Free Where Are the Children? by Mary Higgins Clark

Maybe her very indifference at her trial had been acceptance of guilt, even though she couldn't publicly bring herself to admit such a heinous crime. He'd seen that kind of thing happen too.
    The doorbell rang. Jonathan got up from his chair, surprised. Few people visited unannounced at the Cape, and any door-to-door selling was absolutely forbidden.
    As he walked to the door, Jonathan realized how stiff he'd become from sitting. To his amazement, his visitor was a policeman, a young man whose face he only vaguely recognized from seeing him in a squad car. Selling some kind of tickets was Jonathan's immediate thought, but he discarded that idea at once. The young officer accepted his invitation to step inside. There was something crisply efficient and serious about his demeanour. 'Sir, I'm sorry to bother you but we're investigating the disappearance of the Eldredge children.'
    Then, while Jonathan stared at him, he pulled out a notebook. His eyes darting around the orderly house, he began his questions. 'You live alone here, sir, do you not?'
    Without answering, Jonathan reached past him and opened the massive front door. At last he became aware of the presence of unfamiliar cars driving down the road towards the lake and the sight of grim-faced men in heavy rain gear swarming through the neighbourhood.
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
    'Just sip this, Nancy. Your hands are so cold. It will help you. You need your strength.' Dorothy's voice was cajoling. Nancy shook her head. Dorothy set the cup on the table, hoping the aroma of the fresh vegetables, bubbling in a spicy base of tomato soup, might tempt her.
    'I made that yesterday,' Nancy said tonelessly, 'for the children's lunch. The children must be hungry.'
    Ray was sitting next to her, his arm slung protectively across the back of her chair, an ashtray filled high with ground-out cigarettes in front of him.
    'Don't torture yourself, dear,' he said quietly.
    Outside, over the rattling of the shutters and window-panes, they could hear the staccato sound of helicopters flying low.
    Ray answered the question he saw on Nancy's face. 'They've got three helicopters scanning the area. They'll spot the kids if they just wandered away. They've got volunteers from every town on the Cape. There are two planes over the bay and sound. Everyone's helping.'
    'And there are divers in the lake,' Nancy said, 'looking for my children's bodies.' Her voice was a remote monotone.
    After giving the statement to the news media, Chief Coffin had gone back to the police station to make a series of phone calls. When they were completed he returned to the Eldredge house, coming in just in time to hear Nancy's words. His practised glance took in the staring quality of the eyes, the ominous stillness of her hands and body, the facile expression and voice. Approaching a state of shock again, and they'd be lucky if she was able to answer to her own name before long.
    He looked past her, his eyes seeking Bernie Miles, the policeman he'd left on duty in the house. Bernie was standing at the doorway of the kitchen poised to pick up the telephone if it rang. Bernie's sandy hair was plastered neatly over his bony skull. His prominent eyes, softened by short, blond lashes, moved horizontally. Accepting the signalled message, Chief Coffin looked again at the three people around the table. Ray got up, walked behind his wife's chair and put his hands on her shoulders.
    Twenty years disappeared for Jed Coffin. He remembered the night he'd gotten a call at the precinct house when he was a rookie cop in Boston that Delia's folks had been in an accident and it wasn't likely they'd make it.
    He'd gone home. She'd been sitting in the kitchen in her nightgown and robe, sipping a cup of her favourite instant hot chocolate, reading the paper. She'd turned, surprised to see him early but smiling, and before he said one word, he'd done just what Ray Eldredge was doing now - pressed his hands on her shoulders, holding her.
    Hell, wasn't