The Detective D. D. Warren Series 5-Book Bundle

  He tried various positions with his lips, screwing up his features this way and that. Grieving husband, he reminded himself. Grieving husband.

  His mother was right—he could rearrange his entire face, and his eyes still gave him away. He looked like a man with a thousand-yard stare.

  He’d keep his head down, he decided. Bowed with grief. It was the best he could do.

  In the back, Ree finally yawned, stretching out her arms and legs. She looked at him, then looked at Mr. Smith, then at the scene outside her window.

  She recognized the building and perked up immediately. “Is Mommy here? Are we picking up Mommy?”

  He winced, choosing his words carefully. “Do you remember how the police sent out officers to help us find Mr. Smith?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, we’re going to do the same thing for Mommy. The police are sending officers to look for her, but also, our friends want to help. So we’re going to talk to Mommy’s friends and see if they can help us find her. Just like we did with Mr. Smith.”

  “Mr. Smith came home,” Ree said.

  “Exactly. And with any luck, Mommy will come home, too.”

  Ree nodded, seemed content. It was the first real discussion they’d had regarding Sandy’s disappearance, and it went about as well as he could expect. Of course, children cycled in and out of strong emotions. At the moment, Ree was still exhausted from the morning’s ordeal and eager to be pacified. Later, when the grief and rage returned …

  He got out of the car, unloaded Ree. They left Mr. Smith behind with the same Rabid Cat signs posted on the front and back windows. Jason didn’t trust middle school students any more than the gangs of Roxbury.

  They hit the front admin office, Jason with his head bowed, Ree clutching Lil’ Bunny.

  “Mr. Jones!” Adele, the school secretary, greeted them immediately. The rush of sympathy in her voice, the pitying look she bestowed upon Ree hit him in the solar plexus, and for a moment, he stood there, honestly stunned, blinking at the rush of moisture in his eyes. He didn’t have to pretend anything, because at that precise moment, for the first time, Sandy’s disappearance became real. She was gone, and he was the grieving husband, alone with his bewildered kid.

  His knees wobbled. He almost went down, in the middle of his wife’s school, looking at the linoleum she trod upon five days a week, the walls she gazed at five days a week, the front desk she passed by five days a week.

  No one had offered him any sympathy. Up until this point, it had all been about gamesmanship with the police, his own employer, the pervert down the street. Now, here was Adele, coming around the counter to give him a quick pat on the back while wrapping his daughter in a great big hug. And he decided at that moment, in his typical way, that he hated Adele the school secretary. Her sympathy burned. He’d take gamesmanship any day of the week.

  “I’m sure Phil would love to speak with you.” Adele was chattering away, referring to the school principal. “He’s in a meeting at the moment—why, the phone has been ringing off the hook since this morning’s announcement. We’ve hired a grief counselor, of course, and you know all of the staff wants to help. We’re having a special meeting at four to discuss organizing search efforts for tomorrow. Phil thought we could stage everything out of the gymnasium, get other locals coming in to assist—”

  Adele broke off abruptly, seeming to realize she might be saying too much in front of the child. She had the good grace to blush, then gave Ree another bolstering hug.

  “Would you like to wait?” the secretary asked him kindly. “I can get you some coffee or water. Maybe some crayons for Ree?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if I could swing by Mrs. Lizbet’s classroom first. Just for a minute, if you don’t mind …”

  “Of course, of course. Second period lunch break will be starting in about three minutes. I’m sure she’d be willing to take time for you.”

  Jason managed a quick smile of gratitude, then held out his hand for Ree. She went with him down the hall. Sure enough, a bell rang and the space began to fill with students, pouring out from various classrooms. The sudden commotion distracted Ree, saving him from all the questions he was sure she now had.

  They took a right turn down past a row of blue-painted lockers, then a left down a bright orange row. Elizabeth Reyes, aka Mrs. Lizbet, taught seventh grade social studies, her classroom at the very end of the hall. Early fifties, gracefully thin, with long silver-streaked hair generally wound into a thick knot, she was still erasing the chalkboard when he and Ree walked in.

  “Mrs. Lizbet!” Ree cried, and ran over immediately for a hug.

  Mrs. Lizbet returned the embrace, kneeling down so she and Ree would be at eye level. “Ree-Ree! How are you, sweetheart?”

  “Good,” Ree replied shyly, because even at the age of four, she already understood that was the only answer one gave in polite society.

  “Hey, who is this?”

  “Lil’ Bunny.”

  “Hi, Lil’ Bunny. Nice dress!”

  Ree giggled and leaned into Mrs. Lizbet again, wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist. It wasn’t like Ree to be so affectionate with other adults, and Jason could see in his daughter’s eyes her longing for her mother, for the familiar comfort of a female embrace. Mrs. Lizbet met his gaze above Ree’s head, and he tried not to flinch at her steady appraisal. She was granting him neutral status, it appeared, a step above the police’s immediate distrust, a step below Adele’s sympathetic rush.

  “Sweetheart,” Mrs. Lizbet said now, pulling back from Ree, “do you remember Jenna Hill, from the basketball team? Well, I happen to know this is Jenna’s lunch period, and she’s been dying for someone to practice with. What do you think? Can you shoot some hoops?”

  Ree’s eyes lit up. She nodded her head vigorously.

  Mrs. Lizbet held out her hand. “All right, come with me, child. I’ll take you to Jenna and you can practice together. Your father and I need just a minute, then we’ll join you there.”

  It was a gracious way of buying time for frank conversation, and Jason was impressed.

  His daughter followed Mrs. Lizbet toward the door, balking only at the last moment. He watched the emotions play out over her face. Her need to be with him, her only anchor in a rapidly disintegrating world, warring with her desire to play with Jenna, a bona fide basketball player, which ranked up there with rock star in a four-year-old’s universe.

  Then Ree squared her little shoulders and headed with Mrs. Lizbet down the hall. Jason was left alone in the classroom, already missing Ree ten times more than she could ever miss him, and wondering why he had to be so miswired that hatred fortified him, while love cut him to the bone.

  Elizabeth Reyes had served as Sandy’s instructor last year and her mentor this year. Over that time frame, Jason supposed that he had met her at least a dozen times. Him bringing Ree to join Sandy for the occasional lunch. Drop-offs or pickups after school. He would wave, Elizabeth would wave. So many meetings and yet he was certain she would agree that neither of them knew the other well.

  Upon returning to the classroom, she closed the door behind her. He watched her glance at the clock, then smooth her skirt nervously. The woman had survived twenty years teaching seventh-graders, however. She stiffened her spine and got on with it.

  “So,” she said briskly, moving to the front of the classroom, where he imagined she felt most comfortable. “Phil announced this morning that Sandy has been missing since Wednesday night. He said the police aren’t sure what happened. No one has any leads.”

  “I was covering a fire Wednesday night,” Jason supplied. “When I returned home around two, Ree was sleeping in her room, but the rest of the house was empty. Sandy’s purse and cell phone were in the kitchen. Her car was still in the driveway. But there was no sign of my wife.”

  “My God.” Elizabeth staggered back a step, then braced herself against the side of her desk, her hands trembling noticeably. “When Phil announced it th
is morning, it was hard to take seriously. I mean, Sandy, of all people. I figured it was some kind of mistake. A miscommunication, maybe even a fight between the two of you.” She eyed him boldly. “You’re a young couple. Sometimes young couples need time to cool off.”

  “She wouldn’t have left Ree,” he said simply.

  The woman sagged again. “No,” she murmured. “Quite right. She would never have left Ree.” She sighed again, seemed to pull herself together. “Phil arranged for grief counselors for the kids and staff. There are protocols for these kinds of things, you know. We held a small assembly, got the news out. Better for the kids to hear it from us than from the rumor mill.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just that Mrs. Jones was missing, that everyone was working really hard to find her, and if the kids had any questions, they should feel free to talk to their teachers. The police are doing everything in their power, and he hoped to have good news shortly, etc., etc.”

  “I understand they are organizing a search party for tomorrow, meeting in the gymnasium.”

  She gave him a look. “Are you going to help?”

  “I’m not sure the police would welcome my efforts. I’m the husband, you know, the default person of interest.”

  Elizabeth continued to regard him evenly, which he took as a hint.

  Grieving husband, grieving husband. He spread his hands, looked down at them.

  “I don’t know what happened,” he murmured. “I went to work as a husband and father, and I returned to a nightmare. Did someone abduct my wife? There is no sign of breaking and entering. Did she run off with some other guy? I can’t imagine her leaving Ree. Did she just need some time away to think? I hope and I pray, Elizabeth. I hope and I pray.”

  “Then I will do the same.”

  He took a shaky breath, into it now, needing to complete his mission. “We are a young couple,” he stated. “It’s not easy, juggling two jobs and a small child. I would understand if Sandy was unhappy. I could see that maybe she would be drawn to someone else.”

  Elizabeth didn’t say anything, merely continued to regard him coolly.

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said hastily. “If she needs time to breathe, hell, even if she’s found someone else … I can deal with that, Elizabeth. I will have to deal with that. I just want her back. If not for me, then at least for Ree.”

  “You think she met someone,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “And you think she told me about it.”

  He went with the helpless shrug. “Women talk.”

  “Not your wife,” she informed him sharply. “And not with me.”

  “Then with whom? Last I knew, you were her closest friend.”

  Elizabeth sighed again, breaking off eye contact to glance instead at the clock. He found himself clenching his stomach, as if steeling for a blow. She would only look away for one reason—because she had something to say.

  “Look, I respected Sandy a great deal,” Elizabeth began. “She’s an excellent teacher. Patient with the children, but also … steady. You don’t see a lot of that in young teachers these days. Especially the females. They bring their personal dramas to work, and maybe that gives them a certain cachet with the students, but it doesn’t buy them brownie points with the staff. Sandy was different. She was always composed, always reliable. I can’t picture her sitting around and gossiping with anyone, including me. Besides, when would she have the time?”

  Jason nodded, dealing with that stumbling block himself. The simplest explanation for Sandy’s disappearance, of course, was another man. She’d run off with a lover, or she’d taken a lover who’d suffered a change of heart.

  “Don’t do this. I still love you. Please …”

  But Jason didn’t know how such a thing could’ve happened. So his wife took a “spa” break every six to nine months? He understood he did not meet all of her needs as a husband. But it was only a couple of nights a year. Surely, even a woman as attractive as Sandy couldn’t forge a relationship out of two nights a year.

  “After school?” he murmured.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Sandy lingered only for staff meetings. Then she was out the door to pick up Ree, with whom I presume she spent most of her nights.”

  Jason nodded. Aside from Sandy’s spa breaks, her afternoons and evenings were dominated by caring for Ree. And as he could attest from the past forty-eight hours, a four-year-old made an excellent chaperone.

  “Lunch?” he tried.

  “It would only work if the other man was a fellow teacher, and they found a broom closet,” Elizabeth said dubiously.

  “What about the male teachers?”

  “I never noticed her fraternizing with anyone in particular, male or female. When Sandy was here, she was about her students.”

  “Free period, open period, what do they call it these days?”

  “Every teacher has one free period,” she explained for him. “Most of us spend it grading papers, or preparing ourselves for later classes, though there’s nothing that says Sandy couldn’t have left the grounds. Though, now that I think about it …”

  She hesitated, eyed him again.

  “Starting in September, Sandy took on a special project. She was working with one of the eighth-graders, Ethan Hastings, on a teaching module.”

  “A teaching module?”

  “For his computer science class, Ethan was supposed to design a beginner’s guide to the Internet, which would be tested out on the sixth grade social studies class. Hence, Sandy’s involvement. The project ended months ago, but I still see the two of them huddled together in the computer lab. I had the impression from Sandy that Ethan is now working on something bigger and she was continuing to help him out.”

  “Sandy … and a student?” Jason couldn’t wrap his brain around it. It was inconceivable.

  Elizabeth arched a brow. “No,” she said firmly. “One, because young and pretty or not, I would never assume such a lack of professionalism from Sandy Jones. And two, well, if you saw Ethan Hastings, you’d understand point two. What I’m trying to tell you is that Sandy had only one free period each day, and hers was occupied.”

  Jason nodded slowly, looking down at the floor, scuffing his toe. There was something here, though. He had to believe there was something here, if only because it was better than his other options.

  “What about Thursday nights?” he asked abruptly. “When Sandy and Ree came to see the basketball games?”

  “What about them?”

  “Did she sit in the same place? Maybe beside the same guy? Perhaps she met someone during those nights, a fellow parent.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t know, Jason. I never noticed. But then, I haven’t made it to many of the games this season.” She gestured to her silvered hair. “I’m a grandma now, can you believe it? My daughter had her first child in November. I’ve spent most of my Thursday nights rocking my grandson, not sitting courtside. Though I can tell you who would know about Thursday nights. The basketball team picked up a new statistician for the season: Ethan Hastings.”

  | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN |

  Sergeant D.D. Warren didn’t give a flying fig what Colleen Pickler had said about sex offenders being model parolees, full of repentance and eager to please their court-appointed babysitters. D.D. had served eight years in uniform, and as a first responder to too many scenes of hysterical mothers and glassy-eyed children, she was firmly of the opinion that when it came to sex offenders, hell was not big enough.

  Homicides in her world came and went. The CSAs, on the other hand, always left their mark. She could still recall the time she was called out to a preschool after a five-year-old boy disclosed to his teacher that he had been assaulted in the bathroom. The alleged perpetrator—the kid’s classmate, another five-year-old boy. Upon further investigation, D.D. and her partner had determined that the suspect lived with not one, but two registered sex offenders. The first being his father, the second being his older brother. D.D. and her partner had
dutifully reported the incident to DCF, naive enough to believe that would make a difference.

  No. DCF had determined it was not in the boy’s best interest to break up the family. Instead, the kid was kicked out of the preschool for inappropriate contact with another classmate and absolutely nothing else happened until six months later when D.D. encountered the same kid yet again. This time, he was a witness to a triple homicide, perpetrated by his older brother.

  D.D. still dreamed of the kid’s empty gray eyes sometimes. The learned hopelessness as he flatly recounted his sixteen-year-old brother pulling into the mini-mart, how he followed his older brother into the store, thinking he was gonna get a Twinkie. Instead, his brother had pulled a gun, and then, when the nineteen-year-old store clerk hesitated, the brother had opened fire on the clerk, as well as two other kids, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  D.D. had taken the boy’s testimony. Then she’d sent him home to his sex offender father. Nothing else the system would allow her to do.

  That had been twelve years ago. Every now and then, D.D. was tempted to run the boy’s name, see what had happened to him. But she didn’t really need to. A kid like that, who by the age of five had been a repeated victim of sexual assault, a perpetrator of sexual assault, and then a witness to a triple homicide … Well, it’s not like he was gonna grow up to be President, now, was he?

  There were other stories, of course. The time she’d arrived at a dilapidated triple-decker to discover the wife standing over her husband’s dead body, still holding the butcher knife, just in case after being stabbed two dozen times, he managed to get back up. Turned out, the wife had discovered her husband’s secret file on the computer, where he stored home videos he’d been shooting every night of himself having sex with their two daughters.

  Interestingly enough, the daughters had disclosed for the first time when they were seven and nine, but when the police followed up, they’d found no evidence of abuse. The girls tried again when they were twelve and fourteen, but by then, given their penchant for micro minis and tube tops, not even their own mother had found them credible.