I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [83]
Bettina liked Ted. She knew how hard he worked promoting Melissa. “I don’t think he’s crazy,” she said, soothingly. “It certainly would make you seem very, very generous, which of course you would be, but you’d need to write the check in front of the cameras.”
“Which I don’t intend to do,” Melissa snapped, pushing back the blond hair that hung almost to her waist.
“Melissa, I’m here to do anything you want. You know that,” Bet-tina said. “But Ted is right. Ever since you and he became an item, you let everyone know that you think his son was abducted and killed by a child molester. To offer a reward for information leading to his safe return now would be begging for nasty comments on the late-night shows and the Internet.”
“Bettina, I intend to make that offer. Call a press conference for one o’clock tomorrow. I know exactly how I’ll word it. I’ll say that while I have always felt that Matthew is not alive, that uncertainty is destroying Matthew’s father, my fiancé, Ted Carpenter. This offer may make someone come forward, maybe someone whose relative or friend is raising Matthew as her own child.”
“And if someone does come forward, you’re prepared to write him or her a check for five million dollars, Melissa?” Bettina asked.
“Don’t be silly. First of all, that poor kid is probably dead. Second, if someone really knew where he is and hasn’t come forward all this time, that person is considered an accomplice of some kind and therefore cannot profit from the crime. Got it? Everybody thinks I’m some kind of airhead, but we’ll get hundreds of tips from all over the world, and every one of them will be mentioning Melissa Knight’s promised reward.”
They were in the living room of Melissa’s penthouse apartment on Central Park West. Before answering Melissa, Bettina walked over to the window and looked down at the park. It all began there, she thought. One sunny afternoon in June nearly two years ago. But Melissa is right. That little boy is probably dead. She’ll get her free publicity and it won’t cost her a dime.
53
Well, we rattled Moreland’s cage,” Billy Collins observed with satisfaction as he and Jennifer Dean munched on hot pastrami sandwiches and coffee at their favorite delicatessen on Columbus Avenue.
Detective Dean finished the last bite of the first half of her sandwich before she answered. “What scares me is that this case is almost too perfect. Do you believe that Moreland meant she had heard her son’s voice in a kind of dream, or do you think she was actually talking to him on the phone?”
“Whether she was on the phone or dreaming, she said that boy is alive and I believe he’s alive,” Billy Collins said positively. “The question is where is he, and will whoever is holding him panic with all the publicity about the case now? I’m getting another cup of coffee. Want one?”
“No, I’ve had enough caffeine today. Why don’t I try Alvirah Meehan again and see if she’s back yet? Her husband said that she should be finished at the hairdresser by now.”
Alvirah answered the phone herself. “Come over, if you want, but I don’t know how I can help you,” she said cautiously. “My husband and I have been good friends of Zan ever since she decorated our apartment about a year and a half ago. That was after her son disappeared. She’s a wonderful young woman and we love her.”
“Why don’t we just come anyhow? You’re practically around the corner,” Jennifer Dean said, as Billy returned with his second cup of coffee.
Ten minutes later they were parking in the semicircular driveway at 211 Central Park South. It was wide enough so that other vehicles could pass, and when Tony the doorman saw Billy put his police department ID face up inside the windshield, he made no objection to leaving the car there. “Mrs. Meehan said you should go right up when you get here,” he told them. “It’s apartment 16B.”
“You do realize