The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [160]
Unfortunately the teenage whiz kid was proving a tough nut to crack.
“Are we done?” his father was asking now. “Because we’re here in good faith, and it seems to me that there’s nothing more my son can tell you. If you can’t find the computer you need for your investigation, that’s your problem, not ours.”
“Not if your son tampered with evidence—” D.D. started to growl.
Her superintendent held up a quieting hand. He looked at her, and she knew that expression. It was the investigative equivalent of “Time to piss or get off the pot.” She had no evidence to piss. Dammit.
“We’re done,” she announced in clipped tones. “Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch if we need anything more.”
Subtext being, it’ll be a cold day in hell….
The Hastings entourage exited, Ethan staring at her balefully as he walked out the door.
“He did something,” she muttered to her boss.
“Most likely. But he’s also still in love with his teacher. As long as he feels like he’s protecting poor Mrs. Sandra …”
“Who got his uncle killed.”
“Who was attacked by said uncle, at least according to what she says.”
D.D. sighed. They had seized Wayne’s computer, with the forensic techs recovering a fair number of e-mails between the state geek and the beautiful social studies teacher. No smoking gun, per se, but more e-mail volume than one would expect in a strictly platonic relationship. And true to Sandra’s assertion, all e-mails from her ceased five days before her disappearance, while Wayne’s computer showed dozens and dozens of IMs sent by him to her, trying to get her attention.
“I want to arrest someone,” D.D. muttered. “Preferably Jason Jones.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But a guy that cool and collected has skeletons buried somewhere.”
“You thought the same thing of Aidan Brewster,” her supervisor reminded her mildly, “and in the end, he had nothing to do with anything.”
D.D. expelled her breath. “I know. Just makes you wonder how the hell we’re supposed to know who the real monsters are anymore.”
My husband came home from the hospital today.
Ree prepared a huge banner for him. It took her three days to make it, covering the white butcher paper with pictures of rainbows and butterflies and three smiling stick figures. She’d even included an orange cat with six gigantic whiskers. Welcum Home Daddy! the banner read.
We hung it in the living room, above the green love seat, where Jason would get to recuperate for the next few weeks.
Ree positioned her sleeping bag next to the sofa. I set up my own nest of pillows and blankets. We camped out the first four days, a haggard little trio needing to wake up each morning and see one another’s faces. Day five, Ree declared she’d had enough of camping and returned to her bedroom.
Just like that, we moved on with our lives. Ree returned to preschool. I finished out the school year. Jason picked up several freelance gigs for various magazines, while his ribs finished knitting together and his in-sides healed.
The press had to get in its digs. I was cast as Boston’s very own Helen of Troy, a woman whose beauty led to great tragedy. I don’t agree. Helen started a war. I ended one.
The police continued to sniff around. The loss of our computer bothered them and I could tell from the look on the sergeant’s face that she didn’t consider the matter closed.
I got to take a polygraph where I told the absolute truth: I had no idea what had happened to our hard drive. The Boston Daily offices? Ethan’s possible involvement? It was a mystery to me. I hadn’t moved the computer and I certainly hadn’t coached Ethan in the matter.
I could tell that Jason expected to be arrested the moment he returned home. The doorbell would ring and he would tense on the love seat, steeling himself for what he thought would happen next. It took him weeks before he finally seemed to relax. Then I would catch him regarding me thoughtfully instead.
He didn’t ask the obvious questions. I didn’t volunteer the answers. Even with our newfound closeness, we are a couple who can appreciate