Jason Jones’s gaze finally flickered to her, resting upon her face, and in spite of herself, she nearly shivered.
His eyes were empty, like staring into pools of starless night. She had only seen such a gaze twice before. Once when interviewing a psychopath who’d resolved an unhappy business relationship by executing his partner and the man’s entire family with a crossbow. Secondly when interviewing a twenty-seven-year-old Portuguese woman who had been held as a sex slave for fifteen years by a wealthy couple in their elite Boston brownstone. The woman had died two years later. She’d walked into oncoming traffic on Storrow Drive. Never hesitated, witnesses said. Just stepped off the curb straight into the path of a Toyota Highlander.
“I want my cat,” Ree said. She had straightened on the sofa, pushing slightly away from her father. He didn’t try to pull her back.
“When did you last see Mr. Smith?” D.D. asked her.
“Last night. When I went to bed. Mr. Smith always sleeps with me. He likes my room best.”
D.D. smiled. “I like your room, too. All the flowers and the pretty butterflies. Did you help decorate it?”
“No. I can’t draw. My mommy and daddy did it. I’m four and three-quarters, you know.” Ree puffed out her chest. “I’m a big girl now, so I got a big girl’s room for my fourth birthday.”
“You’re four? No way, I would’ve said you’re five, six, easy. What have they been feeding you, ’cause you’re awfully tall for four.”
Ree giggled. Her father said nothing.
“I like macaroni and cheese. That’s my favorite food in the whole world. Mommy lets me eat it if I have turkey franks, too. Need protein, she says. If I have enough protein, I can have Oreos for dessert.”
“Is that what you ate last night?”
“I had mac-n-cheese and apples. No Oreos. Daddy didn’t have time to make it to the grocery store.”
She gave her father a look, and for the first time Jason Jones fired to life. He ruffled his daughter’s hair, while his gaze filled with a mixture of love and protectiveness. Then he turned away from her and, as if a switch had been thrown, resumed his dead man’s stare.
“Who fed you dinner last night, Ree?”
“Mommy feeds me dinner, Daddy feeds me lunch. I have PB and J for lunch, but no cookies. Can’t have cookies all the time.” Ree sounded faintly mournful.
“Does Mr. Smith like Oreos?”
Ree rolled her eyes. “Mr. Smith likes
“Did Mr. Smith help you eat dinner last night?”
“He tried to jump on the counter. Mommy told him to scat.”
“I see. And after dinner?”
“Bath time.”
“Mr. Smith takes a bath?” D.D. tried to sound incredulous.
Ree giggled again. “No, Mr. Smith is a cat. Cats don’t take baths. They
“Ooh. That makes much more sense. So who took a bath?”
“Mommy and me.”
“Does your mom hog all the hot water? Use up all the soap?”
“No. But she won’t let me have the soap. Once I poured the whole bottle into the tub. You should’ve seen the bubbles!”
“That must’ve been most impressive.”
“I like bubbles.”
“So do I. And after the bath?”
“Well, we took a shower.”
“My apologies. After your shower…”
“Went to bed. I get to pick two stories. I like Fancy Nancy and Pinkalicious books. I also get to pick a song. Mommy likes to sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,’ but I’m too old for that, so I made her sing ‘Puff the Magic Dragon.’”
“Your mother sang ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’?” D.D. didn’t have to fake her surprise this time.
“I like dragons,” Ree said.
“Umm, I see. And Mr. Smith, what did he think of this?”
“Mr. Smith doesn’t sing.”
“But does he like songs?”
Ree shrugged. “He likes stories. He always curls up with me during story time.”
“Then your mother turns out the light?”
“I get a nightlight. I know I’m four and three-quarters, but I like having a nightlight. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe when I’m five… or maybe thirty, then I won’t have a nightlight.”
“Okay, so you’re in bed. Mr. Smith is with you-”
“He sleeps at my feet.”
“Okay, he’s at your feet. Nightlight is glowing. Your mom turns off the light, closes the door, and then…”
Ree stared at her.
Jason Jones was staring at her now, too, his gaze faintly hostile.
“Anything happen in the middle of the night, Ree?” D.D. asked quietly.
Ree stared at her.
“Other noises. People talking. Your door opening? When did Mr. Smith leave you?”
Ree shook her head. She wasn’t looking at D.D. anymore. After another second, she curled back into her father’s side, her skinny arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Jason put both arms around her shoulders and regarded D.D. flatly.
“Done,” he said.
“Mr. Jones-”
“Done,” he repeated.
D.D. took a deep breath, counted to ten, and debated her options. “Perhaps there is a family member or neighbor who could watch Clarissa for a bit, Mr. Jones.”
“No.”
“No, there is no one who can watch her, or no, you won’t do it?”
“We look after our daughter, Detective…”
“Sergeant. Sergeant D.D. Warren.”
He didn’t blink at the mention of her title. “We look after our daughter, Sergeant Warren. No point in having a child if you’re simply going to let others raise her.”
“Mr. Jones, surely you understand that if we’re going to help find… Mr. Smith… we’re going to need more information, and more cooperation, from you.”
He didn’t say anything, just held his daughter close.
“We require the keys to your truck.”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Jones,” D.D. urged impatiently. “The sooner we establish where Mr. Smith
D.D. didn’t respond, simply continued to study Jason Jones.
“Mr. Smith is not in the cab of my pickup truck,” Jason said quietly.
“How do you know that?”
“Because he was already gone when I came home. And just to be safe, I checked the vehicle myself.”
“With all due respect, sir, that would be our job.”
“Mr. Smith is not in my truck,” Jason repeated quietly. “And until you get a search warrant, you’ll get to take my word for it.”
“There are judges who would grant us a warrant based on your lack of cooperation alone.”
