The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [115]
Post office box. D.D. hadn’t thought of that. Either in Jones’s name or Sandy’s maiden name. She’d do some digging….
“Sandy ever mention the name ‘Aidan Brewster’?”
Wayne shook his head.
“And can you swear to me, as an investigator and law enforcement officer, that to the best of your knowledge, Sandra Jones was never alone with your nephew?”
“All Ethan ever talked about was meeting with Sandra in the computer lab during free period. Yeah, they were alone for a lot of those sessions, but we’re talking in the middle of the day, in the middle of a public school.”
“She ever talk to you about running away from her husband?”
“She would never leave her daughter.”
“Not even for you, Wayne?”
He shot her that look again, but D.D. didn’t withdraw her question. Wayne Reynolds was a handsome man, and Sandra Jones one very lonely young woman….
“I think Jason Jones killed her,” Wayne said flatly. “He came home Wednesday night, discovered her trying to copy the hard drive, and blew his top. He was up to something, his wife figured it out, so he killed her. I’ve been thinking that since the second I saw the press conference yesterday, so if you’re asking if I’m personally involved in this case, yeah, I’m personally invested in this case. I was trying to help a young, frightened mother, and in doing that, I may have gotten her murdered. I’m angry about that. Hell, I’m pissed off beyond belief.”
“Okay.” D.D. nodded. “You understand I’m going to need you to come in, give an official statement?”
“Absolutely.”
“This afternoon, three o’clock? BPD headquarters?”
“I’ll be there.”
D.D. nodded, started to break away, then one last question came to her. “Hey, Wayne, how many times did you and Sandy meet?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Eight, ten times maybe. Always at the basketball games.”
D.D. nodded. She thought that was a lot of times to meet, given that Sandra had never had a copy of the computer’s hard drive to share.
| CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN |
Jason woke up to a slow building hum, then a slash of bright lights across his eyes. He peered groggily at his watch, saw that it was five A.M., then peered at his backlit blinds with fresh confusion. Sun didn’t rise at five A.M. in March.
Then he got it. Klieg lights. From across the street. The news vans had returned and were powering up for their morning visuals, everyone filming a fresh report from the crime scene, aka his front yard.
He let his head fall back against the pillow, wondering if there was any breaking news he should know about from the past three hours when he’d actually slept. He should turn on the TV. Watch an update of his life. He’d always had an overdeveloped sense of irony. He waited for it to kick in, appreciate this moment. But mostly, he felt tired, stretched in too many directions as he sought to protect his daughter, find his wife, and keep out of prison.
Jason extended his arms and legs, taking inventory after last night’s pounding. He discovered that all four limbs appeared to be working, though some hurt more than others. He tucked his hands behind his head, peered up at the ceiling with his one working eye, and attempted to plan for the day ahead.
Max would return. Sandra’s father hadn’t come all the way to Massachusetts just to sit quietly in his hotel room. He would continue to demand access to Ree, threatening … legal action, exposure of Jason’s past? Jason wasn’t sure how much Max even knew of Jason’s previous life. It wasn’t like he and the old man had ever sat down. Jason had met Sandra in a bar, and she’d kept to that routine as much as possible. Only good girls take boys home to meet their fathers, she’d told him that first night, clearly wanting to establish that she wasn’t a good girl. Jason would take her back to his little rental, where he would cook her dinner and they would watch movies together, or maybe play board games. They