

Matt said they'd only be able to knock on the Garcias' door once. They had a single chance to see the baby. After that, if it was Jack, he'd be hidden away at another address before they could return with the police. Maybe he'd be back with the aunt in Lexington, and they had no idea of her name or where she lived.

Valdieri reminded them that they were again breaking the conditions that the police had set for their freedom. Simon Urquet had to be notified if they were leaving New York. He shrugged. "I guess this is like the biblical donkey that has fallen in the pit on the Sabbath and needs rescuing," he said with a wry smile. "Go and pack while I check train times on the Internet. Do you have enough money for the fare?"

Matt explained that Simon Urquet had topped up his card, and they had plenty, even if they had to book into a hotel in Boston. "And we're getting a cab to Penn Street Station. I'm not risking the subway. It said on the radio in our room that the whole subway Line 7 is closed while the Bomb Disposal Unit investigate some suspicious packages. Okay, Zoé, I'm coming." He could see she was starting to panic, and they both had to stay calm for what lay ahead.

Valdieri said he would have liked to go with them, to give them support, but he wanted to wait for Lauren to return from the clinic. She would be going through a great ordeal with the single mom, and would need a lot of support when she eventually got back. He found a fast train to Boston that left Penn in just under an hour that would get them there mid afternoon.

They waited in vain for a cab and eventually had to ask Valdieri to phone for one. Every cab seemed to be booked, but one came at last. There were nothing but holdups all the way to Penn Street. The subway was obviously faster, but most people were avoiding the subway and using cabs while the terrorist attack was ongoing.

"If we have to get the next train, we get the next train," Matt said, trying to sound much calmer than he felt. "The family won't be going anywhere if they've not been tipped off. All we have to do is to phone Wendell when we're half an hour from Boston. He's going to meet us at South Station and take us straight to the Garcias' apartment."

The line to the ticket office moved quickly but they hadn't reckoned on the security search at the gate. They joined the line and watched their train disappear into the distance. There wouldn't be another for an hour.

"We'll get something to eat," Matt suggested. "I don't think either of us is hungry, but we ought to eat something."

While they sat in a lunch bar, all Matt could do was contemplate what lay ahead. Wendell was either a total idiot, or he really had found Jack this time.

Being forewarned, they arrived at the gate half an hour early to be sure of getting through the bag and body search. Eventually the were able to board the train, to discover that it was a regional train that took four and a half hours to get to Boston, so they wouldn't be arriving until six-thirty.

An hour into the journey, Zoé started rummaging anxiously through the overnight bag Valdieri had lent them in case they had to stay, which they almost certainly would be doing now. Matt was concerned that Zoé's actions seemed irrational. She appeared to be going through their overnight things time and time again.

"Have we left something behind?" he asked quietly, well aware of the people sitting around them.

"I am a bad mother," Zoé said. "I have not brought any clothes for Jack."

Matt pulled her gently to him, aware of the inquisitive glances from the elderly woman sitting opposite who had been staring at them for some time. She was clearly listening to their conversation. "We can worry about that when we've got him," he said.

"But we have lost our baby, and now I do not even have his clothes."

The woman opposite leaned forward. "Did I hear you say you've lost your baby?" she said softly. "It's a terrible thing to lose a baby. Trust me, I know. My first baby was stillborn." She shook her head, then gave a warm smile. "You're both young. Of course you must grieve now, but you're both healthy and soon you'll be able to plan for the future."

As Matt predicted, Zoé started to cry, drawing attention from everyone around.

"It's okay," Matt said. "It's not what you think." Maybe he shouldn't have said that so dismissively. Probably the woman was only trying to be helpful. Now she'd be thinking they'd carelessly lost their baby somewhere and couldn't find him. And in a way, he reflected, she was sort of right.

The rest of the journey passed with Zoé leaning onto Matt's shoulder dozing on and off, and the woman minding her own business. Matt wanted to explain a little more of the situation, but it would all get complicated. With thirty minutes to go he phoned Wendell who said he was all set to meet them.

As the train drew into Boston South Station, the woman rose to her feet. Zoé was asleep again, and Matt touched the woman on the arm. "I'm sorry if I was a bit rude," he said. "It's a very complicated situation, and I know you meant well. So thanks for your thoughts." There, job done.

They exited the train and stood outside South Station waiting for Wendell. Cabs and cars came and went, but there was no sign of the man. Zoé started to cry gently, and Matt wondered if she should perhaps step up her medication. Zoé's tears were drawing a lot of attention, but surely people wouldn't think he had been abusing her. They were standing holding hands like two young lovebirds.

After ten minutes he got the phone out of his pocket and checked for the second time that there was a signal and no missed calls. "I'm going to phone him," he said.

"Where are you?" he asked when Wendell picked up.

"Hey, ever so sorry, Matt. There's a bit of a problem."

"Go on." He should have expected this. Wendell had been nothing but unreliable.

"The thing is, I've run into a spot of bother. If I give you the address, you can go there and wait for me. That will be quicker. I'm sure you want to sort this out as soon as possible. Don't forget, their name is Garcia."

Matt signaled to Zoé for paper and a pen. He wrote the street and apartment block number down carefully, and repeated it twice to Wendell. Wendell confirmed everything.

"We'll get a cab," Matt said. "And you'll definitely be outside the block waiting for us?"

"Just wait by the street entrance. Hey, I'll be there. You can count on it. Let's hope we strike lucky this time."

The cab driver said he knew the street. It turned out to be in the Back Bay area of Boston. If they were sightseeing, Matt might have paid more attention along the way, but all he wanted was to meet Wendell and knock on the door of the Garcias' apartment. Hopefully the girl would answer it, complete with Jack in her arms. Hopefully.

The driver stopped by a fire hydrant, took the money, and drove off quickly. Matt looked up at the number on the surprisingly modern apartment building. It was the right one. There was no sign of Wendell.

"We might have got here too quickly for him," Zoé said.

"He promised he'd be here."

"Then I suggest you phone him and ask him where he is".

Matt rang the number Wendell was using and let the phone ring. And ring. Eventually it went to voicemail. "Where are you, Wendell? Zoé and I are outside the apartment block. We don't want to be hanging around here too long on our own. I thought you were coming straight here. Phone me urgently."

He rang off and shrugged his shoulders. "No reply."

Zoé gave a long sigh. "That is what I gathered. So are we just going to stand here?"

"Yes, until we hear from Wendell."

"Why? What use is Wendell going to be? We know the apartment number. We will go up there and bang loudly on the door. If we wait much longer everyone will be getting suspicious of us standing out here."

When Zoé put it like that, it made sense. The longer they waited for Wendell, the more chance there was of something going wrong. And they didn't want to stay in Boston overnight if they could help it. "Let's go up. Get your phone out, Zoé. The apartment is on the third floor. You stay here and make sure no one with a small child comes down in the elevator. See, I'm learning to speak American already."

"Third floor is two floors up. I got it right at the clinic."

"Two floors up. Got it. When I'm two floors up you can run up the stairs if the lift ... elevator ... isn't moving."

This was almost like one of his detective jobs for Ken. No, not really. When he was working for Ken he was trying to sort out somebody else's problems.

The place smelled of stale food with a background of something more nasty. He'd not heard the elevator moving as he hurried up the dirty stone stairs lit by a single low wattage lamp. He phoned Zoé and she answered immediately. No one had come down in the elevator.

"Then come up and I'll meet you at the top of the stairs."

Zoé was breathing heavily when she got to him. She looked exhausted. "Leave the talking to me," he said.

Only one light was working in the dingy hall, and the apartment door looked in need of paint. "Right, let's do it." He knocked on the door.

A woman's voice called from inside, and a baby started to cry. Well, at the least Wendell had got that bit right. Adrenaline rose in his stomach as though he was preparing for a fight with the overprotective father. Perhaps it would come to that.

The gap under the door allowed them to hear the sound of shuffling footsteps. The peephole in the door turned black for a few seconds, followed by the rattle of a chain being put on. The door opened a crack and a face appeared in the gap. "Yes?" a young white woman said anxiously. The fact she was white was promising. Surely Wendell's girlfriend here wouldn't have thought Jack could be black.

Zoé stood forward, pushing Matt to one side. "Ms. Garcia, we need to see the baby."

Matt shook his head. He'd not intended to approach this is so full-on.

"We are from the Bureau of Child Welfare," Zoé explained. "There may be a problem with your baby."

Matt heard the chain being withdrawn and his instinct was to push the door open. And that's exactly what he did. The young woman jumped back and started screaming. A man's voice from inside the apartment wanted to know what the trouble was.

A large man, large enough to be a football fullback, came into the cramped hallway. He was a lot older than the girl who'd answered the door, and certainly looked a formidable opponent. This must be her over-protective father who would do anything for his daughter.

Matt decided to take over. "We just need to see the baby we can hear crying. If it's our baby, we're taking him with us."

"On whose authority?" the man demanded.

"Please," Zoé said, "just show us the baby."

"The hell we will," the man said, already dialing on his cell phone. "Where's your identity?"

"Who is it, Max?" an older woman called from deep inside.

"Hold on, Maureen," the man shouted back into the apartment. "Two people here to take our daughter's kid away." He turned to Matt and Zoé. "You two have another think coming. I'm phoning the cops."

That took Matt by surprise. If the family had stolen baby Jack, they were hardly likely to involve the police. Or was it a game of bluff. "Good. We'll wait here until they come."

The man pushed Matt back into Zoé, and they both stumbled out of the door with Zoé falling onto the ground. Before Matt could say anything in protest the door slammed shut.

Matt helped Zoé to her feet, and she seemed to have suffered no physical harm. "What is it that do we do now?" she asked.

"We stay here and wait for the police. I'm sure that man's already phoned them. He was talking to them when he slammed the door on us."

Ten minutes later a siren outside and the clatter of feet on the stairs told Matt that the police had arrived. A male and a female officer came along the hallway. The male officer positioned himself so as to block any possibility of escape and the female officer knocked on the door.

"Police," she called. "Open up, Mr. Garcia."

Matt took some comfort from the fact they'd got the right name, which meant this was the right apartment. But there was still no sign of Wendell Harris. Mr. Garcia opened the door cautiously.

"It's these two," he said. "They say they're from Child Welfare and they've come to take our daughter's kid. I don't believe them. They're child snatchers. Everyone's heard of bogus Child Welfare workers coming to snatch children."

The female officer turned to Matt. "Child Welfare? Let's see some identity."

"There's been a misunderstanding," Matt explained. "We're not from Child Welfare."

The officer turned to Mr. Garcia. "Do you know these two?"

"Never seen them before. They said they've come to take the kid."

The male officer came closer, still guarding the escape route. "Okay, let's see some identity. You don't sound American, for starters."

"Probably some international child smuggling gang," Mr. Garcia suggested.

The officer didn't seem to be buying that, although he was clearly suspicious.

"Our baby was kidnapped in New York, in Central Park," Zoé explained, sounding surprisingly rational. "My husband and I have good reason to believe that this man's daughter has him in this apartment. We have it on authority that is good that there is a very young baby here. If it is our baby, then we will take him with us. And you can arrest these people."

Male and female officer looked at each other. The woman shrugged and turned to Mr. Garcia whose wife, presumably it was his wife, had now come to the door. She shook her head. "Our daughter doesn't have a baby."

"Your daughter came to the door and we could hear a baby crying in the background," Matt said.

"That's a lie," Mrs. Garcia said. "Our daughter's kid is four years old, and there's no way you're taking him away."

"Then you won't mind us having a look at the baby we heard crying," Matt said. He turned to the two officers who were standing uncertainly now. "Our baby has one blue eye and one green eye."

"If he is our baby," Zoé said, "I will know him anyway, even if his eyes they are closed."

"I've told you, our daughter doesn't have a baby," Mrs. Garcia snapped.

At that moment they could hear a baby starting to cry. "There," Mrs. Garcia said, "you've gone and disturbed him. We've been trying to get him off to sleep for the past hour. I hope you're satisfied."

"That is our baby," Zoé shouted.

"Oh no it's not. We're babysitting him for a neighbor. I refuse to give any of you entry. So you can all friggin' clear off."

Matt looked questioningly at Zoé. He didn't have the mother's instinct to recognize one cry from another. He noticed Zoé looked uncertain.

The police officer put his foot to prevent the door being closed, and asked Matt and Zoé their names. Then he turned to the irate residents. "Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, we can clear this up very quickly. My partner will take Mrs. Rider into the apartment and she can see the baby. Whether the baby belongs to your daughter or a neighbor is not important. Surely you can have no objection to that."

A quick discussion between the Garcias produced a reluctant decision to allow Zoé and the female officer to carry out a check.

Matt pulled Zoé aside and whispered to her, "Make sure you check everywhere. There may be more than one baby."

Mrs. Garcia obviously overheard. "Well there ain't," she snapped. "We ain't running a friggin' nursery."

Matt stood back, and noticed that the officer still stood guard against any possibility of escape.

The crying continued as Zoé was led inside. Three minutes later she was out, shaking her head. Matt didn't even need to ask.

The woman officer apologized to the Garcias for the disturbance, and told them they were taking Mr. and Mrs. Rider to the precinct for interview. Matt felt devastated. Where on earth was Wendell Harris when they needed him?
Chapter 29

It was the early hours of the morning when they got back to New York and crawled wearily into bed at Valdieri's base. Maybe it was because of the excitement and upset, but they were unable to sleep for long, although they felt too tired to get up. Eventually, at 9:30 they made their way down the stairs to Valdieri's living quarters and were glad to sit down with him. Lauren soon joined them while they poured out their woes over a late breakfast.

"I think the lieutenant in Boston was sympathetic," Matt explained, "but it didn't stop him taking our fingerprints and checking our identity. The good news is the New York police were able to explain about baby Jack being taken in Central Park, which bought us some sympathy. The bad news is the episode at the Children of Celestial Light came up."

"I still think they should have searched the building at the Children of Celestial Light," Zoé said. "If they conveniently forgot the black woman upstairs with the baby, who else did they forget? Me, I want to go back there today. We will think of a way to get in. The Star Room of Healing is most suspicious to me."

Matt nodded. "You could be right, but we can't get in there now, not without a search warrant. We're in serious trouble. Once again we've done something completely irrational, and we've been warned that if we ever suspect anyone else we're to let the police handle it. And, Stephen, if we try to leave New York again without their permission, we're in even deeper serious trouble. You have to let them know the moment you even suspect we're leaving here. Leaving the church building, that is. We can't even go sightseeing in the city without telling them."

Valdieri looked concerned. "I've had a phone call from the Chief at the precinct. He says you two will be arrested if you pull any more stunts like breaking into private property and accusing the residents of child snatching." He smiled. "But it seems to me that neither of you are prepared to leave this to the police to sort out. You're not, are you?"

Matt shook his head, and noticed Zoé doing the same.

"Tell me again about Washington," Lauren said. "I know you were following up a good lead, but it ended in tears."

"Literally," Matt added.

"It was my fault," Zoé said. "I was being silly."

Lauren put an arm around Zoé and drew her close. "Oh, honey, you must've been so excited when the police got you into the Harding's house. I feel stupid in asking, but I suppose you're absolutely sure that the baby you saw wasn't Jack."

Tear started to well up in Zoé's eyes. Lauren quickly supplied a tissue. "It was a baby," Zoé said, "but he looked nothing like Jack. Exactly the same thing happened at the Children of Celestial Light, and again in Boston yesterday evening. And why did I get the idea so stupid that Jack was at the clinic and about to die so they could take his organs for transplants? Moi, je pense que je vais fou. I think I am going insane."

Matt clapped his hands. "Think about it. Everywhere we've been has turned out a dead end. My educated guess is that one of those places really does have Jack. Yes, Zoé, Washington was your idea and so was the clinic. But the commune of the Children of Celestial Light and Boston were Wendell's tip-offs. He encouraged us to go there. He really encouraged us."

"Yes, I see where this is going," Zoé said. "Washington is the one place where Wendell Harris tried to stop us going. I would still be suspicious if Mrs. Harding had not let us look in every room in the house. There was only one baby."

Lauren supplied Zoé with another tissue. "And you could tell it wasn't Jack, even though he had his eyes closed? You're absolutely sure about that?"

Zoé nodded.

Matt felt they could be onto something. "Did the Senator's wife look guilty in any way?"

"She seemed a bit strange, odd, and she had a smell of death about her. Effrayant."

"That's creepy. Describe it."

"She was wearing a perfume that was strong, so maybe it was one I did not like."

"Smell of Death. Sounds like a poor marketing move to me. Could it have been a strong perfume to mask something?"

"It does not matter," Zoé said. "The baby of the Senator was too old."

"How much older?" Matt asked, jumping up.

"I would think he was four or five months old. Why are you asking? I have told you, it was not Jack."

"Could he have been six weeks old?" Matt asked, excitement pounding through his stomach. Maybe they were giving up too quickly. "How can you be so sure about his age, Zoé?"

"Me, I am a nurse. I have worked in maternity and pediatric units. Please credit me with knowing the difference between a baby who is four months old and one who is six weeks old. Anyway, it is not important. I keep telling you, Matt, it was not our little baby."

"Matt, you look like a dog that's just found a large bone," Lauren said. "Are you going to share with us?"

"Stephen, Steve," Matt said, trying to control his breathing, "when Melanie was here you mentioned seeing Senator Harding's baby on the television. When was this?"

Valdieri seemed to be catching on to the reason for Matt's excitement. "Senator Harding was working on a controversial bill with Members of Congress, and he needed public sympathy on his side. His wife had given birth to a baby with different colored eyes. Cyrus Harding, oblivious of any hurt or embarrassment it might cause his wife, called the press and showed them their newborn baby to get a bit of public sympathy."

"Okay," Matt said. "When was this? That's important."

"I remember it too, Steve," Lauren said. "It was two days after your birthday."

Valdieri smiled. "If you say so, sweetie."

Matt wasn't bothered by this display of affection. Nor did he need to know how old Valdieri was. But he needed to know one vital thing. "So when was your birthday?"

Lauren did a little counting on her fingers. "Five weeks and a day," she said.

Matt gave an excited shout. "Just say it again, Zoé. How old was the baby at the Senator Harding's house?"

Zoé shrugged. "Maybe four ... or five months."

"Maybe isn't good enough," Matt said, "I need to know better than that."

"I did not ask," Zoé said. "If I knew it was important, I would have asked. There, does that satisfy you, Monsieur Detective?"

"Is there any way the baby at the Senator Harding's house could have been five weeks old?"

"No. Babies change a lot from the moment they are born. I still do not see why that is important, because I know it was not Jack."

Lauren seemed to understand, and so did Valdieri. The ex-archbishop was running his hands through his short hair in excitement.

"Sorry, Zoé," Matt said. "I just needed to be sure."

Zoé looked puzzled. "Sure of what?"

"Don't you see? It's like Boston. No mother can have a baby who's five weeks old and another who is four or five months old. The baby Mrs. Harding showed you wasn't hers."

Zoé said, "Are you suggesting that the Hardings are snatching babies?"

"No," Matt said, "only one. For some reason they've managed to replace their baby with Jack because of his heterochromia, and because he's about the same age."

"So, Matt, where is their own baby?" Valdieri asked.

"Dead."

Zoé gasped. "I told you the casket was not for their dog. Perhaps their baby died, and now Jack has died too. It is Jack who is buried in the casket."

Matt put his arms firmly around Zoé. "That's what we need to find out."

"So who was the baby Zoé saw?" Lauren asked.

"No idea," Matt said. "Probably a baby she's looking after for someone, or maybe one she borrowed from a friend if she knew we were coming. All I know is that it can't have been the Harding's baby. The age is wrong."

Valdieri shook his head. "I'm sorry to point this out, but the police in Washington definitely won't agree to being involved again. You've had your one strike, as they say, and now you're out. My friend in the police says Senator Harding has raised one almighty stink."

"We don't need the police," Matt said.

A gleam of understanding came into Valdieri's eye. "I cannot possibly be involved. In fact, it's better if I do not even know what you're planning to do. Remember, I have to agree to monitor your movements."

Lauren looked puzzled. "What are you planning to do, Matt?"

"That's easy," he said. "Dig up the casket and look inside."
Chapter 30

Valdieri had a brief discussion with Lauren in the kitchen and came back to say they had to go out, and might be some time. When they'd gone, Matt gave Zoé a hug, feeling triumphant. "You're brilliant, Zoé. We kept thinking we were onto something, but until now nothing made sense."

Zoé smiled. "Maybe we should try and contact Wendell again. It will be better if we have his help."

Matt look at her in surprise. "Wendell? I presume you're joking."

"Matt, we have known each other for a long time now. Of course I am joking."

"But you sounded so serious."

Zoé sighed. "I am sorry. I think I must be picking up the habits that are bad from you."

"Bad habits."

"Yes, Matt, your bad habits. Now, please can we take this seriously before my tablets stop working?"

"Let's say you did really see Wendell when we went to Washington. He could have been anywhere when he kept phoning us with his so-called leads. And now, surprise, surprise, he won't pick up his phone anymore."

Zoé nodded. "The police would be able to check his phone records and maybe trace where he was each time."

"Would they? We've tried their patience too much. They see us as a nuisance, stopping them getting on with their own enquiries while the hostage situation is eating up their resources. Wendell Harris is mixed up in this."

"I thought I saw him at Penn Street Station, and again at Union Station in Washington."

"And then you thought you saw him when we were leaving Alexandria on our way to Senator Harding's place with the police. Why was he there?"

"He was coming from the direction of the house of Senator Harding, so he had been there to warn Mrs. Harding that we were coming."

"How would he know that?"

"Matt, he used to be a cop. He had to leave the police, but me, I am sure he would have friends still working there. I am not suggesting that all police are crooked, but someone could have fed him the information."

"He could have warned Mrs. Harding by phone. Much safer."

Zoé shook her head. "Not if he had to help Mrs. Harding borrow a baby for the morning. He probably had to collect it from a friend. Oui? I told you it was not my imagination. I am taking medicine for my depression, but it does not make me see things."

"I'm with you there, Zoé. No wonder Wendell was so keen to get us chasing the wild goose, as you put it, in all the wrong places."

Zoé sat down on the couch, her head in her hands. "Please do not deceive me, Matt. Do you really think Jack is with Mrs. Harding? I did not see Jack there. Just the older baby. I was hoping to hear Jack crying somewhere in the house, but we went into every room."

He was about to say, You wouldn't have heard him if he's dead, but he kept that thought to himself. Jack was dead, and he'd been buried in a fancy white casket in the Senator's garden. "Let's go to Alexandria and see Pete. We can start by taking some aerial pictures."

"But the coffin, it will be buried."

"Almost certainly. But at least we'll be able to see where the grave is."

Zoé shook her head. "The police, they will not go back. They think we have imagined it all. Well, they think I have imagined it all. They think I am a mother who is crazy."

"You can take it from me you're not crazy. We're parents who've had a precious baby kidnapped. The aerial photographs will show us where the grave is. And then I'm going back at night to dig up the coffin. Casket."

"But they have high security. I saw some of it when I went there with the police. There are big floodlights. You will get caught."

"Just as long as I can dig up the casket, I don't care how many lights there are. If there's a dog in the casket, I'll probably be arrested for trespassing. But at least we'll know that we can stop looking for Jack in Washington."

"I do not like to think of it, Matt, but what do we do if baby Jack is in there? They will catch us and perhaps kill us to keep us quiet."

"They won't catch you, Zoé. You're going to be with your phone sitting in a rental car half a mile away on the way back to Alexandria. I'll dig up the coffin and tell you what's in it, hopefully before I'm caught. You phone 9-1-1, explain what's happened, and wait for help to arrive."

"I want to be by the house. Why do I have to be half a mile away?"

"Because I don't want you getting caught as well. One of us needs to be free to tell the story. Okay? If Wendell Harris is mixed up in this, and he snatched Jack from me in Central Park, he could be a nasty piece of work."

"You are wrong," Zoé said. "If he is the person who snatched Jack, then he is a nasty piece of work. Pour sûr."

"Right, let's phone Pete at the model shop and see if he still has that plane and camera."

"And we must tell Steve what we are going to do. He went out. I hope he is back soon. Find out where he and Lauren went, Matt."

It seemed that no one knew, but Vicky said she'd seen them going off in a cab. She thought they might be visiting friends out of state, and be staying with them overnight.

"Clever move," Matt said. "Now Stephen can swear on the Bible he doesn't know where we are."

Zoé's phone rang in her purse, and she eventually found it and looked at the screen. "It is my parents," she said. "I gave them the number in case they needed to contact me urgently."

Matt had a horrible feeling he knew why they were phoning.

"Oui, Maman. Non, c'est n'est pas possible."

Matt spoke French well, and although he was only able to hear one side of the conversation it was clear that Zoé's parents were planning to come over from France. She was even giving them the name and street number of the hotel they used when Jack went missing. He shook his head frantically, but Zoé merely gave a Gallic shrug.

She finished the conversation and turned to Matt. He continued to shake his head. "No, Zoé, you mustn't let them."

"They were phoning from Paris Charles de Gaulle. They are waiting to book in at the airline desk. They did not tell me before because they wanted it to be a surprise. I cannot stop them now."

"I can't think of anything worse than your parents turning up here and making my life miserable for losing Jack."

Zoé shrugged again. "Unfortunately, that is not the worst thing."

"Must be."

"I am sorry, Matt. They do not speak English well and they have never been to America before."

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. "With a bit of luck they'll get stopped at immigration. The Americans have never been too keen on the French."

"Matt, they have someone with them who speaks the very good English."

He knew straight away who it was. "I am not, and I repeat not, speaking to Florian Lefarge about our personal business. Most definitely not. How could your parents possibly think it's a good idea to bring your ex-fiancé?"

"Ah, so you have guessed correctly. But now you and I are leaving to go to Washington."

"Then I suggest we stay in Washington and don't tell them where." He noticed the look in Zoé's eyes, a mix of excitement and annoyance. Well, they were her parents. It was the thought of Florian muscling in on the trip that really annoyed him.

"Please, Matt, do not hate me for it. I promise I did not ask them to come. And you know I have finished with Florian."

"I know you've finished with Florian, but has Florian finished with you? He came over to England from France pretty smartly when he got the idea into his head that I'm a bad husband."

"Matt, we are married now. I love you. It was my parents who tried to get me to marry Florian. He has a job well-paid selling the expensive cars."

Matt gave her a hug, a genuine hug of love. "Zoé, don't worry about it. We'll just avoid them as much as we can." He pulled a business card from the back pocket of his jeans. "I'm going to phone Pete at the Alexandria model shop."

Fortunately, Pete sounded excited by the thought of having a go at Senator Harding, but he wouldn't be free to do anything until the morning.

"We'll be with you by ten tomorrow," Matt said.

An enthusiastic Pete said he'd tried the plane with the camera on some open fields and it worked just great. He'd make sure he had everything ready, but they were not to be earlier than ten.

Matt finished the call. "We now have to find a way to get to Washington without being stopped by the police."

Zoé looked worried. "I think we should tell them about our suspicions. If we do it now they may take us seriously. If we get arrested, then they will not listen to us. Oui?"

"Call me cynical, Zoé, and you do, but they won't listen to us even if we show them where the casket is buried in the Senator's garden and it has Jack's name on it. We'll get the train to Philadelphia. They can't trace my card, because they don't know the number."

"Why Philadelphia? Why not Washington?"

"We can pick up a hire car, rental car, in Philadelphia. If our names have been given to the Washington rental agencies, I'm guessing they won't be flagged up immediately in Philadelphia. We'll fill our backpacks with what we need for the night, and risk the subway to Herald Square Station on West 34th Street as though we specially want to see the Empire State Building. That will make it harder for anyone who tries to follow us. And don't forget to pack your medicine. We need to look like a couple of New York tourists in case we're being watched. We can walk to Penn Station from there."

"You think Wendell Harris is keeping an eye on us?"

"I wouldn't put it past him. Come on, let's pack some stuff and get a cab. We need to leave quickly, just in case Stephen and Lauren return. If Stephen knows what we're doing, he may feel morally obliged to stop us."

A short walk took them to the nearest convenient subway station for West 34th Street, and after a lengthy ride on the subway they emerged in the street. Zoé looked around. "I thought the Empire State Building was here," she said, frowning.

"It is. Look up."

"That is not the Empire State Building," Zoé insisted. "It is not tall enough. The Empire State Building is one of the tallest buildings in Manhattan. I think it goes up into the clouds, and I really want to see it."

"That's it, according to the map. You probably have to go back a bit to see it properly."

They walked towards Macy's and turned round, and could clearly see the Empire State Building rising high into the sky. "Look at it," Matt said. "We'll take Jack to the top before we take him back to England."

"But..." Zoé said.

"We will, Zoé. We absolutely will. We're going to get our baby back. He's going to be healed, and we're going to take him to the top."

Zoé started to laugh. She flung her arms around Matt with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Thank you, Matt. I love you. Yes, let us go get him, as they say here in America."

They entered Macy's and wandered around the cosmetic department. Matt felt fairly certain they'd not been followed. Zoé showed little interest in the displays, so Matt led her through a few more departments on the ground floor, and they exited into the street using another door.

"We have to get to Penn. Pennsylvania Station. On the way we'll stop from time to time and look at our map. If anyone's tailing us, and I'm almost certain they're not, that should make them think we're doing some sightseeing and staying in Manhattan for the day. Anyway, why would they expect us to be going back to Washington? As far as the police are concerned you saw the baby at Senator Harding's house, and we made fools of ourselves -- in their eyes -- and will have given up on that one now."

At Penn Station they bought their tickets to Philadelphia from a machine, and Matt waited for several minutes to watch the machines and ticket booths from a distance. He could see no one asking questions. Everyone approaching the various windows only stayed long enough to buy a ticket.

After a lengthy security search, the train journey to Philadelphia took little more than an hour. Matt considered getting out at an earlier station to confuse anyone who might be following them, but decided that Philadelphia was so far away from Washington that it was unlikely anyone would suspect where they were really going.

They settled for a different car rental agency this time. Somewhere in the bowels of a computer system the original agency would have their names recorded. The link would be made, and they would be automatically recognized as existing customers. Matt took a deep breath. Who knew what sort of alarms that might trigger with the police.

As usual, the agency tried to talk him into a larger car than they needed, but Matt wanted one that would blend into the scenery by being neither too large and flashy nor too small. A dark green Chrysler Neon seemed perfect.

"Washington is a good four hours' drive from here," Matt said. "If we're going to be at Pete's by ten tomorrow we need to get at least halfway there today. We'll find a cheap motel on the way and carry on in the morning."

"Not too far," Zoé said. "You, I think are too tired to drive a long way."

"Just a couple of hours more and then we'll eat and find a place for the night." He selected drive and moved off. He wished Zoé hadn't mentioned anything about being tired. He let out a yawn. "Maybe just another hour before we find a motel."

Once again he checked his phone. Good signal, good battery life remaining, and he had the charger with him to use at night. He was in a dilemma. If he and Zoé turned their phones off they couldn't be tracked by the police. But if the police managed to find baby Jack, how could they know?

On balance, it was better to leave their phones on. The New York police had every reason to think they were still sightseeing in Manhattan, so were unlikely to be checking up on their movements just for the sake of it.

The motel was clean and reasonably priced, and there were a couple of inexpensive eating places nearby. In spite of feeling so weary earlier, Matt just couldn't get to sleep when it came time for bed. It wasn't so much the noise of passing traffic on the freeway as his realization of what they were about to do. But he would do it again, and again, no matter what the risks if it meant finding Jack. Dead or alive. No, they had to find him alive.

He wondered whether to pray silently, but he felt angry with God. Father Alban said prayer brought you closer to God. That didn't seem to be true. He realized that Zoé had got out of bed and was now kneeling beside it. Wow. He couldn't bring himself to join her, so he stayed put and said nothing.

He must have dropped off at some stage in the night, because at six o'clock Zoé woke him and said they ought to be on their way in case the traffic was heavy around Washington. It was better to get to Pete's shop early and wait in the street than risk being late. Matt had to agree, and he crawled from the bed and staggered to the bathroom.

"Hurry up, we need to get going," Zoé called out, sounding remarkably bright. "We will stop for breakfast and coffee on the way,"

Matt splashed cold water on his face. Clearly Zoé was still taking her tablets, which was good. Maybe he needed to take a couple. He had to be fully alert for what lay ahead.

"Ready?" Zoé asked. "I have already been to the bathroom, so let us get on the road."

Matt agreed that he was as ready he ever would be, and they threw their backpacks into the trunk, which Matt knew that out of habit he would keep calling the boot. Third floor was second is floor, lifts were elevators, a queue was a line. There was a limit to how many adjustments he was prepared to make. Oh, and they would soon need petrol for the car, where a gallon wasn't a gallon. Petrol, not gas. Gas was what he cooked with on the hob at home. The Americans probably called the hob something else, but he wasn't going to go there.

### Chapter 31

It took almost two and a half hours on the Interstate and smaller roads to get to Pete's shop in Alexandria, but they were still nearly an hour early. Matt decided to knock on the shop door, but got no answer. They would have to wait.

Further down the street they could see a convenience store. It had baseball caps and other stuff hanging outside. "Just in case those two cops come by in their cruiser, let's put on a bit of disguise. Baseball caps and sunglasses, or shades, or whatever they call them here. You can tuck your hair up out of sight, and we'll sit here trying to look innocent."

Zoé suggested she could take her hair out through the back of the cap like a ponytail. She made that decision quickly, but took a lot longer choosing glasses. Eventually she found a pair that she said suited her. As far as Matt was concerned anything would do, as long as they didn't attract attention. Mirror sheriff shades weren't an option if they didn't want to draw attention to themselves.

They bought coffee for themselves and took it back to the car. Zoé looked at the dashboard clock. "We still have a long time to wait. Let us go and check out the house of Senator Harding again."

"What are you thinking?"

Zoé yawned a long yawn. "I am thinking it is boring sitting here waiting for Pete to open up at ten o'clock."

"That's not a bad idea, as long as we don't stop outside the gates. There might be something we need to be aware off, like road works or builders in the area. If there are people around, I won't be able to sit near the Senator's house directing Pete with his plane. Let's go and check it out."

They left Alexandria and were soon approaching the Senator's house. "Keep going," Zoé said. "I can see someone standing inside the gates."

Matt had already seen the man in uniform wearing a gun holster. He went straight past at a steady speed, hoping not to be noticed.

Zoé gave a sharp intake of breath. "That was Wendell," she said.

Matt kept watch in the rearview mirror, and the man didn't run out into the street. They continued to their famous picnic pull-off before stopping.

"That proves Wendell Harris knows Senator Harding," Zoé said. "He was not wearing the police uniform, so I think he really is a security guard. But he failed to trick us to stay away from Washington, because I managed to get inside the Hardings' house and see the baby."

Matt nodded thoughtfully. "It definitely was Wendell. I'm sorry I ever doubted you before."

"So," Zoé said, "are you thinking that Wendell took Jack after hitting you on the head in Central Park?"

"Not just thinking it, he must have done. It's too much of a coincidence."

"So why did he ask us if we were innocent when you climbed out of the Pond? He knew we were."

"I guess it was all part of the act. It fooled me. He questions us as though he's suspicious of us, and then says he trusts us. Because he says he trusts us, that makes us trust him. Smart."

"And where was Jack while he was talking to us?"

"He must have hidden him in a vehicle near Central Park where no one would have thought to look. There's no way he could have got to Washington and back before he saw me diving into the Pond."

"I hope he did not harm Jack."

Matt could see tears welling up in Zoé's eyes. "He may have given him to one of his so-called female contacts. I'm sure whoever had him took great care." He wouldn't add that not taking care might be the reason for the burial. "He must have put the Hardings in a panic when he told them you recognized baby Jack's cry."

"Then Senator Harding told him to give us the herrings that are red to keep us out of the way and make a nuisance of ourselves with the police. So now we tell the police, and the police tell us not to waste their time," Zoé said.

"You're right, the police definitely don't trust us. By the time we manage to convince them \-- assuming we do manage to convince them to take action -- Jack won't be here. Not if Wendell has a contact in the police."

"I think poor little Jack is in that casket deep under the ground. Please, do not try to tell me otherwise."

"Even if he is, Zoé, and it's a big if, the Hardings could still dig up the casket and take it away. I guess Wendell is there to keep an eye open for us. I wouldn't put it past him to know we've come to Washington."

"I do not think he saw us just now," Zoé said.

"I wouldn't bank on it. He's not stupid. Let's find another way back to Alexandria, just in case. Mind you, he could be waiting for a delivery."

Zoé pointed to the clock on the dashboard. "It is time anyway to go back to Pete. I think we will not tell him about Wendell. Do you think Wendell could shoot the plane down?"

"Not with a handgun. Probably not, anyway. You're right, we don't tell Pete about Wendell standing inside the gates with a gun."

Various options ran through Matt's head as he took another route back to Alexandria and Pete's shop. His mind was so taken up with possible plans that Zoé had to shout at him several times to slow down.

They arrived at the shop just before ten to find the lights on. They parked once again in the side street to be out of sight, although Matt said they were almost certainly being overcautious.

Pete ushered them into the shop and dropped the catch. The workshop at the back was much larger than Matt expected it to be. Various model planes and helicopters hung from the ceiling. If some of them were designed to fly, they were so large that they would surely need a special runway. Anyway, he wasn't here to discuss that.

Pete pointed to a large model of a high-winged monoplane that looked like a Cessna, then lifted it and turned it over. Let into the fuselage directly below the wings Matt could see a small black camera.

"It looks like a film camera," he said. "I was hoping it would be digital, so we can see the results straight away."

"Digital cameras are too heavy if you want the quality of even a cheap film camera. It's going to change one day I'm sure," Pete said, "but right now this is the best tool for the job, believe me. It's got a motor drive, it's very light, and it's got a sharp lens."

Matt shrugged. "Okay, I guess we wouldn't get a second attempt at it anyway. That looks like a fuel engine at the front, not electric. It's going to make one tremendous noise."

"I've got electric motors," Pete explained patiently. "They don't have the flying time, and with the batteries they're surprisingly heavy. The payload for this plane is on the heavy side just with the camera, so we don't need batteries in there as well. Again, I guess things will change in the future. So this is it. Take it or leave it."

"We will take it," Zoé said. "Do not take any notice of Matt."

Pete nodded and wiped his hands down his grubby sweatshirt that advertized a model flying club. "Right then, here's the plan." Pete finished rubbing his hands, probably picking up more dirt than he was wiping off. He produced a roughly drawn map of the area around Senator Harding's house. He tapped the paper. "This is the house and yard. I've copied it from Google Earth, so I know where the yard is in relation to the house. We fly parallel to the street. If you're looking for freshly dug earth, it's going to be in this part of the yard." He tapped the map again.

Zoé looked puzzled. "Why not the area behind the house?"

"Lady, because that's all patio and hardcore. And a tennis court. And there's a wide strip of woodland along the boundary. They're not going to be digging there to bury anything."

"Are you sure?" Zoé asked.

"Yes, lady, it's like I said. I zoomed in close on Google Earth. I could see the house, the outbuildings and tennis court, and an area of woodland with a small cabin amongst the trees. But the only area of interest is a large flower border at the end of the lawn. If I was burying something big, that's where I'd do it."

Zoé turned to Matt. "If the casket is buried in a flower border, they could have hidden the grave by planting something over it."

Matt shook his head. "They'll put bouquets of flowers on it before they plant anything. Maybe even a little cross. Everyone marks a grave in some way. They won't have thought about aerial photography. If we can find it, we can dig it up."

Pete looked up quickly. "Hey, man, I thought all you wanted to do was find a grave. If you're digging up bodies, you can count me out."

"Don't worry," Matt said, "you won't be digging up anything. As far as you're concerned we just want some aerial photographs of Senator Harding's garden, yard, whatever. Give us the film and you're not involved from then on."

"Okay." Pete thought for a moment and then he laughed. "That's what they do when they're checking out a politician. They look to see where the bodies are buried." He laughed again. "Literally, in this case."

He waited for applause, which wasn't forthcoming.

"Okay, back to the plan. One of you needs to stand by the gates with your phone."

"Would a couple of hundred yards up the street do?" Matt asked. "Waiting by the gates might draw attention." Waiting by the gates would certainly draw attention.

"I guess," Pete said grudgingly. "But the closer you can be, the better you can check the flight line. You'll be holding a transmitter with a button to work the servo to take a burst of pictures. You can tell me if the plane is on the right course."

"What about me?" Zoé asked.

Pete just shrugged. "I guess you can stay with your husband."

That sounded a bit sexist, but Matt wasn't going to comment on it and upset Pete. He had a sudden idea. He turned to Zoé. "You can be further down the street with the car. Try and keep in sight of the gates, and if you see anything going wrong, don't come to help. Drive off and phone 9-1-1."

"What, have they got guns?" Pete asked, laughing.

"Let's just do this job as though they have," Matt said. "We need those pictures urgently." But if Jack was in the casket he would be dead, even if he'd been buried alive. He cursed his gruesome brain for even thinking such a thing. As far as he could tell, the possibility had yet to cross Zoé's mind.

"So where are you launching the plane from?" Matt asked.

Pete tapped his hand-drawn map again. "There's a patch of open land here that's not yet been developed. I've been there on my bike and checked it out. Someone's put down a stretch of blacktop, ready for development. No trees in the way. I can take off and land easily."

Matt frowned. "It must be nearly half a mile away. Are you sure you can see the Senator's house and yard from there?"

"That's why I need you near the house," Pete said. "I've got an exact compass bearing and I can fly the plane along the right sort of line. I can see it in the air a lot of the way, but you need to be on the phone to tell me whether to go left or right a bit when it approaches the house. I'll need to turn the plane as soon as possible, before it goes out of radio contact, so tell me when it's clear of the house. Should be easy enough."

Well, the expert had spoken, and Matt shrugged. Who was he to think it wouldn't be easy? His cell phone had plenty of charge. He'd already noticed there was a strong signal near the Senator's house.

Pete removed the high wing from the plane and laid it across the back seat of the rental car where it almost reached from door-to-door. The fuselage and tail section went into the boot, as Matt found himself calling it.

"Wait here," Pete said. "I'll get my bike. Follow me and we'll go to the launch site."

The bike was quite a beast, intended for off-road use. Pete shot off, leaving Matt still fiddling with the automatic gear selector. "I wish you could hire a car with a gear lever and clutch," he complained.

"You mean rent a car with stick shift," Zoé said.

"Got it." The car took off smoothly and Matt caught up with Pete who had now slowed for them.

Half a mile before Senator Harding's house Pete took a right turn onto a rough track. Matt wondered how this could possibly be a suitable site for takeoff and landing. Mac the Hack's twin stopped at the end of the track by an enormous pile of builders' rubble that had probably been there for several years. It must have come from a previous building. On the left was smooth tarmac that had been prepared for a house where the foundations had been started but were now long abandoned.

Pete removed the components for the plane from the car and quickly assembled them into a complete aircraft. He spun the propeller and the engine burst into a high pitched scream. As quickly as it started it stopped.

"Just checking," Pete said. "Wouldn't do to attract attention. Not that there's anyone around here. The guy who started this place seems to have run out of money. Or maybe he had trouble with the permit. Senator Harding's probably to blame."

"So are you ready to go?" Matt asked, feeling impatient now they were so close to getting the photographs.

"Okay, ready."

Pete handed Matt a small black box with a long silver aerial. "When you see the plane coming, keep jabbing the button. You need to leave about a second each time to allow the film to wind on. I'll fly slowly so you should be able to get several shots. We need to have our phones connected and you can tell me if I need to correct the line and when to turn."

Matt examined the box. Pressing the red button would be the easy part. Finding a place to stand out of sight from Wendell, but with a good view of the Senator's property was going to be tricky. Almost certainly Zoé would have to drop him off before getting to the house, where the ground was still high enough. Beyond the house the street sloped down and the trees would hide the plane as it approached.

Matt dialed Pete's number and made sure they could speak to each other. "Here's wishing success," he said, as he put the car into drive and drove away with Zoé beside him.

A couple of hundred yards before they came in sight of the Senator's house, Matt told Zoé to drop him off and take the car a few hundred yards beyond the house, turn it, and wait to him to phone. And to make sure she had a good phone signal wherever she waited.

"But you will already be on the phone to Pete," she protested.

"Don't worry. Once Pete has done the photography I'll ring off and phone you. Simple."

"If only it was, Matt. Me, I am afraid it will all go wrong. I do not know how it will go wrong, but I know it will."

Matt told her to stop worrying, and explained how to drive an automatic. "Just use your right foot for what they call the gas pedal. That's the accelerator to us. And use your right foot on the brake. Never put your left foot on anything."

Matt watched Zoé disappear, then walked slowly towards the Senator's house. If he crossed the street he could see the boundary wall but not the front gates because of a slight bend.

He gave Pete the okay and stood by with the box ready to take the pictures. Five minutes later there was no sign of the plane. He could hear background noises on the phone, which meant the line was still working, so if the engine was running he'd hear that too.

Suddenly a burst of sound came from his phone and Pete asked, "Are you all set?"

"Okay whenever you're ready."

The engine noise rose to a high-pitched scream and then faded. As the sound of the engine on the phone faded, the sound of the engine in real life came from further up the street.

"Okay, Pete, I can hear it."

He could see the plane coming now, but it was too far away from the yard and over the area of the Senator's woodland.

"Go left, Pete. Left," he said into the phone.

The correction came too late, but there were thirty-six exposures on the film, so he pressed the button three times in case some of the yard was included.

"How's it looking?" Pete asked.

"Turn around now and come back, but nearer the street, and we should have it wrapped up. As soon as I've taken the pictures I'm going to ring off and get Zoé to pick me up."

"Turning now," Pete said. "Can you see it?"

Matt looked down the street. No sign of Wendell yet. "I can hear it coming, Pete. Okay. Okay. Spot-on. See you in five."

He finished the call and immediately phoned Zoé. She said she was on her way.

He had hardly finished the call before he saw her coming. "We must go quickly, so hurry up," she said. "Wendell was there and he was on the phone to someone. He was standing out in the street looking this way."

As they got back to Pete, they could hear a siren. To say Pete looked anxious was an understatement. It was a long time since Matt had seen someone in such a nervous state.

"Don't worry, it won't be for us," he said with relief. "The police could never get here that quickly, assuming Wendell Harris was on the phone to them about the plane."

"Ah," Zoé said, "I think Wendell recognized me as I went past the first time. I saw him looking very closely at me and he started running down the street my way. Then he went back to the gates. I tried to phone you to tell you not to fly the plane, but you were already on the phone to Pete."

Pete had been listening. "I'm off," he said jumping on his bike. "Here's the film. I've taken it out of the camera. You only took a few shots so I hope you got what you wanted. The wing is already off the plane. Here, take my bag. I don't want to be caught with anything."

Pete jumped on his bike, steered it around the high mound of rubble, and rode across a patch of rough ground towards a stand of trees with houses beyond, his bike bucking and diving as it went.

"De toute la joue. Of all the cheek," Zoé said. "He has left us with the evidence most incriminating. What are we to do, Matt?"

"Get back in the car and turn it round. Let's hope we're out of sight."

Zoé jumped into the car, and Matt quickly decided that the evidence most incriminating, as Zoé called it in her French way, would best be hidden behind the mountain of builder's rubble where it would be out of sight unless someone was deliberately looking for it.

The job done, Matt asked Zoé to move across and he would drive.

"What do we do now?" Zoé asked, looking pale.

"We have to get away from here. Quickly. If the police come up this track and find us here, they may start searching the area. I've got the film. It's the only incriminating evidence we have with us. I think the best thing to do is to go back past the house."

"No, we have to get back to Alexandria, Matt."

Matt turned right onto the street. "If the police are looking for us, they'll be expecting us to go back to Alexandria, not going the other way. They may have a road block there. If we're unlucky and they stop us, we can tell them we're exploring the area. Which we are, in a way. Well, trying to explore Senator Harding's yard."

The police cruiser was parked outside the main gates, and Wendell Harris was pointing to the sky. Suddenly he spotted the car. He said something to the officers and they signaled Matt to stop.

"You again," the senior officer said accusingly. "You'd better have a good reason for being here. You were told to leave the Senator alone. Get out of the vehicle with your hands on the roof. I'm searching your car."

"What are you expecting to find?" Matt asked.

"Do you know anything about a model plane?"

Matt nodded. "We were parked just back there. I saw one come over."

The young officer decided to join in the questioning. "And were you flying it?"

"Certainly not," Matt said, deciding that Stephen Valdieri would be proud of the way he was telling the truth. "I watched it come over, though."

The senior officer finished his search of the car and asked Matt to empty his pockets and their two backpacks. He also told Zoé to turn out her bag. Her purse, Matt noticed the officer called it.

Their backpacks had their overnight stuff. Zoé's bag, purse, contained just the usual stuff a woman carried around. All they could find in Matt's pocket were some coins and a wallet with a bank card, driving licenses for him and Zoé, and some dollar bills.

"Passports?"

"Back in New York." He didn't add that they were with the police there.

The senior officer made detailed notes of all their documents, including their temporary address at Valdieri's church, and handed them back. "I'm warning you both now, officially, that if you so much as come this side of Alexandria again, you're going to be arrested."

Matt wasn't sure what they could be arrested for, unless of course they found the plane. But he wasn't going to argue with these two officers. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry if we've been a nuisance."

"And neither of you was flying a model plane around here?" the young officer asked again.

They both shook their heads and assured him that they hadn't been flying a model plane, either today or any previous day. Matt was wondering whether to say that when he was young he'd flown model gliders off the Mount back home, but that information was hardly likely to be of help. So he kept his mouth shut.

The senior officer looked doubtful, but told them to go straight back to New York where they were staying. "And tell that priest to keep an eye on you."

Matt thanked him. He wasn't sure if Stephen Valdieri was technically still a priest, but he certainly wasn't going to argue the point now that they were free to go.

Matt turned the car and went back towards Alexandria. The police cruiser followed.

"I told you to turn left and not go past the house," Zoé said.

Matt slowed the car. Another cruiser from coming fast towards them, its blue and red lights flashing. The driver waved them to a halt. The cruiser following them drove past and spoke to the officer who then waved them on.

"Just as well I did turn right," Matt said. "That cruiser was on its way here from Alexandria, but the driver wouldn't have known if we were ahead of him or not. If we'd turned left, the police by the gates would have known we'd not passed them, so they'd realize we came from somewhere between the two cars."

Zoé refrained from congratulations. Maybe his explanation was too involved. "So what now?" she asked.

"We get the film processed, but not here. We don't want them picking up the prints."

"You definitely have the film, Matt? I thought they were going to find it when the police searched the car."

Matt kept checking the rearview mirror. The white cruiser with red stripes was behind them again. "They weren't looking for something small like a film cassette." He reached down and pulled back the corner of the carpet in the footwell. "Here it is, but it's going back there for now. They're still following us. I suggest we get back to Washington, or maybe Georgetown. Georgetown is easier. We can get the film processed and printed there."
Chapter 32

The cruiser disappeared when they reached Alexandria. They made their way past the Pentagon and through Rosslyn, crossing the Potomac to park the car in Georgetown. They found a mall with a choice of two photo processing labs, both of which offered a one-hour service, even for large prints. Neither had a waiting area, but one had a coffee bar right outside.

"We need to make sure no one tries to collect our prints," Matt said. "I don't think anyone's followed us, but let's not take chances."

Zoé yawned and laid her head on the table. "There has been too much excitement," she said. "I do not feel good. And yes, I have been taking my tablets today, Matt. My head and my insides they are in a state most terrible."

Matt leaned over and put his hands each side of her head. "Who or whatever is buried in the casket, it won't be Jack. We have to keep thinking that he's not dead." Well, he might be. "Remember the Empire State Building. Soon we'll be up there with Jack, showing him all over Manhattan, and both his eyes will be perfect."

He fetched two juices and a couple of sandwiches and put them on the table, all the time keeping an eye on the photo lab and on the clock. He wanted to pick up the prints just as soon as they were ready.

"Drink the juice, Zoé, and eat the sarnies. If it's any consolation, I feel whacked too. I think I'm too old for this sort of excitement. It's not like doing a job for Ken. We're looking for Jack. Our baby." He checked his phone again just in case there was a missed call. There was a strong signal but no call.

A small leather couch came free, and they moved to that. He'd let Zoé sleep, but he'd definitely not drop off to sleep himself.

He woke with a start. The prints would be ready in a couple of minutes, assuming the advertised service was what it claimed to be, and assuming someone like Wendell hadn't sneaked in and collected them first. He left Zoé asleep and went to the lab. The assistant got a large envelope from the back. So at least there was something to print on the film.

He paid with cash for ten prints and returned to the couch where Zoé was still sleeping. He decided to open the package without disturbing her.

The first two prints were obviously test pictures taken by Pete, for they showed the ground and a pair of dirty sneakers. Trainers, he thought they really should be called.

He flicked through the pictures taken from the air and saw that they were all perfectly sharp, which was surely a miracle. He looked at the last five taken directly over the large lawn. The first one was taken too early, but there were three that covered the house, the front drive, the yard, and a fifth that showed the flower borders and end boundary.

Zoé was now awake.

"Well, Zoé, they came out but I can't see anything suspicious on these, either on the flowerbeds or in the grass. No freshly dug soil. Here have a look."

Zoé rubbed her eyes and put on her reading glasses. "Well, now we know. We need not bother Senator Harding and his yard any more."

Matt checked the first three pictures he had taken when the plane had passed over the Senator's woodland on the wrong line. He stared closely. The middle print not only showed the trees, but in a clearing in the middle there was the small cabin they had seen on Google Earth. And by the cabin was ----

"Zoé," he said quickly, "look at this." He pointed to the clearing. "See that rectangle? It's the shape and size of a small grave. It's new. It wasn't on Google Earth. And those aren't flowers growing on it. There's a wreath and flowers like lilies laid across fresh soil. I'm going to buy a magnifying glass at the photo shop."

When he returned with it, Zoé peered closely at the print. "You are right, Matt, that is exactly what it looks like. A grave. And I can see a cross lying there. It is a grave!" She sounded wide awake now. "So we can show these pictures to the police, and they will dig up the grave, and we will find..." She started to cry. "I am scared, Matt."

"Let's be careful," Matt said. "I don't think we should go and find Bill and Ben in their cruiser. We take these photos straight to police headquarters. Wherever that is."

"I am not sure they will listen to us, Matt. But they might listen to an ex-archbishop."

"That's a really brilliant idea. Let's see if we can persuade him to come down and go to the police with us."

"But," Zoé said thoughtfully, "he does not know we are here. He thinks we have stayed in Manhattan where we are supposed to be."

Matt found Valdieri's cell number and pressed the green button. "Well, he's going to find out now."

Valdieri was home. A slightly animated discussion developed, and Matt had some sympathy for Valdieri. After all, Valdieri hadn't seen what looked like a small grave on the aerial photograph.

Eventually Valdieri agreed to come down with Lauren. "We can be at Washington Central late afternoon. Please meet us, and book us some overnight accommodation wherever you're planning to stay. Separate rooms for me and Lauren. I'll phone you the exact time once we're on the train. And, Matt, leave it to me to contact someone senior at police headquarters in Alexandria or maybe in Washington. I need hardly tell you not to go anywhere near the Senator's house again."

***

Matt found a budget hotel in Alexandria, but not the one where Zoé had been eyed so enthusiastically by the young men. It had a private parking lot round the back, away from police eyes. The rooms were good enough for him and Zoé, and would probably do for Stephen Valdieri and Lauren. It came as no surprise that Valdieri had asked for separate rooms. He wouldn't have expected anything else.

For much of the afternoon he lay side by side with Zoé on the extremely large and comfortable bed, his arm around Zoé protectively. Zoé slept fitfully, occasionally waking with a little shudder. Each time she woke up, he made soothing noises that soon got her back to sleep.

Just before four o'clock Matt woke Zoé, and to his surprise she spent some time in front of the mirror brushing her hair and applying make-up.

Valdieri was already waiting with Lauren outside the station when they arrived. Valdieri was wearing a black suit with a clerical collar on a purple silk shirt. Matt did a double take. Perhaps once an archbishop it was a case of always an archbishop. Valdieri didn't seem to have handed in his kit when he left the Vatican. This was good. There was nothing like power-dressing to impress people. Lauren wore a plain blue dress and heels.

Back at the hotel, as soon as Valdieri and Lauren had dropped the things off in their rooms, they met in Matt and Zoé's room where Matt showed them the photographs.

"You realize don't you, Matt," Valdieri said, "that you are about to make a very serious accusation. I've spoken with your friend Simon Urquet, and he advises that your accusations are tenuous in the extreme. All you have is Zoé's belief that she recognized your baby's cry."

"You're right," Matt agreed, "but I'm a private eye. I'm trained to be suspicious. I was with the police once. I went along with Zoé's maternal intuition."

"But Zoé saw the baby at the Senator Harding's house," Lauren said gently. "Zoé, my heart goes out to you."

"Don't forget the baby's casket," Matt said.

"For a dog," Valdieri said.

Matt produced the magnifying glass he'd bought in the mall. He handed it to Valdieri. "What do you see on the grave?"

Valdieri looked closely and drew in a sharp breath. He handed the photograph and magnifying glass to Lauren.

She studied the photograph to a few seconds and looked at Valdieri. "Yes, I think it's definitely a grave, which means there's a human body buried there. Probably a baby or a small child, judging by its size compared to the cabin. Oops, sorry, Zoé. Trust me to open my big mouth."

Valdieri took out his phone. "I'm convinced. We need to see the police. I made provisional arrangements to see the Assistant Chief before leaving New York. He's not here but he's given me the number of the Deputy who will assess your evidence before making any decision. This is a job for the boys in blue, as the English say. We don't all need to go. Zoé, if you like you can stay here with Lauren. We'll let you know what the police say as soon as we've seen them."

"Yes, I will stay here with Lauren," Zoé said quietly, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Valdieri nodded. "I'm going to phone."

Inspector Flanagan, who was not as senior as Matt had hoped, told them to come straight round with the photographs. He was the most senior person available and would see them as soon as they arrived.

Matt considered taking a taxi in case his car was spotted by a police patrol, but Valdieri said that they had an appointment which made their stay in Alexandria legitimate.

Matt drove, and they parked in the street by the barriers of the Police Department where a guard met them and showed them through the main entrance. After signing them in, the guard led them to the large office of Inspector Flanagan on the second floor.

Inspector Flanagan stood up as they entered. With a name like Flanagan, Matt thought that perhaps a Catholic archbishop would be treated with great respect. Unfortunately he was wrong.

Inspector Flanagan looked at the photographs and shrugged. "I've had reports of Mr. and Mrs. Rider wasting police time. They seem fixated on Senator Harding's yard. The Senator has assured my officers there is nothing more than a dog buried there. They even showed the body of the dog to Mrs. Rider when Mrs. Harding graciously allowed her into the house to look around."

Matt shook his head. "My wife was told the dog was wrapped in a sheet. She wasn't allowed to see it."

The Inspector obviously didn't feel antagonistic to the Senator. It was a pity that his Chief, who seemed to have it in the Senator Harding, wasn't available. Maybe the Chief had chickened out of a further confrontation with the Hardings, wisely preferring to leave with the maximum pension.

"Then she should have insisted when she had the chance. Now, pass me the photographs and show me this amazing evidence."

Matt passed the photographs and Flanagan flicked through them. "How did you get these?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter how we got them," Matt said, "but they were taken this afternoon. Just look in the clearing in the woods there." He handed Flanagan the magnifying glass.

The Inspector pushed it to one side. "I have perfectly good eyesight, thank you."

"I think it might be helpful to use it," Valdieri said softly, presumably trying to pour oil on troubled waters, or whatever the ecclesiastical expression was for doing this.

Flanagan glanced at the photographs again and turned to Matt. "It's a dog's grave. People bury dogs when they die. They like to have them in the yard where the dog ran around."

Valdieri managed to pass the magnifying glass to Flanagan. "If you would be so good as to use this," he said tactfully, "you will see a cross has been laid on the grave."

Flanagan looked annoyed. "Perhaps they loved their dog."

Valdieri shook his head. "As I'm sure you are aware, Inspector, a cross is a Christian symbol. It tells us that Jesus Christ died to take away our sins, to present us spotless before God. A dog doesn't need Jesus. We do."

Flanagan gave a grunt and handed the photograph back to Matt.

"Listen to me carefully, Inspector," Valdieri said firmly. "I am convinced a human body is buried in that grave. You can clearly see that the earth is freshly dug. So what are you intending to do with this evidence?"

Matt listened while several minutes of fiery words were exchanged, and Simon Urquet's name was mentioned a couple of times, but Inspector Flanagan seemed more than a match for Stephen Valdieri. He kept warning Matt he faced prosecution for invasion of privacy by taking aerial photographs of the Senator's house, and he had to desist from harassing the Senator immediately.

At last Flanagan stood up to indicate the meeting was over. "You may be interested to know that Senator and Mrs. Harding and their baby are leaving early tomorrow for Israel where Senator Harding has business interests. The family needs a break. Especially from the sort of trouble you've been causing them."

Matt turned to Valdieri. "We can follow them to the airport and watch them check in. Zoé and I would know baby Jack anywhere."

"I thought the baby was buried in the ground," Flanagan said dryly, "and suddenly he's on his way to Israel. It's no good waiting by check-in at the airport, because they go by private jet. Just forget it. Go back to New York where my officers told you to go and wait for the police to find your baby there."

"I think you're right," Matt agreed. "Whoever has got him won't have taken him far. He needs urgent treatment, assuming he's still alive. I guess we've been wasting your time."

Valdieri looked a bit surprised. "If you say so, Matt. It's your decision. We'll pick up Lauren and Zoé and return to New York in the morning. I thank you for your time, Inspector Flanagan. I'm sorry we've tried your patience so much."
Chapter 33

"We might have guessed," Matt told Zoé and Lauren when they returned to the hotel. "All Inspector Flanagan was concerned about was who'd taken the photographs. I didn't tell him about Pete, of course. He made all sorts of threats, but Steve made threats of his own, citing Simon Urquet as our attorney. I thought Simon's power and influence would be legendary. He's managed to get DCI a lot of publicity, and he used his legal powers to fight off several court cases when Domestic Chemicals International fell apart. But neither legal nor ecclesiastical powers proved enough in the end, and we were shown the door."

Lauren turned to Stephen Valdieri. "If I know you, sweetie, you and Matt have a plan."

Matt noticed Valdieri was looking slightly guilty. Hardly surprising, considering the plan they'd come up with on their way back to the hotel.

Valdieri gave a little cough. "Matt and I are going there tonight. We're going with Matt's original plan. We're going to dig up the casket."

"But they have security lights everywhere," Zoé said. "I saw them. And Wendell Harris he will be there with his gun."

"We think we know how to do it," Matt explained. "We've been looking at the photographs in detail, especially the first lot we took over the Senator's woodland when the plane was off course. His trees go right up to the boundary. It looks like a fence of some sort. It's not a wall. There's no room for lights there. I know it sounds easy, and I'm sure it won't be, but if we can get into the clearing where the grave is without triggering any alarms, we'll be out of sight from the house."

"They will see your flashlights," Zoé said. "I am sorry to be such a blanket that is wet, but I do not think you will get away with it."

Matt shook his head. "We don't need flashlights. If we can feel our way to the cabin, we know exactly where the grave is. We can dig it up in complete darkness, by feel alone."

"And you will need a spade, and something to cut through the fence."

Matt caught hold of Zoé and gave her a hug. "All sorted. We stopped on our way back and bought everything we need. Spade, wire cutters, everything. Stephen bought some dark blue coveralls. His best suit is a bit too classy for this job. My outfit is fine as it is."

Lauren shook her head. "I won't allow it," she said firmly. "You will both end up in jail."

"Not us," Matt said. "Senator and Mrs. Harding will end up there, with a bit of luck." He glanced at Valdieri. "Maybe I should say with a bit of prayer."

***

Matt parked his rental car on the blacktop where Pete had launched the model aircraft just that morning. While waiting for Valdieri to slip into his dark blue coveralls, Matt felt his way in the darkness to the pile of rubble where they'd hidden the plane. It had gone. So either the police had found it as evidence, or Pete had managed to retrieve it.

"Stephen, I really thought Lauren was going to stop you," Matt said. "You have a very persuasive way. I hope I'm not getting you into serious trouble."

Valdieri spoke quietly. "I suppose if you can handle awkward clerics at the Vatican, something like this should be easy. But I have to admit I found it easier with senior clergy than I do with Lauren." He gave a brief chuckle. "Just joking. Now, which way is it?"

A glow from the reflected city lights on the low clouds gave them more light than they really needed. As far as Matt was concerned it was a case of the darker the better. Or the darker the safer.

They had studied the aerial photographs and the Google Earth satellite view, and treading carefully they made their way to the end of the strip of blacktop that the developer had once optimistically put in. Four hundred yards beyond the end they would come to the boundary of the Senator's land. Because the aerial view was almost vertical, and the trees completely obscured the fence, Matt was uncertain what sort of fence they were going to find.

Valdieri kept with him, carrying the shovel and cutters, leaving Matt to lead the way. Valdieri seemed to have no fear of being caught holding equipment that would definitely be considered tools for breaking and entering.

The trees loomed high above them on the left. Matt held out his hand to the shadowy figure of the ex-archbishop. He wished they could use flashlights as they stumbled over the ground. At last the boundary fence loomed up.

"It feels like ordinary chain-link." Matt reached up but was unable to touch the top. "We're going to have to cut our way through it, but not here."

The concrete posts supporting the fence were the standard six feet apart. Matt smiled to himself. Just under two meters. The Americans were totally against the metric system.

"The cabin is about seventy meters from the corner here. So we need to count..."

"Thirty-eight posts," Valdieri whispered.

Matt chose to ignore making a comment on the speed with which Valdieri answered. "You count and I'll count," he whispered in return. "It won't matter if we're a post or two out. We'll easily be able to find the cabin when we're through."

Matt tried to walk quietly, but the noise of broken sticks underfoot would be giving them away if anybody was on the other side listening.

Matt jumped as Valdieri tapped him on the shoulder. "Thirty-eight. Do you want me to cut the wire, Matt, or are you going to do it."

"I don't suppose it will make any difference to our guilt, Stephen, but leave it to me. At least you'll be able to say that you were just here as a spectator."

Valdieri chuckled. "I think we'd both be found guilty. But if we manage to dig up the casket, and find your..." He broke off with a sigh. "Sorry, Matt, but I think you know what I mean."

Matt nodded. He knew all too well what Valdieri meant, but at least finding Jack's tiny body would bring some sort of closure. He thought of Zoé and Lauren back at the hotel, and wondered what they were doing at this moment. Lauren would probably be praying, and maybe Zoé would be as well. The only time he'd ever seen Zoé praying on her knees was in the motel last night. It must be strange to have a partner who prayed regularly.

Lights shone through the trees from two upstairs windows of the large house. The rest of the house seemed to be in darkness, which probably meant people were in bed. Valdieri made him jump again by touching his arm. "If we're going to do it," Valdieri whispered, "then let's do it now. We've not heard a sound from the house, and there are no lights in the yard."

The cutters they'd bought in Georgetown were more like bolt cutters than wire cutters. Cautiously, Matt cut through two of the chain link wires and waited for an alarm to sound. Nothing did.

He cut two more, then another two, and kept going until a large piece of the chain-link fencing fell away. Stephen Valdieri, in his dark blue coveralls, was through the gap like a dog chasing a rabbit down a hole. He certainly seemed keen. Matt felt relieved to see the ex-archbishop's commitment.

Although the trees were not very close to each other, the undergrowth was thick in places. Matt had the feeling that if they went much deeper they'd emerge in the open part of the yard and the light sensors would pick them up. There was only one light now in the upstairs windows. It was possible they had already cut through or interrupted a continuous line of sensors around the whole perimeter, but surely someone would be looking for them. The darkness felt intense under the trees.

Matt jumped again when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He wished the ex-archbishop wouldn't keep doing it. "This way," Valdieri whispered.

Matt followed a slight change of direction. Perhaps Stephen Valdieri's eyes were more tuned to the darkness than his. Almost immediately he could see the glow of the clouds above, and ahead a dark shape that must be the cabin.

They made their way cautiously around the cabin to where the aerial photograph had shown the grave. Matt knelt on the damp ground and felt forward. Yes, there was the cross. It was made of wood, exactly as he thought when looking at the photograph. Pete's camera was good.

Quickly he cleared the cross and the flowers from the mound of earth. It was horrible to think that baby Jack might be two or three feet below. But he had to know.

He stood up and reached for Valdieri. "The spade," he whispered. "Pass it to me. Let me do the digging." He wasn't going to add that he would be able to do it much quicker than Valdieri.

It was now easier to see things in the gloom. Matt knew that the ability to see in the dark improved minute by minute, and even now, nearly twenty minutes later, things were still getting clearer. He took the spade from Valdieri and began to dig into the grave.

The ground was soft, having been freshly dug. He had no doubt that this was a very recent burial. Almost certainly as recent as yesterday. A noise in the yard made him stop digging. A beam of light flashed between the trees. Somewhere they must have triggered an alarm.

"Someone's coming with a flashlight," Valdieri whispered urgently. "Take the spade and lie flat behind the cabin."

"Stay with me," Matt whispered back.

"Better they find me, than find you with the spade, Matt."

Before Matt could reply, a man shouted from the edge of the trees, "Stand where you are. I'm armed."

The beam from the flashlight was getting closer.

"Hide," Valdieri urged. "I'm going to divert attention. As soon as you can, carry on digging. We need to get that casket."

A shot rang through the trees. It was almost certainly fired high. Valdieri didn't need another warning. He crashed his way to the left, parallel to the fence, keeping deep in the woodland. The flashlight beam tried to pick him out and another shot rang through the trees.

Either Valdieri didn't mind getting shot, or he didn't believe the threat. It was an amazing move for a man who must be close to sixty. Ken Habgood wouldn't be able to move that fast. Matt picked up the spade and dug furiously. From the street he could hear the siren of an approaching police car.

A shot now ripped through the undergrowth. "Stand still or I'll shoot you." It sounded like Wendell Harris. Whoever it was, he and Valdieri were now in serious trouble.

Matt could see reflected red and blue lights flashing from a stationary police cruiser in the street. Another shot, and he heard a shout of pain. Presumably Stephen Valdieri had been hit.

"Police! Everyone stay exactly where you are."

A flood of light filled the yard. Matt knew that he and Valdieri were caught, but it was a relief to know that they would be caught by the police rather than by Wendell Harris, or whoever was shooting at them.

"Drop that gun and put your hands in the air," a voice ordered.

Matt wished he could see what was going on, but he decided to stay put. He hadn't been seen yet. Maybe he could finish digging up the casket.

The hole was surprisingly deep, but at last he felt the spade hit something hard and hollow. At that moment he was almost blinded by a high-power light shining into his eyes. Without being asked, he put his hands in the air. Quickly. The spade fell into the hole, landing with a clatter.

Matt could hear voices, and another siren approaching.

"Police. Move away from there," a loud voice of authority said.

More voices in the yard made it clear that reinforcements had arrived. Matt decided not to show the officer the grave. Everyone was jumpy, and he didn't want to be mistakenly shot by being seen to delay.

He was quickly and expertly handcuffed with his hands behind his back. But the officer didn't seem vindictive as he led him carefully through the undergrowth without stumbling.

Matt looked around the yard that was now brightly lit with security lights. Wendell must have kept them off so he could detect intruders, and perhaps the Senator or Mrs. Harding had overridden them with an emergency switch as soon as they heard the commotion. They had presumably phoned the police.

Wendell Harris stood there, his hands no longer on his head. Matt wondered why he wasn't handcuffed too. Wendell recognized him immediately.

"You need to arrest this intruder," Wendell said. "He's been warned to keep away. He has an obsession with the dog's grave."

"Arrest him and take him away."

Matt turned to see who was speaking. A man in a white bathrobe stood near the house. It was, presumably, Senator Harding.

"I believe this man's wife earlier entered my house on false pretences, making wild accusations that I had kidnapped her baby."

Matt decided to speak up. "Yes, Mrs. Harding showed my wife a baby, but it wasn't Mrs. Harding's. My baby was kidnapped in Central Park in New York." He nodded towards Wendell. "And this is the man who did it."

The Senator came forward angrily. Matt watched him tie the cord tightly around his robe, probably in an attempt to look more dignified. An open, flapping bathrobe and pajamas wouldn't carry the same authority.

"I want this man taken from here immediately, and locked up. Do you understand me?"

Matt knew he only had one chance. Valdieri had not reappeared, and might be lying dead or seriously injured somewhere in the woods. "There's a grave by the cabin, over there." He nodded his head back the way he had come. "I've just dug it up, and there's a baby's casket at the bottom."

Senator Harding gave a loud but forced laugh. "It's our dog," he snapped. "My wife loved that dog and we wanted to give it a proper burial. Now, officer, will you please take this man into custody immediately."

Should he mention Valdieri? Yes, surely Valdieri would be here now if he could walk. Matt felt himself being jerked towards the house before he could say anything.

The officer holding him said, "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

"Okay, okay, but I'm not alone," Matt said. "This security guard has shot my partner. He's out there in the woods, dead or seriously injured."

"It's all right, Matt." The powerful voice came from the undergrowth. "The shot missed me, but I tripped and fell. That's all." Several flashlights beamed in on a man in dark blue coveralls holding a small white casket.
Chapter 34

"I forbid you to open that casket." The Senator ran forward to pull it from Valdieri's hands. "I will not allow you to desecrate the body of my wife's precious dog. Officer, lock these men in your car and take them away from here. My wife is already awake. I will not, will not, allow her to be disturbed any more."

Valdieri held the casket high as the Senator tried to reach it.

"Officer," Senator Harding shouted, "I am not asking you to arrest these two men who have clearly broken into my premises for illegal purposes. I am ordering you to arrest them!"

The officer in charge nodded. "Yes, Senator. I'm sorry they've disturbed the burial place of your wife's dog."

Valdieri stayed where he was, the muddy casket now held high. "My name is Archbishop Stephen Valdieri. I have come to the United States from the Vatican."

Matt looked on in admiration. Whether Valdieri still held the title of archbishop, he wasn't sure. But certainly Valdieri had come from the Vatican to America, although not as recently as presumably he wanted to imply.

The police officers exchanged glances. Perhaps they were wondering whether an archbishop in blue coveralls outranked a senator in a white bathrobe. They seemed uncertain what to do. Matt felt a moment of hope.

"Officer," Valdieri said, "all I'm asking is that you open this casket. If there's a dog in here, then you can arrest us both and we'll accept the full force of the law."

The officer turned to Senator Harding. "If you are agreeable, Senator, we can resolve this matter quickly."

"I absolutely refuse my wife's dog to be violated in this way," Senator Harding shouted. "I am familiar with the Chief of Department, and you can be sure I will be making a formal complaint about your behavior. Take these two intruders away."

The senior officer sighed. He turned his men. "Do as the Senator's says, boys."

Matt glance at Valdieri and something seemed to pass between them. Still in his handcuffs Matt fell on the ground, rolling over and groaning, trying to buy time. It was a ploy he'd learned from an elderly woman in France three years ago. As the police bent over him, Valdieri had one more trick to play.

"Stop him!" Senator Harding shouted.

Everyone turned to see Valdieri forcing the lid from the casket with the edge of the spade that had lain at his feet.

"Officer, Senator, everyone, this is not a dog." Valdieri tipped the casket onto its side. A small bundle wrapped in a white sheet rolled onto the ground.

Matt could see the ex-archbishop had everyone's attention. "Officer, I believe this is a human baby." Valdieri's loud voice carried authority. "Senator Harding and his wife have contrived to conceal the death of a baby, and have carried out an illegal burial. You must arrest them."

Matt wasn't sure that there was such a law about concealment and burial in America, but perhaps there was in Italy. Whether there was a law or not, Valdieri had stopped everyone in their tracks.

Without waiting for permission, he quickly unwrapped the contents of the casket. Everyone stood speechless as he revealed the bloated remains of a human baby.

Matt stood up, and without anyone noticing, he joined the others who were staring down at the tiny body. Except for Senator Harding. Matt realized he was returning to the house.

"I forbid everyone to do anything further," the Senator shouted. "I'm phoning my lawyer. He will quickly put an end to this nonsense. Consider yourselves all dismissed from the police!"

The senior officer, who up until this moment had been acting with considerable deference to the Senator, was on his radio. Hopefully he was calling for someone to take over the investigation, and more hopefully still, to arrest Senator Harding and his wife.

Matt stared down at the decomposing baby which was lit by several powerful flashlights. The skin was peeling off where it had stuck to the cotton sheet. No way was this Jack. This baby had been dead at least two weeks. With a sudden despair he realized they were no nearer finding Jack than they had been before they came here. So many chases of the wild goose, as Zoé had put it. Unable to help himself, he broke down in tears.

Stephen Valdieri came forward and put an arm on Matt's shoulder. It was an arm of great comfort from a godly person. "Officer," Valdieri said, "I think you can release this man."

The officer shook his head. "Sorry, sir, but I'm doing nothing until someone senior arrives."

Matt felt frustrated. If the officer was phoning the man who apparently had serious issues with Senator Harding, the future looked promising. If it was Inspector Flanagan, who was probably in the Senator's pocket, things looked bad.

"I don't know whether I'm relieved or not," Matt whispered to Valdieri. "If it had been Jack, at least Zoé and I would know where he was. We could take his little body back to England and bury him there."

"To me this is good news," Valdieri said. "To me it means that your baby is still alive."

"Jack is seriously ill," Matt explained. "If he doesn't get treatment soon, he's going to die anyway." He turned to Wendell Harris. "You stole him from me in Central Park." He turned to the officer. "This man mugged me and kidnapped my baby boy. You must make him tell me where he is."

Suddenly Matt turned towards the large house. There were lights in most of the windows now, and somewhere from that direction he could hear a baby crying. "It's Jack, it's my baby," he said. "I can hear him now." He wasn't sure if it was a father's intuition that recognized the cry, or if he was just clutching at Zoé's straws.

"We wait," the officer said to his men who were already starting to walk towards the house. "We wait for the Chief."

"No, we mustn't wait." Matt felt frantic. "Senator Harding might hide the baby, or even suffocate it to stop it crying so he doesn't get caught. He must have lots of hiding places in that house big enough a tiny body."

"We wait," repeated the officer.

At that moment Mrs. Harding appeared on the lawn holding a small bundle close to her chest. She stood motionless under the security lights. Matt knew immediately -- he had found Jack.
Chapter 35

Matt phoned Zoé to say that Jack was safe, but he was having a compulsory check at the Inova Mount Vernon Hospital. He explained it was going to be a very long night before the full story came out and he and Valdieri were unlikely to be back at the hotel until well after breakfast. Meanwhile, Valdieri phoned Lauren and suggested that she and Zoé took a cab to the hospital to check on Jack for themselves, and they would all meet up in the hotel as soon as they could.

"Matt, you were so brave," Zoé said, back in the Alexandria hotel just after ten o'clock the next morning when they gave a detailed account of their night-time ordeal. She held Jack securely in her arms, as though daring anyone to take him away. "And so were you brave, Steve. Lauren and I were both praying for you when you went off. Both of you were so brave."

Stephen Valdieri laughed. "Perhaps I've never grown up. I've always liked the taste of adventure, just as I did in France with the Holy Father at Tourvillon. And now this, in Washington. Ah, those stressful days in the Vatican. The Italians have an expression for doing what is almost impossible. _T_ altare I fossi per il lungo. They jump ditches the long way. What Matt and I did, Zoé, was certainly beyond my ecclesiastical remit."

"Teamwork," Matt said. "But, Stephen, Steve, you certainly came up trumps in the end by digging up the casket while the police were arresting me."

Valdieri looked thoughtful for a moment. "I couldn't help thinking about what you said, Zoé, recognizing Jack's cry on the phone to Mrs. Harding. Avere un chiodo fisso in testa."

"Something about having a nail fixed in the head?" Zoé said with a frown. "I know a little Italian, but it does not make sense."

"In English we would say you had a bee in your bonnet. Like the nail, you couldn't get it out of your head. Deep down, I believed in you."

"Look at him," Lauren said. "He looks so sweet."

Matt assumed she was referring to the baby. And indeed baby Jack did look sweet. There was no obvious sign he had been harmed. He had been bottle fed regularly, and had passed a full checkup at the hospital without any problems.

"Steve, I still do not understand who the baby was in the casket." Zoé glanced at Matt and pulled a face. "Sorry, Matt, coffin."

Valdieri said, "I'm sure more will come out. As far as I can gather, the Hardings' baby boy, who indeed had heterochromia, died soon after the Senator showed him off on television. He was not very strong, and it seems Mrs. Harding accidently lay on him in her bed while she was asleep and suffocated him. She couldn't bear to let the dead baby go. Senator Harding didn't report the death in case his wife was in serious trouble for suffocating the baby, so she kept him wrapped in the sheet he was later buried in, lying in a crib in the cabin. She sat there most of every day rocking it."

"Sick," Matt said. "The cabin must have smelled horrible. Presumably Senator Harding didn't want the dead baby in the house. No wonder you thought you could smell death on Mrs. Harding, Zoé. Even a strong perfume wasn't enough to disguise it from you."

Zoé shook her head. "You must have some sympathy for her, Matt. I suppose if Jack died, I too would find it very hard to see him being buried." She frowned. "As soon as they had Jack, they wanted to give their own baby a burial in the expensive casket from the funeral parlor. Yes, I can see that now. Poor Mrs. Harding. "

"Wendell Harris was their security man," Matt explained. "When Mrs. Harding saw little Jack on the television and saw his eyes, she became convinced he was the reincarnation of her own dead baby. She must have felt she had a duty to reclaim him. Okay, so I'm sure we'll find she had some mental problems, but Wendell Harris was up in New York on business when we arrived from England, and he always did what the Senator told him to do."

Zoé nodded in understanding. "And Wendell Harris had to get us as far away from Washington as he could, always chasing the wild goose. Mrs. Harding, she must have been so shocked when we knocked on the door with the police and asked to see the baby."

Matt said, "I'm guessing Wendell Harris had warned her we were on our way. There's going to be a detailed investigation. Almost certainly the baby you saw, the one who was older than Jack, belonged to a friend or relative. Who knows? Whatever, it wasn't hers. The main thing is, we have Jack."

"But Jack would have died soon," Zoé said. "And then Mrs. Harding would have been heartbroken again. It was a cruel thing the Senator made Wendell Harris do. They could not take him to the clinic in New York for proton beam therapy, because the clinic would know it was Jack."

"Israel," Matt said. "I guess that's why they were going to Israel today. The clinic told us DCI and Israel helped fund the development of two proton beam scanners, and the other scanner is in Israel. Once there, they could easily pass Jack off as their own baby. When they came home, no one would notice the switch."

Matt thought Zoé looked surprisingly bright. The medication was working wonders. "We are taking Jack straight to the clinic in New York this afternoon," she announced. "I have already telephoned them and they are confident the treatment will be a success if we get him there quickly. My parents, they will be so pleased to see him safely back with us, Matt, although I still think my mother blames you for what happened."

"Your parents!" Matt gave a groan. "I'd forgotten they were coming with Florian. Where are they now? Still stuck in Paris?"

Zoé shook her head. "My parents they have phoned me to say they are in the hotel we stayed in by Central Park for the first night."

"And Florian? Sleeping rough in Central Park I hope."

"Florian, I am glad to say, he is not with them. He was stopped from boarding in Paris. It seems he has a criminal record that he did not declare. A small case of embezzlement when he started his first job."

"Did your parents know about that when they tried to get you to marry him?"

"No, Matt, they did not. My mother has told me on the phone that she is glad I did not marry Florian."

"I hope it means she's glad you married me instead."

Zoé held Jack tightly in her arms and leaned forward to give Matt a long kiss on the lips. "Ah." She drew back, shook her head and smiled. "Pas nécessairement. You are, I think, perhaps hoping for too much."

### Epilogue

Because Jack had been well cared for by Mrs. Harding, the clinic was able to start his therapy immediately. After three weeks the prognosis was promising, and Matt and Zoé returned to England with Jack, but without risking his exposure at the top of the Empire State Building. That would have to wait till the next time they were in New York. Steve and Lauren said there was always a place for them to stay if they did come back.

The local hospital in England where Zoé worked agreed to carry out monthly checks on Jack's left eye, and the clinic in New York made an open offer to give any further treatment that might be considered necessary.

The baby boy in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn was traced to a drug addicted couple who had never wanted him in the first place. While the mother slept, the father had taken the baby to the cemetery for what he said was a decent funeral, which consisted of cutting the baby's throat and leaving it behind the gravestone of Henry Mattison who died in October 1876. Detective Chavez took great pleasure in telling Matt that there was no family connection.

Zoé quickly got over her postnatal depression. Whether it was the medication or the relief of finding Jack, Matt wasn't sure. The main thing was Zoé was over it, and he could leave Jack with her without having to worry when he returned to work.

The hostage situation was finally resolved with all the hostages saved in a rescue mission by US Special Forces. When they realized they had been outsmarted, the terrorists preferred to blow themselves up rather than be caught and give away vital details of their cell and possible future attacks planned in the city.

Ken phoned to say that Matt's initial surveillance using the Habgood Securities' Coke cans had done the job. The photographs and sound recording were sufficient evidence for the men to be sacked from their respective organizations. Matt said Ken sounded relieved that he did not need to continue the job by himself with the "Habgood Securities' Coke cans."

Belinda is the ninth moon of Uranus, part of the Portia group of satellites.

The little baby who had been on life support at the clinic died while Lauren was there, and his grieving teenage mom was helped greatly by the thought that two desperately ill babies were being saved by her allowing transplants. Lauren invited her to stay at the church until she felt ready to move on.

Matt and Zoé did very little sightseeing, preferring to stay at the clinic to be with Jack, even though there was no longer a risk to his safety. The situation with the Hardings had received no mention in the media, leaving Matt and Zoé to assume that Senator Cyrus B. Harding still had some clout, although surely that would change very soon. A prosecution for the Hardings and Wendell Harris was pending.

Lauren became Mrs. Valdieri at a wedding ceremony in their little church. Two former colleagues of Steve's came over from the Vatican, looking embarrassingly overdressed in clerical outfits. The rest of the congregation seemed relaxed both in their clothing and in their manner of worship. The little band performed enthusiastically, and whoops and cheers were shouted all around as the happy couple tied the knot.

Simon Urquet used to his influence to obtain Matt and Zoé complete exoneration from any criminal charges. He even managed to get a rather grudging apology from the police for their suspicions, although as Simon Urquet said, they were lucky to escape charges for the disturbances at several locations in their overzealous attempts to find Jack. He also made a generous personal contribution to Valdieri's church. When he warned Matt to keep out of trouble in future, Zoé rolled her eyes.

Zoé's parents, Monsieur and Madame Champanille, stayed for five long days, which was more than enough time for Zoé's mother to constantly berate Matt for his carelessness in allowing Jack to be kidnapped. Florian's name didn't get mentioned once.

THE END

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Abridged Edition

Published in conjunction with

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This book has been abridged and edited for today, with an added author biography.

"I, Joseph of Arimathea, took the body of Jesus, the Nazarene, from the tomb where it was first laid and hid it in this place."

A press report on this discovery just outside Jerusalem says: "There now seems no shadow of doubt that the disappearance of the body of Christ from the first tomb is accounted for, and the Resurrection as told in the Gospels did not take place. Joseph of Arimathea here confesses that he stole away the body, probably in order to spare the Disciples and friends of the dead Teacher, with whom he was in sympathy, the shame and misery of the final end to their hopes."

This is proof, welcomed by many, that Jesus was not who he claimed to be, the Son of God, but was nothing more than a good teacher who was treated cruelly by those in authority. Churches quickly empty. Over a year, society begins to break down around a world with no traditional standard to live by.

A young curate, a journalist, and a music hall singer who is the mistress of a famous man, put their lives in danger as they set out to discredit the discovery, believing that a wealthy, militant atheist could be responsible for the hoax -- if indeed it is a hoax. This story by popular fiction writer Guy Thorne was first published in 1903. Dan Brown was definitely not the first writer to imagine the Christian faith under threat from archaeology!

Coming Soon

THE CITY IN THE CLOUDS

Guy Thorne

This book has been abridged and edited for today, with an added author biography. A wealthy Brazilian businessman has bought a large area of open ground in the south of London on which he erects three gigantic masts. Working secretly with a large gang of Chinese labourers he then constructs a fantastic city on top -- which he claims is a pleasure palace. But is he running from some enemy, and is the city really for his own protection? Thomas Kirby, a journalist, sets out to discover the secret of the City in the Clouds. Novelist Guy Thorne wrote this book in 1921, and although he is looking forward a few years, this is not science fiction. It is a straightforward adventure romance based on a massive structure built in London with advanced engineering on an unlimited budget.

Coming Soon

THE SECRET SEAPLANE

Guy Thorne

This book has been abridged and edited for today, with an added author biography. It is the outbreak of World War I, and while at Oxford University, John Lothian has his eye on Ida MacArthur. Before romance can blossom, John is sentenced to six months in prison for theft. On his release a college friend recruits him into the secret service. A huge seaplane has been developed by the British in secret, and John Lothian, with the help a petty thief he met in prison, has to help fly the beast in preparation for an attack on the German base of Friedrichsland, where it turns out that Ida MacArthur is being held prisoner. A type of Boy's Own story from 1916, with added romance and some fairly graphic violence!

MISS FERRIBY'S CLIENTS

Florence Warden

This book has been abridged and edited for today. Welton Keynes sees a job as male secretary advertised by Miss Ferriby of The Lawns in London. On the way to the interview he is warned by neighbours that several young men employed in that house have disappeared. Ignoring the advice, he takes the job, but it is not long before Welton Keynes realizes something strange and dangerous is taking place in Miss Ferriby's house. There are her mysterious clients, wealthy men and women coming to attend her séances. Although the large house is well kept, there seem to be no servants apart from the footman who is strangely out of place in that role. Welton decides to explore behind the locked doors. What he discovers signs his death warrant, unless ...

This is an old fashioned story of murder, robbery and séances, with a touch of romance. It was written in 1910 when political correctness in fiction was not even on the horizon, and the main villain was often physically disabled or disfigured (as here) to make him or her appear more villainous. Note that the physical descriptions of the characters are from the original book. It's how writers of popular fiction generally wrote, and what their readers read. Be warned: Miss Ferriby will carry on living in the some dark corner of your mind long after you have finished the story.

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