Lisa Gardner - The Neighbor

“I am not your son.”

“All right, Jason Jones .”

Jason caught the edge again, the implied threat. He fisted his hand at his side, refusing to say another word.

“You don’t like me much, do you, Jason?”

Again Jason didn’t answer. The judge, however, seemed to be talking mostly to himself. “What I can’t understand is, why? We’ve never really spoken. You wanted my daughter, you got her. You wanted to get out of Georgia, you took my daughter and left. Seems to me, I have plenty of reason to be sore with you. Why, a father’s list of grievances against the boy who runs away with his only daughter… But what have I ever done to you, son? What have I ever done to you?”

“You failed your daughter,” Jason heard himself say. “She needed you, and you failed her.”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your wife! I’m talking about your crazed, boozed-up wife who beat Sandy each and every day while you did nothing to stop it. What kind of father abandons his child like that? What kind of father lets her be tortured on a daily basis and does nothing to stop it?”

There was a pause. “My wife beat Sandy? That’s what Sandy told you?”

Jason didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched out. This time, he broke first: “Yes.”

“Now, see here.” The judge sounded offended. “Sandy’s mom was hardly a perfect parent. It’s true she probably drank more than she should. I worked so many hours back in those days, leaving Missy alone with Sandra much too often. I’m sure that tried Missy’s nerves, made her maybe more short-tempered than a mother should be. But beating… tormenting… I think that’s a trifle melodramatic. I do.”

“Your wife never harmed Sandy?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child. I saw her whack Sandy’s behind a time or two, but no more than any exasperated parent.”

“Missy never drank to excess?”

“Well, it’s true she had a weakness for gin. Maybe a couple of nights a week… But Missy wasn’t a violent drunk. If she had a few too many, then she carried herself off to bed. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly, let alone our daughter.”

“What about chasing you around the house with knives?”

“Excuse me?” The judge sounded shocked.

“She hurt Sandy. Slammed her fingers into doorframes, forced her to drink bleach, fed her household objects just so she could take Sandy to the hospital. Your wife was a very, very sick woman.”

The silence lasted longer this time. When the judge finally spoke, he sounded genuinely flummoxed. “This is what Sandy told you? This is what Sandra said about her own mother? Well then, no wonder you have been so curt with me. I take it back, I do. I can see your position entirely. Of all the crazy… Well. Well.” The judge didn’t seem to know what else to say.

Jason found himself shifting from foot to foot, no longer feeling so certain about things. The first trickle of unease crept up his spine.

“Am I allowed to speak in my defense?” the judge asked.

“I suppose.”

“One, I swear to you, son, this is the first I have heard of such dreadful acts. It is possible, I suppose, that things transpired between Sandy and my poor wife that I never knew of. To be truthful, however, I don’t believe that to be the case. I love my daughter, Jason. I always have. But I’m also one of the few men out there that can say I truly, completely head-over-heels loved my wife. Saw Missy the first time when I was nineteen years old, and knew at that moment I’d marry her, make her my own. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful-though she was. And not because she was kind and well mannered-though she was. But she was Missy, and I loved her for that alone.

“Maybe you think I’m going on. This has nothing to do with anything. But by the time Sandy was twelve, I fear it had everything to do with everything. See, Sandy grew jealous. Of my deference to Missy, or maybe the flowers I brought home for no good reason, or the pretty baubles I liked to bestow on my lovely bride. Girls get to a certain age, and they start, consciously or unconsciously, competing with their mamas. I think Sandy thought she couldn’t win. It started to make her angry, hostile to her own mother.

“Except then her mama died, before Sandy and her had a chance to work things out. Sandy took it hard. My sweet little girl… She changed overnight. Developed a wild streak, started to run around. She wanted to do what she wanted to do and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She had an abortion, Jason. You know that? Ree wasn’t her first pregnancy, maybe not even her second. Bet she never told you that, did she? I’m not even supposed to know, except the clinic recognized her name and called me. I gave my permission. What else could I do? She was still just a child herself-she was far too young and unstable to be a mother. I prayed, Jason, I prayed for my girl like you wouldn’t believe, right up until the moment you took her out of my life.”

The judge sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I had always hoped Sandy would grow out of her recklessness. And talking to that principal this morning, I thought maybe she’d finally grown up, shown some maturity. But now, to hear what you are saying… I think my daughter may have some serious issues, Jason. First she ran away from me. Now maybe it’s time to recognize that she’s run away from you, too.”

Jason opened his mouth to object, but the words wouldn’t come out. Uncertainty took root in his gut. What did he really know of Sandy or her family? He’d always accepted what she said at face value. What reason would she have to lie to him?

Then again, what reason did he have to lie to her? About four million and one.

“Perhaps it’s time to meet,” Maxwell was saying now. “We can sit down, man to man, sort this all out. I have no ill will toward you, son. I just want what’s best for my daughter and grandbaby.”

“How did Missy die?” Jason asked abruptly.

“Excuse me?”

“Your wife. How did she die?”

“Heart attack,” the judge replied promptly. “Dropped dead. Terrible tragedy in a woman so young. We were shattered.”

Jason held the phone tighter. “Where did she die?”

“Ummm, at home. Why do you ask?”

“Was it in the garage? Behind the wheel of her car?”

“Why yes, now that you mention it. I suppose Sandy told you that, too.”

“But it was a heart attack? You’re certain it was a heart attack?”

“Absolutely. Terrible, terrible time. I don’t think my little Sandy ever quite got over it.”

“I read the autopsy report,” Jason persisted. “My memory is that Mrs. Black was found with a cherry red face. That’s a clear indicator of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line; it went on for thirty seconds, perhaps even a minute. Jason felt his stomach settle, his shoulders square. Sandy had been right-her father was a very, very good liar.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Jones,” Max said at last. He didn’t sound so congenial anymore. More like pissed off. A wealthy, powerful man who wasn’t getting his way.

“Really? Because I’d think in this day and age of computerized records, you’d understand that all information is eventually accessible, especially for a guy who knows where to look.”

“Cuts both ways, Jason. You dig around looking at me, I dig around looking at you.”

“Knock yourself out. When’d you arrive in town?”

“What day did you first meet my daughter?” Max countered evenly.

“Rent a car, or use a car service?”

“Gonna volunteer a DNA sample for the paternity test, or wait for family court to order it?”