“Left the security of her home,” Maxwell amended. “Think about it, Detective. This thirty-year-old man appears out of nowhere, sweeps my vulnerable young daughter off her feet, and carries her away without so much as asking my permission.”
“You’re mad he didn’t ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
“Where we live, these things matter, Detective. It’s protocol. More than that… it’s good manners.”
“You ever meet Jason?”
“Once. I was still awake when my daughter came home one night. I came out when I heard the vehicle in the drive. Jason got out of the car and walked her up the steps.”
“Doesn’t sound like such bad manners to me.”
“He was gripping her arm, Detective, tightly, right above the elbow. It struck me at the time, the way he was touching her. Possessive. Like she belonged to him.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked him if he was aware of the fact that my daughter was only eighteen.”
“Was he?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Good evening, sir.’ Never answered my question. Never even acknowledged it. He walked right past me, escorted my daughter to the front door, then walked calmly back down the steps and got in his car. Last moment, he nodded once, said, ‘Night, sir,’ and that was that. Arrogant son of a bitch drove off like he had every right to be parading around town with a high school girl.” Maxwell shifted in his seat. “And I’ll tell you something else, Detective. Back then, when Jason spoke, he sounded just as much like a good old boy as I do. Maybe he’s gone Yankee now, but he used to be Southern, no doubt in my mind. You want to have some fun with him, take him out for some grits. Bet you he butters ’em up with the best of them.”
On the other side of the glass, D.D. made a mental note. Jason Johnson, perhaps born in Georgia or a neighboring state. Interesting. Because now that the good judge mentioned it, she’d caught an inflection in Jason’s voice from time to time. He always checked it, flattening his tone. But something lingered in the background. Apparently, their prime suspect could drawl.
“Wasn’t but two weeks later Sandy disappeared,” the judge was saying now. “Found her bed neatly made and half of her closet cleaned out. That was it, she was gone.”
“She leave you a note?”
“Nothing,” the judge stated emphatically, but he didn’t look at Miller when he said this. Maxwell’s first obvious lie.
“Now, you tell me, sir,” the judge moved on quickly, “what kind of man spirits a young girl away to a completely new life under a completely new name? Who’d do such a thing? Why would he do that kind of thing?”
Miller shrugged. “You tell me. Why do you think Jason Johnson became Jason Jones?”
“To isolate my daughter!” Maxwell said immediately. “To cut her off from her home, her town, her family. To make sure there’d be no one Sandy could call for help, once he started doing what he really wanted to do.”
“And what did Jason really want to do?”
“As you so eloquently put it, Detective, what possible reason would one man have to ‘clean up’ another man’s mess? Unless he wanted the baby. Or rather, access to a child whose mother was too young, too overwhelmed, too troubled to attempt to protect it. I’ve served on the bench over twenty years, long enough to have seen this sorry story more times than I can count. Jason Johnson is nothing but a pervert. He targeted my daughter. No doubt, he’s already grooming little Clarissa for what’s gonna happen next. He just needed to get Sandy out of the way once and for all.”
Holy crap, D.D. thought. She leaned closer to the glass. Was the good judge saying what she thought he was saying?
“Jason Jones is a pedophile?” Miller asked for the record.
“Absolutely. You know the profile as well as I do, Detective. The exhausted young wife, with a history of depression, sexual activity, drinking, drug abuse. Isolated by the older, dominant male, who slowly but surely makes her more and more dependent upon him. Jason and little Clarissa are alone together every single afternoon. That doesn’t raise any hairs on the back of your neck?”
Miller appeared to be considering the matter, without commenting. D.D., in the meantime, felt like half a dozen lightbulbs were exploding inside her head. The profile the judge gave was dead-on. And it would fill in a lot of pieces of the puzzle-Jason’s affinity for aliases, the tight rein on his daughter and wife’s social circle, his clear panic that Sandy had started digging into the family computer.
D.D. needed to get Jason’s picture faxed over to the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children immediately. They would run it through their database of images culled from various exploitive images recovered from the Internet and other sex abuse cases. If they found a match, she’d have her grounds for an arrest, let alone for a fresh interview of Clarissa Jones. Suddenly, they were getting somewhere.
Except then she felt uneasy again. She remembered the way Ree had flung herself into her father’s arms following her interview, the naked tenderness on his face. At that moment, D.D. had believed their love was genuine, but maybe it was only because Ree hadn’t given their secret away?
Sometimes, this job sucked a little, and sometimes, this job sucked a lot.
Miller was still grilling the honorable Maxwell Black. “You think your daughter is dead?”
Maxwell gave the detective a pitying glance. “Have they ever found one of these women alive? Please, Jason Jones murdered my daughter; there is no doubt in my mind. Now I want justice.”
“That why you’re moving for visitation rights with your granddaughter?”
“Absolutely! I’ve been doing the same asking around you’ve been doing, Detective, and the picture I get is not pretty. My granddaughter has no close friends, no extended family, no other primary care-giver. Chances are, her father has murdered her mother. If there was ever a time when a little girl needs her grandfather, this is it.”
“You gonna push for custody?”
“I’m willing to fight.”
“Jason Jones tells us Sandy wouldn’t approve.”
“Please, Detective… Jason Jones is a liar. Look up Jason Johnson. At least know who you are dealing with.”
“You rent a car, Judge Black?”
“Excuse me?”
“From the airport. Did you rent a car, or maybe use a car service?”
“I, uh, rented a car, of course. I figured I’d need to move about the city.”
“I’m gonna need the name of the rental agency. What time you picked the car up, when it’s due to be returned.”
“Fine, fine, fine. Why are you pestering me so? I’m not the suspect here. Jason Johnson is.”
“Jason Jones, aka Jason Johnson. Got it. So why haven’t you been out looking for your daughter?”
“I already told you: The only way we’ll ever find Sandy is to expose her husband.”
“Sad to lose your daughter and your wife, both so young.”
“I’m focusing on my granddaughter. I can’t pity myself for my own tragedies. My grandbaby’s all who matters now.”
“And obliterating Jason Jones.”
“He took my daughter from me.”
“Did it surprise you to find out that your daughter was doing well up here? Devoted mom, respected teacher, good neighbor. We certainly haven’t found any stories involving depression, alcohol abuse, or general self-destructiveness. Maybe, since the birth of her daughter, Sandra finally pulled it all together.”
Maxwell merely smiled. “Obviously, Detective, you don’t know my Sandy at all.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Do you remember the moment you first fell in love? The way your body would tremble if you stood too close? Or how you would have to stare at a spot just beyond his shoulder, because if you actually looked him in the eyes, his beautiful, green-flecked hazel eyes, you would blush foolishly?