Lisa Gardner - The Neighbor

“Is she really pregnant?” Jason whispered. He didn’t mean to ask that. But he waited for the answer anyway, because he wanted to hear it again. Wanted to feel it again. It was an exquisite pain, like someone filleting his skin with a boning knife.

“You really didn’t know?”

“How long? I mean, she seemed a little under the weather. I thought she had the flu… She never said anything.”

D.D. seemed to be contemplating him. “Can’t tell how long from a pregnancy test, Jason. Though you can be sure we’ll be DNA testing it. I’m curious if you’re the actual father.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because for the first time, he was connecting another dot. “The computer expert-” he began.

D.D. looked at him.

“-did he come to the school?”

“That’s what he says.”

“During school hours?”

“Nah, Thursday night basketball games.”

And he could tell from the look in D.D.’s eye, she was thinking the very same thing-all along, he’d argued Sandra was too busy with Ree to have a lover. But Sandra had found a way to have a rendezvous after all. Thursday nights. Every Thursday night. His wife had gone to the school and met with another man.

“What’s his name?” Jason’s voice ticked up a notch. Another weakness he was helpless to call back.

D.D. shook her head.

Then, out of nowhere, his next random thought for the day “What kind of car does the computer expert drive? Is it state-issued?”

“Tell me your name, Jason Jones. Your real name.”

“Have you spoken with Aidan Brewster? Asked him what he saw Wednesday night? You need to talk to him about the car. Ask him for more details about the car.”

“Tell us what you were doing on the computer, Jason. Tell us what you’re so desperate to hide.”

“I’m not!” he insisted, feeling anxious now, feeling trapped and frantic. He was down to a matter of days, maybe even hours. They needed to listen, they needed to consider. His daughter was at stake. “Look, according to you, a state computer expert has been working with Sandra to examine the family hard drive. Obviously, he didn’t find anything, or you wouldn’t be here pestering me. Ergo, I don’t have anything to hide.”

“What happened to your secret life as an avatar?”

“It’s the state computer guy,” he tried again. “You need to look at the state computer guy. Maybe his relationship with Sandra was more than professional. Maybe he wanted her, and he’s the one who grew jealous when she wouldn’t leave Ree.”

“Don’t you mean when she wouldn’t leave you?”

“I didn’t harm my wife! I wouldn’t take Ree’s mother from her. But this state guy, what would he care? Or Sandra’s father, Maxwell Black. Did you know he just won an ex parte motion to have visitation with Ree? Basically, Max has come all the way up here not to assist with the search efforts for his own daughter, but to begin a custody battle for his granddaughter. He couldn’t do that if Sandra was around. He wouldn’t have grounds. But with Sandy missing, with me as the primary suspect… Don’t you think that’s pretty damn convenient for him? As in maybe too convenient to be purely coincidence?”

D.D. just stared at him. “This is your defense? The one-armed man did it? I thought you had your sights on the local pervert.”

“I’m not sure Sandra knew him.”

“I see. So her own father and the computer expert she enlisted to investigate your online activities make much more sense.”

“And don’t forget Ethan Hastings.” He knew he was digging a hole, but couldn’t seem to help himself. “Thirteen-year-old boys have done worse.”

“Oh really? So which is it, Jason? Aidan Brewster, Ethan Hastings, Wayne Reynolds, Maxwell Black? Or maybe the Tooth Fairy’s guilty.”

“Wayne Reynolds?” he repeated.

D.D. flushed, realizing too late that she’d given away the state computer technician. She clipped out, “You’re lying to us, Jason. You’re lying about your identity, you’re lying about your computer activities, you’re lying about your whole damn life. Then you turn around and claim to love your wife and only want her back. Well, if you really love the woman so badly, start leveling with us. Tell us what’s going on here, Jason. Tell us what the hell happened with your wife.”

Jason gave the only answer he could. “Honestly, Sergeant, I have no idea.”

It began with a single meeting at the basketball game. Ethan had an uncle who was a certified forensic computer examiner; Ethan brought him to the game to meet with me.

Wayne Reynolds was not what I expected. In my head, computer technicians looked more like Revenge of the Nerds and less like crime show TV stars. Wayne’s burnished red hair was slightly untidy, his tie askew. The rumpledness only added to his appeal, gave him a disheveled charm that made you want to smooth his collar, brush away the loose strands of hair from his forehead. He was tall and athletic while at the same time touchable. Highly touchable.

I spent the entire forty-five minutes of our first conversation with my hands fisted by my sides so I didn’t do anything that would embarrass me.

He talked about computers. How to copy hard drives. How to analyze unused data chunks for hidden content. The importance of using the proper forensic tool.

I watched his long legs eat up the school corridor. I wondered if beneath his tan slacks, his thighs and calves were as elegantly muscled as they appeared. Did he have light reddish hair all over his body, or only on the top of his head? Would it feel as silky as it looked ?

By the time we returned to the gym for the end of the basketball game, I was slightly out of breath and Ethan regarded me suspiciously. I kept my gaze away from his uncle. Ethan was a frighteningly perceptive boy, as I’d already learned the hard way.

Wayne left me with the name of a hard drive to purchase. I tucked it, along with his business card, in my purse, then took Ree home.

Later that night, after putting Ree to bed, I memorized Wayne’s e-mail address and phone number Then I ripped his business card into tiny little pieces and flushed them down the toilet I did the same with the hard-drive information. At this stage, I couldn’t afford to be careless.

Jason came home after two A.M. I heard his footsteps in the family room, the creak of the old wooden chair as he pulled it out from the kitchen table and took his customary seat at the family desktop.

I woke again at four A.M. , just as he was coming into the bedroom. He didn’t turn on any lights, but undressed in a corner of darkness. I wondered about my own husband this time. What ripples of lean muscle might lurk beneath the long pants and plain, button-down shirts he always wore? Did he have waves of thick black hair on his chest? Did it form a silky line down to his groin ?

After Brokeback Mountain, I used to pretend that Jason was gay, that’s why he wouldn’t touch me. It wasn’t me, I told myself He simply preferred men. But from time to time, I’d catch him watching me with a dark, hooded gleam in his eyes. Some part of him responded to me, I was certain of it Unfortunately, it was only enough to keep me, not enough to love me.

I closed my eyes as my husband crawled into bed. I feigned sleep.

Later, four-thirty, five A.M. , I rolled over and touched my husband’s shoulder I spread my fingers upon the warm T-shirt covering his back. I felt the muscles ripple at contact, and I thought he owed me at least that much.