The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [49]
“Nine A.M. press conference, you say?” Clemente glanced at his watch, stood from the table. “Better get cracking.”
He tapped the file one last time, like a judge adjourning the trial. Then, he was out the door, while D.D. and Miller, finally officially empowered to assemble a taskforce and pressure a suspect, scrambled to get to work.
The phone rang shortly after 8 A.M. Jason turned his head slightly, eyed it ringing across the room on the little table by the window. He should get up, answer it. He couldn’t find the energy to move.
Ree sat on the carpet in front of him, half-eaten bowl of Cheerios sitting in front of her, her eyes glued to the TV. She was watching Dragon Tales, which had followed Clifford the Big Red Dog, which had followed Curious George. She had never been allowed to watch as much TV as she had watched in the past twenty-four hours. Last night, the promise of a movie had excited her. This morning, she simply appeared as glassy-eyed as he.
She had not come skipping down the hall at six-thirty A.M. to pounce on top of his prone form and shriek with four-year-old glee, “Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up! Daaaaa-dddeeeee. Wake. Up!”
Instead, he had appeared in her room at seven, to find her lying wide-eyed in bed, staring up at her ceiling as if memorizing the pattern of birds and butterflies floating across the painted eaves. He had opened her blinds to another chilly March day. Got out her fleecy pink bathrobe.
She climbed out of bed without a word, took the bathrobe, found her slippers, and followed him downstairs. The cereal sounded uncommonly loud pouring from the box. The milk made a positive racket, sloshing into the daisy-patterned bowl. He hadn’t been sure they’d be able to survive the sound of the silverware, but somehow, they had made it through.
She had carried her bowl into the family room and snapped on the TV without even asking. As if she’d known he wouldn’t deny her this. And he hadn’t. He couldn’t find the heart to say, Sit at the counter, young lady. TV will rot your brain, child. Come on, let’s have a real meal.
Somehow, brain rot seemed a minor inconvenience compared to what they were facing this morning—the second day without Sandra. The second day without Ree’s mom, and his wife, a woman who thirty-six hours ago had intentionally purged her own Internet account. A woman who had possibly left them.
Phone rang again. This time, Ree turned to stare at him. Her gaze was slightly accusing. Like, as the adult, he should know better.
So he finally slung himself off the sofa and crossed to the phone.
It was Sergeant Warren, of course. “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”
“Not really,” he replied.
“I trust you had a productive night at work.”
“Did what I had to do.” He shrugged.
“How is your daughter this morning?”
“Have you found my wife, Sergeant?”
“Well, no—”
“Then let’s cut to the chase.”
He heard her take a deep breath. “Well, as it has been more than twenty-four hours, you should know that your wife’s status has been upgraded to an official missing person.”
“How lucky for her,” he murmured.
“In a way, it is. Now we can open an active case file, and bring more resources to bear. Including which, we will be holding a press conference at nine A.M. to announce your wife’s disappearance.”
He stiffened. Felt her words hit him between the eyes, a sharp, stinging blow. He opened his mouth to protest, then caught himself. He clutched the bridge of his nose and pretended the stinging in his eyes was something other than tears. “All right,” he said quietly. He needed to start making phone calls, he realized. Get a lawyer. Start planning for Ree. He tucked the cordless phone more tightly between his shoulder and ear and headed into the kitchen, away from his child’s acute hearing.
He opened the refrigerator door, found himself staring at Sandra’s precious Dr Pepper, and closed the door again.
“Of course,” Sergeant Warren was saying, “it would be excellent if you were available to make your own appeal to the public. Personalize the case and