I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [84]
“Just what we don’t need is an amateur sleuth involved with the case,” Billy commented as the elevator stopped at the sixteenth floor. But after two minutes of being in Alvirah and Willy’s home, like everyone else who had ever met them, he felt as if they’d been friends forever.
Willy Meehan reminded Billy of the pictures of his grandfather, a big man with snow white hair who had worked all his life as a cop. Alvirah, her hair freshly set, was wearing slacks and a cardigan sweater. Billy knew her clothes had not come out of a bargain basement, but still Alvirah’s outfit reminded him of the housekeeper for the people down the block who had some money.
He was surprised when Jennifer accepted the coffee Alvirah offered. It was not something they usually did, but he suspected that it would not be wise to make an enemy of Alvirah, who had already established on the phone that she was Zan Moreland’s good friend. And probably her defender, he thought.
I was right about that one, Billy said to himself a few minutes later as Alvirah emphasized the heartbreak she believed that Zan had been suffering since her son disappeared. “I’ve known all kinds,” Alvirah said emphatically, “and there are some things you can’t fake. The suffering I’ve seen in that girl’s eyes has made me want to cry.”
“Did she talk about Matthew very often?” Jennifer Dean asked, softly.
“Let’s put it this way, we never brought it up. I’m a contributing columnist for the New York Globe and at the time Matthew disappeared, I wrote a column begging whoever took him to understand the agony his parents were going through. I suggested that that person bring Matthew to a mall, and point out a security guard. Then tell the boy to close his eyes, count up to ten, then go up to the guard and tell him his name and the guard would find Mommy for him.”
“Matthew was only a little past three when he disappeared,” Billy objected. “Not every child that age can count up to ten.”
“I had read in the paper that his mother had said that hide-and-seek was the favorite game they played together. In fact, one of the times that Zan did talk about Matthew, she said that when she got the call that he was missing, she was praying that he had woken up and gotten out of the stroller himself and maybe thought he was playing hide-and-seek with Tiffany.” Alvirah paused, then added, “She told me that Matthew could count up to fifty. He was obviously a very bright child.”
“Did you see the photos of Zan Moreland taking Matthew out of the stroller on television or in the papers today, Mrs. Meehan?” Jennifer Dean asked.
“I saw the photos of a woman who looked like Zan taking the child out of the stroller,” Alvirah said carefully.
“Do you think that was Zan Moreland in those pictures, Mrs. Meehan?” Billy Collins asked.
“I wish you’d call me Alvirah. Everyone else does.”
She’s stalling for time, Collins thought.
“Let me put it this way,” Alvirah began. “It certainly looks as though the woman in those pictures is Zan. I don’t know nearly enough about technology because it’s going so fast these days. Maybe those pictures were altered. I do know that Zan Moreland is torn in two with missing her son. She was here last night and she was a basket case she was so upset. I know she has friends both here and abroad who invited her to visit them over the holidays. She stayed home by herself. She couldn’t bear to go out.”
“Do you know what other countries her friends live in?” Jennifer Dean asked, quickly.
“Well, they’re from the countries where her parents lived,” Alvirah said. “I know one of them is Argentina. Another one is in France.”
“And remember her parents were living in Italy when they were killed in that accident,” Willy chimed in.
Billy Collins knew that there was nothing more they could learn from Alvirah or Willy. They believe those pictures are of Zan Moreland, he