The Couple Next Door(14)

They have agreed on a prepared statement, have crafted it at the coffee table with Detective Rasbach’s help. The statement does not mention the fact that the baby was alone in the house at the time of the kidnapping, but Anne has no doubt whatsoever that that fact will get out. She has the feeling that once the media invade their lives, there will be no end to it. Nothing will be private. She and Marco will be notorious, their own faces on the pages of supermarket tabloids. She is frightened and ashamed.

Anne and Marco walk out their front door and onto the front step. Detective Rasbach is at Anne’s side, and Detective Jennings stands beside Marco. Anne hangs on to her husband’s arm for support, as if she might fall. They have agreed that Marco is to read the statement—Anne is simply not up to it. She looks as though a stiff breeze will knock her over. Marco gazes into the crowd of reporters, seems to shrink, then lowers his eyes to the piece of paper shaking visibly in his hands. The cameras flash repeatedly.

Anne looks up, stunned. The street is full of reporters, vans, TV cameras, technicians, equipment and wires, people holding microphones to their heavily made-up faces. She has seen this on TV, has watched this very thing. But now she is front and center. It feels unreal, like it’s not actually happening to her but to someone else. She feels strange and disembodied, as if she is both standing on the front step looking out and also watching the scene from above and a little to the left.

Marco holds up a hand to indicate that he wishes to speak. The crowd quiets suddenly.

“I’d like to read a statement,” he mumbles.

“Louder!” someone shouts from the sidewalk.

“I’m going to read a statement,” Marco says, more loudly and clearly. Then he reads, his voice growing stronger. “Early this morning, sometime between twelve thirty and one thirty, our beautiful baby girl, Cora, was taken from her crib by a person or persons unknown.” He stops for a moment to collect himself. No one makes a sound. “She is six months old. She has blond hair and blue eyes and weighs about sixteen pounds. She was wearing a disposable diaper and a plain, pale pink onesie. There is a white blanket also missing from her crib.

“We love Cora more than anything. We want her back. We say to whoever has her, please, please bring her back to us, unharmed.” Marco looks up from the page. He is crying now and has to stop and wipe away the tears to continue reading. Anne sobs quietly at his side, looking out at the sea of faces.

“We have no idea who would steal our beautiful, innocent little girl. We are asking for your help. If you know anything, or saw anything, please call the police. We are able to offer a substantial reward for information leading to the recovery of our baby. Thank you.”

Marco turns to Anne, and they collapse in each other’s arms as more bulbs flash.

“How much of a reward?” someone calls out.





SEVEN


No one understands how it could have been missed, but shortly after the press conference outside the Contis’ front door, an officer approaches Detective Rasbach in the living room holding a pale pink onesie between two gloved fingers. The eyes of every person in the room—Detective Rasbach, Marco, Anne, and Anne’s parents, Alice and Richard, are instantly fixed on the piece of clothing.

Rasbach starts. “Where did you find that?” he asks curtly.

“Oh!” Anne blurts out.

Everyone turns from the officer holding the pink onesie to look at Anne. All the color has drained from her face.

“Was that in the laundry hamper in the baby’s room?” Anne asks, getting up.

“No,” the officer holding the article of clothing says. “It was underneath the pad on the changing table. We missed it the first time.”

Rasbach is intensely annoyed. How could it have been missed?

Anne colors, seems confused. “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten. Cora was wearing that earlier in the evening. I changed her outfit after her last feeding. She spit up on that one. I’ll show you.” Anne moves toward the officer and reaches for the onesie, but the officer moves back, out of her reach.

“Please don’t touch it,” he says.

Anne turns to Rasbach. “I changed her out of that one and put her into another one. I thought I put that onesie in the laundry hamper by the changing table.”

“So the description we have is inaccurate?” Rasbach says.

“Yes,” Anne admits, looking confused.

“What was she wearing, then?” Rasbach asks. When Anne hesitates, he repeats, “What was she wearing?”

“I . . . I’m not sure,” Anne says.

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” the detective persists. His voice is sharp.

“I don’t know. I’d had a bit to drink. I was tired. It was dark. I nurse her in the dark for her last feeding, so she won’t wake up completely. She spit up on her onesie, and when I changed her diaper, I changed her outfit, too, in the dark. I threw the pink one in the laundry—I thought I did—and I took another one out of the drawer. She has a lot of them. I don’t know what color.” Anne feels guilty. But clearly this man has never changed a baby in the middle of the night.

“Do you know?” Rasbach asks, turning to Marco.

Marco looks like a deer caught in headlights. He shakes his head. “I didn’t notice that she’d changed her outfit. I didn’t turn the lights on when I checked on her.”