The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [130]
“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?”