The Couple Next Door(32)

The door opens, making her jump in her seat. Detective Rasbach enters, followed by Detective Jennings.

“Where’s Marco?” Anne asks, her voice shaky.

“He’s waiting for you in the lobby,” Rasbach says, and smiles briefly. “We won’t be long,” he says gently. “Please relax.”

She smiles weakly back at him.

Rasbach points to a camera mounted near the ceiling. “We’ll be videotaping this interview.”

Anne glances at the camera, dismayed. “Do we have to do this on camera?” she asks. Then she looks nervously at the two detectives.

“We record all our interviews,” Rasbach tells her. “It’s to protect everyone concerned.”

Anne straightens her hair nervously, tries to sit up taller in her chair. The woman officer remains stationed at the door, as if they’re afraid she’ll make a run for it.

“Can I get you anything?” Rasbach asks. “Coffee? Water?”

“No, thank you.”

Rasbach says, “Okay, then, let’s get started. Please state your name and today’s date.” The detective leads her carefully through the events of the night the baby went missing. “When you saw that she wasn’t in the crib, what did you do?” Rasbach asks. His voice is kind, encouraging.

“I told you. I think I screamed. I threw up. Then I called 911.”

Rasbach nods. “What did your husband do?”

“He looked around the upstairs while I was calling 911.”

Rasbach looks more sharply at her, his eyes on hers. “How did he seem?”

“He seemed shocked, horrified, like me.”

“You found nothing out of place, nothing disturbed, other than that the baby was gone?”

“That’s right. We searched the house before the police arrived, but we didn’t notice anything. The only thing different or odd—other than that she wasn’t there and that her blanket was gone—was that the front door was open.”

“What did you think when you found the crib empty?”

“I thought someone had taken her,” Anne whispers, looking down at the table.

“You told us that you smashed the bathroom mirror after finding the baby gone, before the police arrived. Why did you smash the bathroom mirror?” Rasbach asks.

Anne takes a deep breath before answering. “I was angry. I was angry because we had left her at home alone. It was our fault.” Her voice is dry; her lower lip trembles. “Actually, could I have some water?” she asks, looking up.

“I’ll get it,” Jennings offers, and he leaves the room, soon returning with a bottle of water that he places on the table in front of Anne.

Gratefully, she twists off the cap and takes a drink.

Rasbach resumes his questioning. “You said you’d had some wine. You’re also on antidepressant medication, the effects of which are increased with the use of alcohol. Do you think your memories of what happened that night are reliable?”

“Yes.” Her voice is firm. The water seems to have revived her.

“You are certain of your version of events?” Rasbach asks.

“I’m certain,” she says.

“How do you explain the pink onesie that was found underneath the pad on the changing table?” Rasbach’s voice is not so gentle now.

Anne feels her composure deserting her. “I . . . I thought I put it in the hamper, but I was very tired. It must have gotten shoved under there somehow.”

“But you can’t explain how?”

Anne knows what he’s driving at. How much can he trust her version of events when she can’t explain something as simple as how the onesie, which she said she remembered putting into the laundry hamper, was underneath the pad on the changing table?

“No. I don’t know.” She begins to wring her hands in her lap beneath the table.

“Is there any possibility that you might have dropped the baby?”

“What?” Her eyes snap up to meet the detective’s. His eyes are unnerving; she feels they can see right through her.

“Is there any possibility that you might have accidentally dropped the baby, that she was harmed in some way?”

“No. Absolutely not. I would remember that.”

Rasbach is not so friendly now. He leans back in his chair and cocks his head at her, as if he doesn’t believe her. “Perhaps you dropped her earlier in the evening and she hit her head, or perhaps you shook her and when you came back to see her, she wasn’t breathing?”

“No! That didn’t happen,” Anne says desperately. “She was fine when I left her at midnight. She was fine when Marco checked her at twelve thirty.”

“You don’t actually know if she was fine when Marco checked on her at twelve thirty. You weren’t there, in the baby’s room. You only have your husband’s word for it,” Rasbach points out.

“He wouldn’t lie,” Anne says anxiously, continuing to wring her hands.

Rasbach lets silence fill the room. Then, leaning forward, he says, “How much do you trust your husband, Mrs. Conti?”

“I trust him. He wouldn’t lie about that.”

“No? What if he went to check on the baby and found she wasn’t breathing? What if he thought you had harmed her—hurt her by accident or held a pillow over her face? And he arranged for someone to take the body away because he was trying to protect you?”