“Life insurance policies?”
“Still inquiring.”
“Two million dollars in the bank,” D.D. mused. “Plus cash, plus prime Boston real estate… what are we talking about, nearly three-point-five million in assets? People have killed for less.”
“Figure the standard divorce would run the husband nearly two mil. That’s a lot of money for a starter marriage.”
“Speaking of which, what year were they married again?”
“Two thousand and four.”
“Which would make Sandra Jones, what, eighteen years old? And already pregnant?”
“Given that Clarissa was born two months later, yep.”
“And Jason Jones is, what, thirty, thirty-one?”
“That would be my guess. Still working on rounding up a birth certificate for him.”
“Let’s consider that for a second. You got a young, beautiful pregnant girl, an older-richer?-man…”
“Don’t know who had the money yet. Could’ve been Jason or Sandra.”
“Somehow, I’m willing to bet the money was his.”
“Somehow, I’m thinking you’re right.”
“So Jason snags himself a pregnant teenage bride. Has an ‘adorable’ little girl, and four/five years after that…”
“Is living a quiet life in South Boston, in a house reinforced tighter than Fort Knox, in a neighborhood where no one really knows him.”
D.D. and Miller both fell silent for a bit.
“You know what struck me most when we walked through the house?” D.D. said abruptly. “It was how… ‘just right’ everything felt. Not too dirty, not too clean. Not too cluttered, not too organized. Everything was absolutely, positively
“You think their life is manufactured?”
She shrugged. “I think real life is messy, and these guys aren’t messy enough.”
Miller hesitated. “We haven’t checked in with Jason’s employer yet…”
D.D. winced. Which would be the
“I’m thinking of having one of my gals call in. Claim she’s doing a background check for security clearance, something like that. Somehow, it’s less suspicious if you have a female make the call.”
“Good idea.”
“And we’ll follow up with the daughter’s preschool. See what the teachers and staff have to say. Don’t little girls travel in packs, have little friends, attend sleepovers? Seems to me there’s gotta be some parents somewhere who know more about the family.”
“Works for me.”
“Finally, I got a copy of the marriage certificate faxed over. Now that I have Sandra’s maiden name, I’ll start tracking down the father, get more info out of Georgia.”
“All right. I’m assuming there’s still no sign of Sandra nor activity on her credit card?”
“Nope. Local establishments haven’t seen her. Local hospitals and walk-in clinics have no unidentified women. Morgue has no unidentified females. Credit card was last used two days ago at the grocery store. ATM card has no hits. Closest thing we have to activity is half a dozen calls on her cell phone. One call from the husband at two- sixteen A.M.-probably when he figured out his wife’s phone was ringing right behind him on the kitchen counter. Then a couple of calls from the school principal this morning trying to track her down, as well as three other calls from students. That’s been it.”
“She received calls from her sixth grade students?”
“Placed from their own cell phones, of course. Welcome to the brave new world of grown-up twelve-year- olds.”
“I’m so glad I don’t even have a plant.”
Miller grunted. “I have three boys-seven, nine, and eleven. I plan on working overtime for the next ten years.”
She couldn’t blame him. “So you’ll track financials, cell phones, and grown-up twelve-year-olds. I’ll go to work on searching the truck and lining up a forensic interviewer.”
“Think he’ll let us talk to the daughter? We don’t have anything to threaten him with anymore.”
“I think if Sandra Jones hasn’t magically been found by tomorrow morning, he won’t have a choice.”
D.D. had just risen from her chair when her desk phone rang. She picked it up.
“Jason Jones is holding on line one,” the receptionist said.
D.D. sat back down. “Sergeant D.D. Warren,” she announced into the phone.
“I’m ready to talk,” Jason said.
“Excuse me?”
“My daughter is napping. I can talk now.”
“You mean you would like to meet with us? I’ll be happy to send two officers to pick you up.”
“By the time the officers get here, my daughter will be awake and I will no longer be available. If you want to ask me questions, it needs to be now, by phone. It’s the best I can do.”
D.D. highly doubted that. It wasn’t the best he could do, it was the most convenient. Again, the man’s wife had been missing for twelve hours, and this was his idea of cooperation?
“We have arranged for a specialist to interview Ree,” she said.
“No.”
“The woman is a trained professional, specializing in questioning children. She will handle the conversation delicately and with the least amount of stress on your daughter.”
“My daughter doesn’t know anything.”
“Then the conversation will be short.”
He didn’t answer right away. She could feel his turmoil in the long pause.
“Did your wife run off?” she asked abruptly, trying to keep him off balance. “Meet a new guy, head for the border?”
“She never would’ve left Ree.”
“Meaning she could’ve met a new guy.”
“I don’t know, Sergeant. I work most nights. I don’t really know what my wife does.”
“Doesn’t sound like a happy marriage.”
“Depends on your point of view. Are you married, Sergeant?”
“Why?”
“Because if you were, you’d understand that marriage is about phases. My wife and I are raising a small child while juggling two careers. This isn’t the honeymoon phase. This is work.”
D.D. grunted, let the silence drag out again. She thought it was interesting that he used the present tense,
“You having an affair, Jason? Because we’re asking enough questions at this point, it’s gonna come out.”
“I haven’t cheated on my wife.”
“But she cheated on you.”
“I have no evidence of that.”
“But you suspected it.”
“Sergeant, I could’ve caught her in bed with the man, and I still wouldn’t have killed her.”
“Not that kind of guy?”
“Not that kind of marriage.”
D.D.’s turn to blink. She turned this around in her head, still couldn’t sort it out. “What kind of marriage is
