“Just for a few minutes. Charlie’s not home. I’ll make us coffee.” Colette takes Nell’s arm, and they begin to walk faster.
“Who are those people?” Nell says as they approach Colette’s building a few blocks away. Alberto opens the door for them, and they prod their strollers into the elevator. Nell looks down at the flyer, still clutched in her hand. “What are they asking for?”
“Scarlet letters, I think.”
The apartment is quiet. Colette puts on the water to make coffee and cuts the lemon cake she made earlier this morning, after getting up with the baby at five. Nell sits on the couch, clutching Beatrice to her chest. “What is happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is bad. You can feel it. They’re going to blame her.”
“Yeah, I know.” Colette takes a seat at the kitchen island. Her head is throbbing. “I’m just surprised it’s taken this long.”
“It’s rubbish.” Nell’s breath comes out in a cascade. “All we did—all she did—was go out for an evening.”
“Nell, stop. We didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t even—”
“You’re watching this all, right? You can see where Patricia Faith is steering it? Her show yesterday, she kept playing that video of Winnie, the one from the day after Midas was taken, examining every gesture, asking why she hasn’t said a word since.”
“Yes,” Colette says. “We both have to stop watching this crap.”
“There’s no way Winnie could have—”
Colette presses her temples. “I don’t know.”
“No, don’t say that. She couldn’t have done something so evil. We know her.”
Colette looks at Nell, hesitant. “Do we? Do any of us really know each other?”
“At least enough to know if there was a psycho in our midst. I know how much everyone loves to blame the mother, but I refuse to believe she’s responsible for this.” She spreads the tears on her cheeks with both hands. “I read this awful article yesterday. It was all about Winnie and the so-called Medea complex, from Greek mythology. The daughter of a king, she avenged her husband’s betrayal by killing their children.”
“Stop reading this stuff, Nell. I’m serious. No good will come of it.”
“The things people wrote about Winnie in the comments. The collective outrage, saying she shouldn’t have left her baby with a stranger to go get drunk. That even if Midas is found, he should be taken away from her, that she’s not fit to be a mother.” Nell stifles a sob. “Don’t they know how hard this all is? The pressure of just keeping these babies alive. The task of loving someone like this, and how easy it is to fuck this up, the way we’re sure our mothers did.” Her voice breaks. “Some days I honestly think I’m going to fall apart. I’m so bloody tired. I know it happens, but can you even imagine? Hurting your own child?”
Colette peers down at Poppy, asleep in the stroller beside her.
“Why did I do it?” Nell says. “Deleting that app. And then I lost her key. I can’t—”
“Nell, stop. Don’t let these people get in your head. You didn’t do anything wrong. None of us did. Even if you did drop her key, it’s not like someone found it and said, ‘Here’s Winnie’s key. I guess I’ll use it to get inside her apartment and take her baby.’ Whatever happened, it was planned.”
Nell nods. “I keep telling myself that, but by whom? Why don’t they have any leads? Why haven’t her phone and key turned up?” She looks away. “I have to tell you something.”
The tone of Nell’s voice makes Colette uneasy. “Okay.”
“I drank too much.”
A quick laugh escapes Colette. “Nell. No shit.”
“I said that I had only—”
“Nell, I know. You weren’t the only one who drank too much that night. We were out. Away from the babies. It’s not a crime to—”
“It was weird,” Nell says. “I had a few drinks, but then, suddenly—well, there’s a huge chunk of the night I can’t remember. That’s not like me. Getting that drunk, forgetting things. That doesn’t usually happen.” She hesitates. “And my shirt was ripped, at my shoulder. I noticed it the next morning. I’m worried something happened that I can’t remember.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It’s a sense I have—someone around me, touching me. Maybe whoever has Midas was there that night, looking for her, and took her phone and key from me, and I don’t remember. But then I think, no. It can’t be. I would remember that, right? I don’t know what’s true anymore. I’m afraid I’m going crazy.” Nell glances at Colette. “And why was she looking at her phone all night, at Midas in his crib? Have you wondered about that?”
Colette nods. “It was like she was waiting for something.”
“I want this to be over with,” Nell says. “I want to be told that Winnie was somewhere that makes sense. To know that he’s alive.” She begins to cry harder. “If he’s dead, I’ll never—” She stops herself and takes a baby wipe from the container on the table and blows her nose, leaving a milky film that glistens on her skin. “I want to know she didn’t do this.”
“Yeah,” Colette says softly, glancing toward the couch in the living room. She stands up. “So do I.”
Nell slides a stool closer to the island, Beatrice draped over her shoulder. “How long have you had this?”
“Three days.”
“And you haven’t looked at it?”
“No.” Colette ties her hair back with the band from her wrist, and then inserts the flash drive in her computer. A folder appears, with several files listed. “I shouldn’t have taken it. I’ve convinced myself not to look, to just put it back the next time I see Teb.”
She clicks open the first file, and a video fills the screen. “Oh my god,” Nell says. “It’s me.” Nell is sitting on a couch next to a man Colette assumes is Sebastian. Her face is pale and her eyes are bloodshot. Colette hits play.
“You okay with us recording this?” The voice is Mark Hoyt’s. “It’s a new protocol at the department.”
“Sure. Can I get a glass of water before we start?”
“This is that first morning, when they came to my place.” Nell leans toward the screen. “God, am I really that fat?”
“Rough night?”
“Every night with a newborn is a rough night.”
“Can we please see what else is on here?” Nell asks. “I can’t look at myself.”
Colette closes the video and clicks open the second file. The video player opens again.
“It’s Scarlett,” Colette says. “They must have interviewed everybody.”
Stephen Schwartz appears from behind the camera and takes a seat across from Scarlett.
“I understand you didn’t go out last night.”
“No. My husband’s family is visiting. I can’t believe it. This is awful.” Her face is dark with worry. “I just can’t imagine. Do you have any idea what happened?”
“That’s why we’re asking questions of people who know Winnie. This man in your group.” Schwartz looks down at his notebook. “Token, I believe you call him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know him well?”
“No, not really. I attended the meetings a lot while I was pregnant, but we’re moving and I’m so busy now. To be honest, I always thought the nickname was childish.”
“Ugh,” Nell says. “Can we keep going?”
Colette closes the video and opens the third one on the list. “Yuko,” Colette says, quickly closing it and going to the next: Gemma sitting at a dining table. A man is standing behind her, holding their son. “I got there close to eight twenty, I think. I can look at my phone. I texted James when I arrived to check on the baby.”
Colette’s stomach sinks. Is her interview with Mark Hoyt on here? Does Teb already know she was there that night? She clicks on the final file in the list, bracing to see herself. She hears Nell’s gasp.
It’s Winnie. She’s at home, sitting in the corner of the sectional couch. Her hair hangs limp at her shoulders, and her eyes are swollen. She stares vacantly at the camera.
“Did you get any sleep?” It’s the voice of a woman this time.
“Some.”