“So much so that you never once tried to find her in the past five years?”

“Oh, I tried. I definitely tried.”

“How so?”

“I hired a private investigator. One of the best in the county. Here’s the kicker, though. The man Sandra introduced to me as her future husband was Jason Johnson, not Jason Jones.”

D.D. excused herself to get a glass of water. While she was out, she swung by Detective Cooper’s desk and gave him the heads-up—start running background checks on Jason Johnson as well as Jason Jones.

Cooper just gave her a look. He was the best in the unit at this kind of stuff, and without at least a middle initial or any other additional detail, sorting through the reams of Jason Johnsons in the world wasn’t going to be any easier than sorting through the lists of Jason Jones.

“I know,” she assured him. “You love your job and each day is more satisfying than the last. Have fun.”

D.D. returned to the interrogation room, but rather than go inside, she opted to watch the show from the other side of the observation glass. Judge Black was entirely too comfortable with women. He would ooze Southern charm and spin easy tales until the cows came home. Given that, she thought it might be more productive to let Miller take a run at him.

So far, Miller had made no attempt to rouse himself from his slouch, and the detective’s continued disinterest was already starting to make Maxwell fidget. The judge played with his tie, smoothed his pocket kerchief, then took several sips of coffee. His hand shook lightly when he raised his cup. From this angle, D.D. could see the dark age spots on the back of his hand. But his face was relatively un-lined and attractive.

He was a nice-looking man. Wealthy, charming, powerful. It made her wonder why there wasn’t a second Mrs. Black yet.

“Did you know Sandra had gotten knocked up?” Miller asked suddenly. “Before she eloped?”

The judge blinked several times, seemed to belatedly fix his attention on the detective. “Excuse me?”

“Did Sandy tell you that this Jason Johnson or Jones or whomever had gotten her pregnant?”

“I … I knew she was pregnant.”

“That’d piss me off,” Miller said conversationally. “Some thirty-year-old guy impregnating my eighteen-year-old daughter. I’d be rip-shit if that were me.”

“I, um … well, as I said, you have to know your child. Sandra was on a reckless path. It was only a matter of time before she got pregnant—or worse. Besides, I don’t believe Jason is the one who got her pregnant.”

Miller stopped twirling his pen. “You don’t?”