A Justified Murder Read online

  Everett settled back into his chair and smiled, but said nothing.

  “Get on with it!” Arthur ordered.

  Everett took his time. “When Mrs. Crawford saw that her baby had been taken, she let out a scream that made people’s hair stand on end. As it happened, the jewelry department was close by and they had a panic button. A fast-thinking young clerk pushed it and instantly, every door in the building was locked. The button also alerted the police and they showed up six minutes later.”

  He looked at his audience. “The baby wasn’t found. They searched every inch of the store, interviewed every customer and employee. No one had seen anything. The baby had just plain vanished.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear any more of this,” Kate said.

  Everett continued anyway. “The story caught the imagination of the American people. For four days a manhunt ensued. The photo of baby Jeanne in her stroller was flashed on every channel. There was a lot of information turned in, but it led nowhere.”

  He took a breath. “On the fourth day, the baby, clean and healthy, wearing the white dress and the pink cardigan, showed up in a cardboard box at a fire station. Only the booties were missing.”

  Everett emptied his envelope and handed out photos and newspaper clippings encased in clear plastic. They passed them around.

  “And no one ever found out who did it?” Kate asked.

  “No. There were no fingerprints, nothing. There were no surveillance cameras then and no one saw anything.”

  Sara looked up from the photo of the baby in the cardboard box. “But you think Janet Beeson knew who did it?”

  “Yes,” Everett said. “She...” He took a breath. “She showed me a pink bootie.”

  “Could have been anyone’s,” Arthur said. “Maybe you fell for a con.”

  “No. You see, there was something never released to the public. This past spring I spent a month in Atlanta and I did my best to interview anyone who had been there that day. I talked to the store manager and three of the clerks. They knew nothing that hadn’t been in the papers. But the police...”

  He looked at his hands. “I was sworn to secrecy on this, but—” He looked hard at Sara.

  “We won’t tell,” she said.

  Her words seemed to reassure him. “One of the policemen who was there that day—he’s now retired—told me Mrs. Crawford’s mother-in-law was a staunch Catholic. Inside each of the booties she’d sewn a tiny cross way up under the toes where you couldn’t see it. When Janet handed me that single baby slipper—she made me wear gloves—I turned it inside out. There it was, sewn tightly inside. Even Janet didn’t know it was there. That slipper did come from baby Jeanne.”

  “And you think Janet Beeson knew who had done it?” Sara asked.

  Everett leaned forward. “If Mrs. Beeson was murdered, maybe it was by the kidnapper.”

  Sara frowned. “But that was over twenty years ago. Why now?”

  “Janet told me that the evidence has been hidden all these years.”

  “Hidden by her?” Jack asked.

  “Either her or the kidnapper,” Everett answered. “We didn’t have enough time together for her to tell me.” He looked like he was going to start crying again.

  “You said ‘exposed to the public,’” Jack said. “Who else did she show it to?”

  “I don’t know!” Everett almost shouted. “She was a very secretive woman.”

  “Did she say where she got the baby shoe?” Kate asked. “Maybe she found it in a secondhand store. You knew about the cross so maybe other people did. Janet was very good at research.”

  Everett sniffed. “She certainly knew who owned it because she said she wasn’t sure she should tell me. If she did, it would ruin that person’s reputation forever.”

  “Come on,” Sara said. “She must have given you some clues. Some hints.”

  Everett was silent.

  Arthur spoke up. “If you don’t tell everything you know, no one will help you find out the truth, and you’ll never get your story published.”

  Everett didn’t hesitate. “Did Janet have a best friend?”

  The trio’s gasp was audible.

  “She did,” Sara said, but didn’t explain.

  “I’m not sure, but I think maybe that friend was the kidnapper.”

  Nine

  THEY WERE SILENT as Jack drove them home. Kate knew they were thinking what she was: How could Sylvia, who had been described as elegant and kind, steal a baby?

  When they got to the house—the guards were gone—Jack pulled into the garage and they went through the back hallway. He usually let the women out in front. That he didn’t do so today showed how upset he was.

  They began preparing dinner as mechanically as though they were robots. After all they’d had for tea, no one was very hungry. Jack put some shrimp on the outdoor gas grill while Kate and Sara cut up vegetables for a salad. The iced tea seemed to make itself.

  They ate outside in Florida’s soft, warm weather.

  “I bet Janet knew,” Kate said when they sat down. “Sylvia confided in her.”

  “Probably needed to relieve her conscience,” Sara said.

  Jack, who was good with numbers, said, “In 1994, Sylvia was forty-seven and her daughter was eleven. Think it was a last-ditch effort to have a second child?”

  “Baby lust is powerful,” Sara said.

  “With boxes flying and people pushing, maybe she saw an opportunity and took it.”

  “Okay,” Jack said, “maybe she picked up the kid, but how did she get away with it? Police were searching all over the place. Where did she hide a month-old baby? In her handbag? Those little critters are noisy.”

  “Maybe—” Kate began but couldn’t think of anything. She and Jack looked at Sara for a writer’s answer.

  “They hid somewhere no one thought to look.” She waved her fork about. “In real life a person can do something you don’t expect but in a novel, you damned well better lead up to it. But from what we’ve heard of Sylvia Alden, it doesn’t fit. Her daughter went to college and got involved in drugs. My guess is that the girl was probably always a handful. Sylvia had a husband she adored, a business she was running, a brother who was suing her. But she yearned for an infant to take care of? I can’t see it.”

  “So now what?” Jack said. “We run to tell Flynn this?”

  “Why?” Kate asked. “Sylvia didn’t kill Janet. He’s interested in that murder, not an old kidnapping.”

  Sara said, “Maybe the real kidnapper is...”

  “Still killing?” Jack said. “Protecting his or her reputation at all costs?”

  Sara pushed her plate away. “I’m going to bed and reading more of Sylvia’s books. I’m about to start number three. I really don’t believe she’s capable of stealing a child. My impression of her is that if she saw an unguarded infant in a stroller she’d protect the baby.”

  “Think people’s good memories of Sylvia will stop this guy Everett from writing about her?”

  “No,” Kate and Sara said in unison.

  Sara grimaced. “It won’t take long for him to hear about Janet’s friendship with Sylvia. That she committed suicide will make him sure he’s found the guilty one, and Sylvia Alden will be declared a kidnapper. People will say that she was right to kill herself. That story will—” She broke off, not seeming able to say more. She stood up. “Good night.”

  After she left, Jack and Kate cleaned up, and said little. Kate went to bed, tried to read, but couldn’t. She spent a restless night and awoke the next morning feeling groggy.

  When she went to the kitchen, Jack and Sara were there. He was looking over a set of blueprints. Sara’s eyes were red and she looked like she hadn’t slept.

  Kate mumbled good morning, then sat down to her bowl of cereal.

  Jack pushed his p