The Couple Next Door(17)

Rasbach turns to Marco, who nods miserably.

“Marco thought if we had the monitor on next door and checked her every half hour, it would be fine. Nothing bad would happen, you said,” Anne says, turning with sudden venom on her husband.

“I was wrong!” Marco says, turning to his wife. “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! How many times do I have to say it?”

Detective Rasbach watches the chinks in the couple’s relationship widen. The tension he had picked up on immediately after their daughter was reported missing has already blossomed into something more—blame. The united front they had shown in the first minutes and hours of the investigation is starting to erode. How could it not? Their daughter is missing. They are under intense pressure. The police are in their home, the press is pounding at their front door. Rasbach knows that if there is anything here to find, he will find it.





EIGHT


Detective Rasbach leaves the Contis’ house and sets off to interview the babysitter at her home to confirm their story. It is late morning, and as he walks the short distance down the leafy streets, he turns the case over in his mind. There is no evidence that an intruder was in the house or yard. But there are fresh tire tracks on the cement floor of the garage. He is suspicious of the parents, but now there is this news about the babysitter.

When he arrives at the address Anne provided, a distraught-looking woman answers the door. She has obviously been crying. He shows her his badge.

“I understand Katerina Stavros lives here.” The woman nods. “She’s your daughter?”

“Yes,” the girl’s mother says, finding her voice. “I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time,” she says, “but I know why you’re here. Please come in.”

Rasbach steps into the house. The doorway opens into a living room that appears to be full of women crying. Three middle-aged women and a teenage girl are sitting around a coffee table covered with plates of food.

“Our mother died yesterday,” Mrs. Stavros says. “My sisters and I are trying to make arrangements.”

“I’m very sorry to bother you,” Detective Rasbach says. “I’m afraid it’s important. Is your daughter here?” But he’s already spotted her on the sofa with her aunts—a chubby sixteen-year-old, her hand hovering over a plate of brownies as she lifts her eyes and sees the detective enter the living room.

“Katerina, there’s a policeman here to see you.”

Katerina and all the girl’s aunts turn to stare at the detective.

The girl starts spouting fresh, genuine tears and says, “About Cora?”

Rasbach nods.

“I can’t believe someone would take her,” the girl says, putting her hands back in her lap, forgetting about the brownies. “I feel so bad. My grandma died, and I had to cancel.”

Immediately all the aunts hover around the girl while her mother perches on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“What time did you call the Contis’ house?” Rasbach asks kindly. “Do you remember?”

The girl begins to weep. “I don’t know.”

Her mother turns to Detective Rasbach. “It was about six. We had a call from the hospital around then, asking us to come, because it was the end. I told Katerina to call and cancel and come to the hospital with us.” She puts a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “We feel terrible about Cora. Katerina is very fond of her. But this is not Katerina’s fault.” The mother wants everyone to be very clear on this point.

“Of course not,” Rasbach says emphatically.

“I can’t believe they left her alone in the house,” the woman says. “What kind of parents would do that?”

Her sisters shake their heads in disapproval.

“I hope you find her,” the girl’s mother says, looking worriedly at her own daughter, “and that she’s okay.”

“We will do everything we can,” Rasbach says, and turns to go. “Thank you for your time.”

The Contis’ story has checked out. The baby was almost certainly still alive at 6:00 p.m., or how would the parents have dealt with the expected sitter? Rasbach realizes that if the parents had killed or hidden the baby, it had to have happened after that six-o’clock call. And either before seven, when they went over to the neighbors’, or sometime during the party. Which means they probably wouldn’t have had enough time to dispose of the body.

Maybe, Rasbach thinks, they’re telling the truth.

? ? ?

With the detective out of the house, Anne feels she can breathe a little more easily. It’s like he’s watching them, waiting for them to make a misstep, to make a mistake. But what mistake can he possibly be waiting for? They don’t have Cora. If they had found some physical evidence of an intruder, she thinks, he wouldn’t be zeroing in, wrongly, on them. But whoever has taken Cora has obviously been very careful.

Perhaps the police are incompetent, Anne thinks. She is worried that they will bungle everything. The investigation is moving too slowly. Every hour that goes by ratchets her panic up another notch.

“Who could have taken her?” Anne whispers to Marco when they’re alone. Anne has sent her parents home for the time being, even though they’d wanted to settle themselves in the spare room upstairs. But Anne, as much as she relies on her parents, especially in times of stress and trouble, finds they make her anxious, too, and she is anxious enough. Plus, having them around always makes things more difficult with Marco, and he already looks like he’s about to snap. His hair is a mess, and he hasn’t shaved. They’ve been up all night, and the day is half gone. Anne is exhausted and knows she must look as bad as Marco does, but she doesn’t care. Sleep is impossible.