Ree frowned at her. “Nighttime is Mommy and me time. We have ladies’ night.”
D.D. made a note.
“So what did you do for ladies’ night?” Marianne asked.
“Puzzles. I like puzzles.”
“What kind of puzzles?”
“Um, we did the butterfly puzzle, then the princess puzzle that takes up the
“Do you like music, Ree?”
The girl blinked. “I like music.”
“Did you and your mommy listen to music while doing the puzzles, or maybe have the TV on, or the radio on, or something else?”
Ree shook her head. “I like to rock out to Tom Petty,” she said matter-of-factly “but puzzles are quiet time.” She made a face, perhaps like her mother, embarking on a lecture with one wagging finger: “ ‘Children need quiet time. That’s what makes brains grow!’”
“I see.” Marianne sounded suitably impressed. “So you and your mother had quiet time with puzzles. Then what did you do?”
“Dinner.”
“Dinner? Oh, I like dinner. What is your favorite dinner?”
“Mac-n-cheese. And gummy worms. I love gummy worms, but you can’t have them for dinner, just for dessert.”
“True,” Marianne said sympathetically. “My mother never let me eat gummy worms for dinner. What did you and your mommy eat for dinner?”
“Mac-n-cheese,” Ree supplied without hesitation, “with little bits of turkey dog and some apples. I don’t really like turkey dogs, but Mommy says I need protein to grow muscle, so if I want mac-n-cheese, I have to eat turkey dogs.” The girl sounded mournful.
D.D. jotted down the menu, impressed not only by Ree’s level of detail, but the consistency with her first statement given Thursday morning. A consistent witness always made a detective happy. And the level of detail meant they could corroborate Ree’s account of the first half of the evening, making it harder for a jury to discount what the child might say about events in the second half of the night. All in all, four-year-old Clarissa Jones was a better witness than eighty percent of the adults D.D. encountered.
“What did you do after dinner?” Marianne asked.
“Bath time!” Ree sang.
“Bath time?”
“Yep. Me and Mommy shower together. Do you need to know who was in the shower?” Ree apparently recognized the pattern by now.
“Okay.”
“Well, not Mr. Smith, ‘cause he hates water, and not Lil’ Bunny, because she takes a bath in the washing machine. But Princess Duckie and Mariposa Barbie and Island Princess Barbie all needed baths, so they came in with us. Mommy says I can only wash three things, otherwise I use up all the hot water.”
“I see. What did your mommy do?”
“She washes her hair, then she washes my hair, then she yells at me I’m using too much soap.”
Marianne blinked her eyes again.
“I like bubbles,” Ree explained. “But Mommy says soap costs money and I use too much, so she puts soap in this little cup for me, but it’s never enough. Barbies have a lot of hair.”
“Ree, if I tell you I have blue hair, is that the truth or is that a lie?”
Ree grinned, recognizing the game again. She held up her first finger. “That’s a lie, and in the magic room, we only tell the truth.”
“Very good, Ree. Excellent. So you and your mommy are in the shower, and you have used a lot of soap. How do you feel in the shower, Ree?”
Ree frowned at Marianne, then something seemed to click. She held up four fingers. “I don’t understand,” she said proudly.
Marianne smiled. “Excellent again. I will try to explain. When you and your mommy shower… do you like it or do you not like it? How do you feel?”
“I like showers,” Ree said earnestly. “I just don’t like having my hair washed.”
D.D. could sense Marianne’s hesitation again. On the one hand, a mother and her four-year-old girl showering together was hardly inappropriate. On the other hand, Marianne Jackson wouldn’t have a job if all parents were appropriate. Something had gone wrong in this family. Their job was to help Ree find a way to tell them what.
“Why don’t you like your hair being washed?” Marianne asked.
“’Cause my hair snarls. My hair’s not really short, you know. Nope, when it’s wet, it goes halfway down my back! It takes forever for Mommy to get all the shampoo out, and then she has to condition it or it gets all snarly and I don’t much like my hair at all. I wish I had straight hair like my best friend, Mimi.” Ree sighed heavily.
Marianne smiled, moved on. “So what did you do after your shower?”
“We got dry,” the girl reported, “then we go to the Big Bed, where Mommy wants me to talk about my day, but mostly I tickle her.”
“Where is the Big Bed?”
“Mommy and Daddy’s room. That’s where we go after bath time. And Mr. Smith hops up, but I like to wrestle and he does not like that.”
“You like to wrestle?”
“Yeah,” Ree said proudly. “I’m strong! I rolled Mommy onto the floor and that made me laugh.” She held up her arms, apparently in imitation of flexing. “It made Mommy laugh, too. I like my mommy’s laugh.” Her voice trailed off wistfully. “Do you think my mommy’s mad because I pushed her off the bed? She didn’t sound mad, but maybe… Once, at school, Olivia tore the picture I drew and I told her it was okay, but it wasn’t really okay and I got madder and madder and madder. I was mad all day! Do you think that’s what happened? Did my mommy get mad all day?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Marianne said honestly. “After you and your mommy wrestled, then what happened?”
The girl shrugged. She looked tired now, wrung out. D.D. glanced at her watch. The interview had been going on for forty-four minutes, well beyond their twenty-minute target time.
“Bedtime,” Ree mumbled. “We got on PJs-”
“What did you wear, Ree?”
“My green Ariel nightgown.”
“And your mother?”
“She wears a purple shirt. It’s very long, almost to her knees.”
D.D. made a note, another detail that could be corroborated, given the presence of the purple nightshirt in the washing machine.
“So after pajamas?”
“Brush teeth, go potty, climb into bed. Two stories. A song. Mommy sang ‘Puff the Magic Dragon.’ I’m tired,” the girl declared abruptly, a trace petulant. “I want to be done now. Are we done?”
“We’re almost done, honey. You’ve been doing a really good job. Just a few more questions, okay, and then you can ask me anything you want. Would you like that? To ask me a question?”
Ree regarded Marianne for a bit. Then, with a sudden, impatient exhalation, she nodded. The girl had the stuffed bunny on her lap again. She was rubbing both ears.
“After your mother tucked you in, what did she do?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did she turn out the light, close the door, something else? How do you sleep at night, Ree? Can you describe your room for me?”
“I have a nightlight,” the girl said softly. “I’m not five yet. I think when you are four, you can have a nightlight. Maybe, when I ride the school bus… But I’m not on the school bus yet, so I have a nightlight. But the door is closed.
