72

Kevin Wilson spent more than an hour in the exercise room of his apartment late Saturday morning. During that time he switched the remote from channel to channel, trying to see every possible news clip showing Zan leaving the courthouse. Her agonized protest, “I am not the woman in those photos,” cut through him like a knife.

Frowning, he watched as a psychiatrist compared the photos of Zan in Central Park after Matthew disappeared and the ones of her taking Matthew from the stroller and carrying him away. “There is no way that woman is not the mother kidnapping her own child,” the psychiatrist was saying. “Look at these photos. Who else would be able to find and change into the exact same dress in the space of a few hours?”

Kevin knew he had to see Zan today. She had told him she lived in Battery Park City, only fifteen minutes away. She had given him her cell phone number. Keeping his fingers crossed, he dialed it.

It rang five times, then her voice came on. “Hi, this is Zan Moreland. Please leave a number and I’ll get back to you.”

“Zan, this is Kevin. I hate to do this to you, but I’d really like to get together with you today. We’re getting the workmen started Monday on the apartments and there are a few things I need to go over with you.” Then he added, hastily, “No problems, just choices.”

He showered, then dressed in his favorite kind of clothes: jeans, a sport shirt, and a sweater. He wasn’t hungry, but he had some cereal and coffee. He sat at the small table that overlooked the Hudson while he read in the paper about the charges that had been placed against Zan. Kidnapping, interfering with parental custody, lying to the police.

She was ordered to surrender her passport and could not leave the country.

Kevin tried to imagine what it would be like to stand in front of a judge and have charges like that hurled at him. He had been a juror in a manslaughter trial once and had watched the frightened defendant, a twenty-year-old kid who’d been high on drugs when he rammed a car, killing two people, sentenced to twenty years in prison.

His story was that someone had slipped something into his soda. Kevin still wondered if that was possible, but the kid had a history of being arrested for pot.

I am not the woman in those photos. Why against all the odds do I believe her? Kevin asked himself. I know, I absolutely know, that she is telling the truth.

His cell phone rang. It was his mother. “Kev, did you see the newspaper about the Moreland arrest?”

You know I did, Mom, he thought.

“Kevin, are you going to hire that woman after all this?”

“Mom, I know it sounds crazy but I believe that Zan is a victim, not a kidnapper. Sometimes you just know something about someone else and that’s the way I feel.”

He waited, then Cate Wilson said, “Kevin, you’ve always had the biggest heart of anyone I know. But sometimes people aren’t deserving of it. Just think about that. Good-bye, dear.”

She had disconnected.

Kevin debated, then pushed Zan’s number again. He hung up when her voice started to direct him to leave a message. I’ll get back to you.

It was nearly 1:30. You’re not going to get back to me, he thought.

He got up, put a few dishes in the dishwasher, and decided to go for a walk. A walk that will take me to Battery Park City, he thought. I’m going to Zan’s apartment and knock on her door. If nothing else, I would guess that this job is more important to her than ever—her legal bills have to be piling up already.

He was reaching in the closet for his leather jacket when the phone rang again. It better not be Louise crowing about Zan’s arrest, he thought. If she is, I’ll fire her.

His “Hello” was close to a bark.

It was Zan. “Kevin, I’m sorry. I left my cell phone in my coat last night and the ringer was off. Do you want me to meet you at Carlton Place?”

“No, I’ve had enough of being on the job for a week. I’m just about to go out for a walk. You’re fifteen minutes away. May I come to your apartment and we can talk there?”

There was a moment of hesitancy, then Zan said, “Yes, of course, if that works better for you. I’ll be here.”