Page 29 of The Instruments of Darkness

“Mara? She mentioned her, but she wasn’t able to find out a whole lot, and I bet Stephen didn’t share even half of what he knew. What man would? It’s weird, but it’s almost as though Mara Teller didn’t exist, not really. It’s like someone made her up, but couldn’t be bothered to do it properly.”

I whistled softly.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked.

“I’m a forensic accountant, but I’ve taken time off to raise my kids. I plan to return to work, though, as soon as they’re all old enough for school. Why?”

“Your view of Mara Teller is remarkably acute.”

“So you agree?”

“Let’s just say that if I ever need the services of a forensic accountant, I’ll know where to turn. As for Mara Teller, there’s no shortage of false identities on the Internet. It was made for fake lives and alternative existences.”

“If Colleen isn’t responsible for whatever happened to Henry—and I don’t believe she is—then someone else must have taken him,” said Hudson, “so why not this Mara Teller? But then, you’re already thinking that way, aren’t you?”

“I’m not ruling it out.”

I wasn’t ruling out Stephen’s brother and sister-in-law either, but I kept that to myself. The bloodstained blanket didn’t fit with them, though. If they had somehow contrived to abduct Henry Clark because they couldn’t have a child of their own, why would they then harm him? Something might have gone wrong, of course, but if it had not, and by some miracle Henry was still alive, where could they be keeping him? After all, his father was currently sharing their house, so how could they have hoped to hide Henry from Stephen? I still wanted to test their alibi, but logic said they weren’t involved.

Inside the house, one of Hudson’s children began wailing for her.

“Time for me to put on my mommy pants,” she said. “There is another thing, although it doesn’t mean much. I just considered it odd. Colleen told me she was surprised that Stephen bothered to have an affair. He’d never been very interested in sex, not even when they first began seeing each other. She used to worry it was her, a sign that he didn’t find her attractive, but he admitted it early on. He liked running, and wanted to be a success in business, and it might be that getting married and having a family were things he felt he was supposed to do, because it was what regular people did. I always thought he was a cold fish, but I guess he proved me wrong by cheating on her.”

“And this absence of a sexual component to the marriage didn’t bother Colleen?”

“I’m not saying they never slept together, but it wasn’t as though they were doing it more than a couple of times a month, even as newlyweds. Colleen had confidence issues, so it might have suited her to pursue a less physical relationship with her husband, or maybe the absence of sex compounded those difficulties. Who knows? That’s not one I’d like to judge, and there was a limit to how far I was prepared to explore the subject with her.”

“People change,” I said, “or so I’ve been told.”

“Some do. But most don’t, or not so you’d notice.”

The wailing increased in volume.

“I have to go, or the nanny will quit,” she said. “Feel free to get in touch if I can be of any more help. Will Colleen make bail?”

“Today, with luck.”

“Then I’ll go see her later in the week. Don’t let them put her back behind bars again, Mr. Parker. If you do, I’ll be disappointed.”

She went into her home and closed the door. I experienced a brief flash of a life with her, decided it wouldn’t be so bad, and let it float away. I saw that the squirrel had bitten through the husk to the nut inside and took it as a good omen. We find them where we can. I checked my watch. I had enough time for a couple more calls and so, strengthened by Piper Hudson’s cooperation, and the success of the squirrel, I headed back to the Clark house.

BY GOOD OR BAD fortune, Alison Piucci was once again out on the Clarks’ street as I pulled up to the curb. She was in conversation with Kirk Roback, the man with the wandering hands. They were standing quite close to each other, their body language open and relaxed, even mildly intimate. Had Mrs. Roback witnessed their interaction, her husband might have had some explaining to do. They stopped talking as I approached, the pair of them radiating nothing resembling good cheer.

“We haven’t met,” I said, showing my ID. “My name is Parker. I’m a private investigator.”

“We saw you on TV,” said Piucci. “You’re working for Colleen Clark.”

“Technically, I’m employed by her attorney, but let’s not split hairs.”

Roback spoke up. “We have nothing to say,” which was that day’s echo. His voice was high for a man’s, but soft, too. He was soft all over, like a figure made from marshmallows. Beside him, the slim Piucci resembled the first digit in the number 10. If anything was going on between them, Roback was pitching way out of his league.

“I haven’t asked you anything yet,” I said.

“We’re not going to help her get off,” said Piucci.

“We should let justice run its course,” added Roback.

“That’s where I come in,” I said. “We’ve moved on from witch dunking and trial by ordeal as proof of guilt or innocence. I just have a few questions—”