“That’s why I want to change the focus of our message. Instead of appealing directly to the abductor, we talk to those around her—friends, family, and neighbors. We give them reasons why they should ask questions. We help them see that whoever has Ben is misguided and has lost sight of what is right and wrong. And if they truly want to help this person, they should get in touch with us.”
“You think someone will turn her in,” says Jack.
“If we give them the right reasons.”
“Why haven’t they done it already?” I ask.
“They could be frightened or confused or unwilling to get involved. We can change that by taking a very soft tone and avoiding confrontation. We must help the public understand that whoever took Ben is not being viewed as a criminal who must be caught and punished. She is a victim. Something dreadful has happened that prompted her into making some terrible decisions. Perhaps she lost a baby or was denied one. She has suffered enormously, which is why we have to show her compassion and understanding. We must urge others to do the same and intervene on our behalf and hers.”
Jack grunts. “So it’s not enough that we’ve lost a child—she’s the one who deserves sympathy?”
“If we find her, we find Ben,” says MacAteer, who seems to be tiring of Jack’s petulance.
Cyrus continues. “Right now the media is controlling the message—finding new people to interview every day, reporting rumors instead of facts. They are setting the agenda—not us. We have to change that. From now on we speak with one voice and set clearly defined goals. And the first step is to have a single person associated with the message.”
“OK, I’m up for that,” says MacAteer.
“No, not you,” says Cyrus. “You’re a police officer. You represent the punitive side of this equation.”
“Who then?”
Cyrus looks at me.
“No, no, not me.” I’m shaking my head, not because I’m shy but because I’m scared. “What if I make a mistake? I could push her over the edge.”
“I’ve written you a script. All you have to do is read it out.”
“Why can’t Jack do it? He’s used to being on camera.”
“It’s more powerful coming from you.”
Jack touches my arm. “You can do this. I can help you.”
*
Flash guns strobe and shutters click and TV lights blast whiteness against my downcast face. It feels more like a show trial than a media conference. The TV cameras are arranged in a crescent shape around the front of a stage that has a long table and chairs. The press photographers are on either side, yelling our names, wanting us to turn this way and that.
I blink into the lights with watery eyes, lowering my head to make sure I don’t trip up the stairs. Jack is next to me, yet I have a strange hollow feeling that I’m alone, a sensation of missing someone who is right beside me. I want to reach out and take his hand, but something stops me.
MacAteer pulls out a chair. I tuck my dress under my thighs and sit upright, knees together, staring straight ahead while the flash guns create white dots behind my eyelids.
Once the noise has died down, it is my turn. I try to remember what Jack told me—to look directly into the cameras and forget how many people are watching. My first few words are shaky, but they grow more solid as I continue.
“This has been a very emotional nine days and we have been overwhelmed by the messages of support, the letters of sympathy, and the prayers that have been offered by so many people.” I pause, looking up from the page. “It seems as though Ben has been adopted by the whole country and belongs to all of us, which is enormously gratifying.
“Saying that, I am going to speak very personally today because I don’t think anyone can begin to imagine what Ben means to us. We are a strong family, but we’re not whole at the moment. We have a little boy and girl at home who haven’t met their brother yet. They’re heartbroken and we can’t explain to them what has happened. I can’t explain it to myself.
“I know that somebody out there must know where Ben is. Maybe you don’t realize, or you’re unsure, or you’re frightened. You might suspect someone you love, which is why it’s so hard to come forward. I understand loyalty and love. I know the strength of families.”
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I can feel the tears hovering at the edges of my eyelids. I steel myself, remembering Dr. Haven’s words: “The kidnapper might have stopped watching, but her friends and family will hear you.” I picture them now.
“If you do have suspicions, you are not helping anyone by remaining silent. Come forward. Call. Leave a message. At the very least, let us know that Ben is safe. That’s all I want—some sign that he’s OK.”
The last words get stuck in my throat and come out in a whisper. Jack puts his arm around me. I lean my head into his neck and dissolve into his embrace.
The reporters begin yelling questions. One shouts loudest.
“Why aren’t you DNA-testing every baby born around that time?”
MacAteer has taken the microphone.
“More than two thousand babies are born every day in Britain. We couldn’t force parents to give us DNA samples. And even if we could, the cost would run to millions of pounds.”
Someone else yells, “Have any of the alleged sightings been confirmed?”
“We continue to follow up hundreds of leads.”
Another hand goes up. “Why haven’t you released more of the CCTV footage from the hospital?”
“The footage is of such poor quality that we believe it could hamper the investigation by muddying the waters and making our task even harder.”
“How?”
“The only person likely to recognize the kidnapper from the footage is the kidnapper herself. Rather than help anyone identify her, the footage could make her fearful and agitated. We are not here to punish anyone. Whoever took Ben Shaughnessy needs help and support. We can offer that. We can get her treatment. We can provide counseling.”
AGATHA
* * *
“Turn the TV off,” I say.
Hayden looks at me, surprised. “Aren’t you interested?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It makes me too sad.”
It’s true, but I can’t explain it to Hayden. I know what it’s like to lose a baby. I have felt what Meg is feeling, but she has Jack and Lachlan and Lucy. She should be thinking about them.
Hayden mutes the sound and picks up the TV guide, flicking through the pages. “So who do you think took him?” he asks.
“Who?”
“Baby Ben.”
I shrug, wanting to change the subject.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought it was some rich person who wanted a baby, but now I think it’s probably some nutter.”
“What makes you think she’s a nutter?”
“Stands to reason,” he says. “You said it yourself—she likely couldn’t have her own kid, or lost a baby, and it sent her a bit gaga.”
“A lot of women lose babies.”
“You know what I mean.” He props his feet on the coffee table, which I hate. “They’re making out she needs help, but if someone took our Rory I’d want to kill her. I’d track her down, get him back, and do it with my bare hands.”
“You’d strangle her.”
“Yeah. I’m trained, you know—hand-to-hand combat.” He holds up his palms. “These are lethal weapons.”
“You’d kill a defenseless woman?”
“If she took our baby, yeah.”