Lisa Gardner - The Neighbor

The judge bothered D.D. He was too sure of himself, too easygoing. His daughter was missing. He was at a major police station in an airless room. He should sweat a little. That’s what normal people did, even the innocent ones.

D.D. took her time sitting down, getting out a yellow legal pad, then setting up the mini-recorder in the middle of the table. Miller leaned back in his metal chair, arms folded over his chest. He looked bored. Always a nice strategy when dealing with a man who obviously liked attention as much as Judge Black did.

“So when did you get into town?” D.D. kept her voice neutral. Just making polite chitchat.

“Early yesterday afternoon. I always watch the news while taking my morning coffee. Imagine my surprise when I saw Sandy’s picture flash across the screen. I knew right then her husband had gone and done something horrible. I bolted out of my office and headed straight for the airport. Left my coffee sitting on my desk and everything.”

D.D. made a show of setting out her pens. “You mean that’s the same suit you were in yesterday?” she asked, because that didn’t jibe with what she remembered from the news clips.

“I grabbed a few items from my home,” the judge amended. “I already anticipated this would not be a short trip.”

“I see. So you saw your daughter’s image on the screen, then returned home to pack, maybe tidy up a few things-”

“I have a housekeeper who tends to all that, ma’am. I called her from the road, she put everything together for me, and here I am.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Ritz-Carlton, of course. I do so love their tea.”

D.D. blinked. Maybe she wasn’t Southern enough, because as criteria for picking a hotel, she’d never considered tea before. “What airline did you fly?”

“Delta.”

“Flight number? When did it land?”

Maxwell gave her a look, but provided the specifics. “Why do you ask?”

“Basic protocol,” she assured him. “Remember from that old TV show Dragnet: ‘Just the facts, ma’am’?”

He beamed at her. “I loved that show.”

“Well, there you go. Boston PD aims to please.”

“Are we gonna talk about my son-in-law now? Because I’m telling you, there are some things you ought to know-”

“All in good time,” D.D. assured him, polite, but remaining in control. Down the table from her, Miller started twirling his pen around his finger, drawing Maxwell’s attention.

“When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Sandra Jones?” D.D. asked.

Maxwell blinked at her, looking momentarily distracted. “Um, oh, years. Sandra wasn’t the kind to pick up the phone.”

“You didn’t call her in all that time?”

“Well, if you must know, we had a falling-out right before she left town. My daughter was only eighteen years old, much too young for hanging out with the likes of Jason, and I told her so.” Black sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, Sandy always was a headstrong girl. She ran out in the middle of the night. Eloped, I imagined. I’ve been waiting for a phone call or at least a postcard ever since.”

“You file a missing persons report after your daughter left?”

“No ma’am. I didn’t consider her missing. I knew she’d run off with that boy. That’s the kind of thing Sandy would do.”

“Really? She ran off before?”

Black flushed. “It is a parent’s job to know his child’s weaknesses,” he stated primly. “My daughter-well, Sandy took the death of her mother hard. Went through a rebellious spell, and all that. Drinking, staying out all night. Being… well, an active teenage girl.”

“You mean sexually active,” D.D. clarified.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How’d you know?”

“Child made no bones about it. Would come in at the crack of dawn reeking of cigarettes and booze and sex. I was a teenager once myself, Sergeant. I know what kids do.”

“How long did this go on?”

“Her mother died when she was fifteen.”

“How’d she die?”

“Heart attack,” Black said, then seemed to catch himself. He looked at her, then at Miller, who was still twirling his pen, then switched his attention back to D.D. again. “Actually, it was not a heart attack. That’s a story we’ve been telling for so long it seems to have become the truth in the way lies sometimes do. But you might as well know: My wife, Sandra’s mom, she committed suicide. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Sandra was the one who found the body in our garage.”

“Your wife killed herself at home?”

“In her own Cadillac.”

“Did your wife have a history of depression?”

That almost imperceptible hesitation again. “My wife probably drank more than what would be considered medicinal, Sergeant. I have a very demanding job, you understand. I guess the loneliness took its toll on her.”

“Your wife have a good relationship with Sandra?”

“My wife may not have been a perfect mother, but she tried hard.”

“And you?”

“As I said, I was probably gone more than I should have been, but I love my daughter, too.”

“So much so that you never once tried to find her in the past five years?”

“Oh, I tried. I definitely tried.”

“How so?”

“I hired a private investigator. One of the best in the county. Here’s the kicker, though. The man Sandra introduced to me as her future husband was Jason Johnson, not Jason Jones .”

D.D. excused herself to get a glass of water. While she was out, she swung by Detective Cooper’s desk and gave him the heads-up-start running background checks on Jason Johnson as well as Jason Jones.

Cooper just gave her a look. He was the best in the unit at this kind of stuff, and without at least a middle initial or any other additional detail, sorting through the reams of Jason Johnsons in the world wasn’t going to be any easier than sorting through the lists of Jason Jones.

“I know,” she assured him. “You love your job and each day is more satisfying than the last. Have fun.”

D.D. returned to the interrogation room, but rather than go inside, she opted to watch the show from the other side of the observation glass. Judge Black was entirely too comfortable with women. He would ooze Southern charm and spin easy tales until the cows came home. Given that, she thought it might be more productive to let Miller take a run at him.

So far, Miller had made no attempt to rouse himself from his slouch, and the detective’s continued disinterest was already starting to make Maxwell fidget. The judge played with his tie, smoothed his pocket kerchief, then took several sips of coffee. His hand shook lightly when he raised his cup. From this angle, D.D. could see the dark age spots on the back of his hand. But his face was relatively un-lined and attractive.

He was a nice-looking man. Wealthy, charming, powerful. It made her wonder why there wasn’t a second Mrs. Black yet.

“Did you know Sandra had gotten knocked up?” Miller asked suddenly. “Before she eloped?”

The judge blinked several times, seemed to belatedly fix his attention on the detective. “Excuse me?”

“Did Sandy tell you that this Jason Johnson or Jones or whomever had gotten her pregnant?”

“I… I knew she was pregnant.”

“That’d piss me off,” Miller said conversationally. “Some thirty-year-old guy impregnating my eighteen-year-old daughter. I’d be rip-shit if that were me.”

“I, um… well, as I said, you have to know your child. Sandra was on a reckless path. It was only a matter of time before she got pregnant-or worse. Besides, I don’t believe Jason is the one who got her pregnant.”

Miller stopped twirling his pen. “You don’t?”