“Sandy ever mention the name Aidan Brewster’?”

Wayne shook his head.

“And can you swear to me, as an investigator and law enforcement officer, that to the best of your knowledge, Sandra Jones was never alone with your nephew?”

“All Ethan ever talked about was meeting with Sandra in the computer lab during free period. Yeah, they were alone for a lot of those sessions, but we’re talking in the middle of the day, in the middle of a public school.”

“She ever talk to you about running away from her husband?”

“She would never leave her daughter.”

“Not even for you, Wayne?”

He shot her that look again, but D.D. didn’t withdraw her question. Wayne Reynolds was a handsome man, and Sandra Jones one very lonely young woman….

“I think Jason Jones killed her,” Wayne said flatly. “He came home Wednesday night, discovered her trying to copy the hard drive, and blew his top. He was up to something, his wife figured it out, so he killed her. I’ve been thinking that since the second I saw the press conference yesterday, so if you’re asking if I’m personally involved in this case, yeah, I’m personally invested in this case. I was trying to help a young, frightened mother, and in doing that, I may have gotten her murdered. I’m angry about that. Hell, I’m pissed off beyond belief.”

“Okay.” D.D. nodded. “You understand I’m going to need you to come in, give an official statement?”

“Absolutely.”

“This afternoon, three o’clock? BPD headquarters?”

“I’ll be there.”

D.D. nodded, started to break away, then one last question came to her. “Hey, Wayne, how many times did you and Sandy meet?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Eight, ten times maybe. Always at the basketball games.”

D.D. nodded. She thought that was a lot of times to meet, given that Sandra had never had a copy of the computer’s hard drive to share.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jason woke up to a slow building hum, then a slash of bright lights across his eyes. He peered groggily at his watch, saw that it was five A.M., then peered at his backlit blinds with fresh confusion. Sun didn’t rise at five A.M. in March.

Then he got it. Klieg lights. From across the street. The news vans had returned and were powering up for their morning visuals, everyone filming a fresh report from the crime scene, aka his front yard.