Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [69]
“Did she seem sane to you?”
“Quite sane, at least on my one interaction with her. And unusually poised for a young lady of her age.”
The next witness was a purser who confirmed what the security director had said: that the passenger boarded with her baby, that she was fiercely protective of him, and that she had disappeared into her cabin for several days. Then, toward the middle of the crossing, she was seen taking meals in the restaurants and touring the ship without the baby. People assumed she had a nanny or was using the ship’s babysitting service. She kept to herself, spoke to nobody, rebuffed all friendly gestures. “I thought,” said the purser, “that she was one of these extremely rich eccentrics, you know, the kind who have so much money they can act as they please and there’s no one to say otherwise. And…” He hesitated.
“Go on.”
“Toward the end of the voyage, I began to think she was maybe just a little bit… mad.”
Hayward paused at the door to the small holding cell. She had never met Constance Greene but had heard plenty from Vinnie. He had always spoken of her as if she were older, but when the door swung open Hayward was astonished to see a young woman of no more than twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, her dark hair cut in a stylish if old-fashioned bob, sitting primly on the fold-down bunk, still formally dressed from the ship.
“May I come in?”
Constance Greene looked at her. Hayward prided herself on being able to read a person’s eyes, but these were unfathomable.
“Please do.”
Hayward took a seat on the lone chair in the room. Could this woman really have thrown her own child into the Atlantic? “I’m Captain Hayward.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Captain.”
Under the circumstances, the antique graciousness of the greeting gave Hayward the creeps. “I’m a friend of Lieutenant D’Agosta, whom you know, and I have also worked on occasion with your, ah, uncle, Special Agent Pendergast.”
“Not uncle. Aloysius is my legal guardian. We’re not related.” She corrected Hayward primly, punctiliously.
“I see. Do you have any family?”
“No,” came the quick, sharp reply. “They are long dead and gone.”
“I’m sorry. First, I wonder if you could help me out with a detail here—we’re having a little trouble locating your legal records. Do you happen to know your Social Security number?”
“I don’t have a Social Security number.”
“Where were you born?”
“Here in New York City. On Water Street.”
“The name of the hospital?”
“I was born at home.”
“I see.” Hayward decided to give up this particular line; their legal department would eventually straighten it out, and, if the truth be admitted, she was just avoiding the difficult questions to come.
“Constance, I’m in the homicide division, but this isn’t my case. I’m just here on a fact-finding mission. You’re under no obligation to answer any of my questions and this is not official. Do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly, thank you.”
Once again Hayward was struck by the old-fashioned cadence of her speech; something about the way she held herself; something in those eyes, so old and wise, that seemed out of place in such a young body.
She took a deep breath. “Did you really throw your baby into the ocean?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was evil. Like his father.”
“And the father is…?”
“Dead.”
“What was his name?”
Silence fell in the room. The cool violet eyes never wavered from her own, and Hayward understood, better than from anything Greene might have said, that she would never, ever answer the question.
“Why did you come back? You were abroad—why come home now?”
“Because Aloysius will need my help.”
“Help? What sort of help?”
Constance remained motionless. “He is unprepared to face the betrayal that awaits him.”
30
Savannah, Georgia
JUDSON ESTERHAZY STOOD AMID THE ANTIQUES and overstuffed furniture of his den, looking out