Then he realized, quite belatedly, that he’d better do something about the computer.

The phone rang ten minutes later. Jason didn’t feel like talking to anyone, then thought, a little foolishly, that it might be Sandy, calling from … somewhere … so he picked up.

It wasn’t his wife. It was a male voice, and the man said, “Are you home alone?”

“Who is this?”

“Is your child there?”

Jason hung up.

The phone rang again. Caller ID reported the same number. This time Jason let the machine get it. The same male voice boomed, “I’ll take that as a yes. Back yard, five minutes. You’ll want to talk to me.” Then the man hung up.

“Fuck you,” Jason told the empty kitchen. It was a foolish thing to say, but it made him feel better.

He went upstairs, checked on Ree. She was tucked almost all the way under the covers, sleeping soundly. He looked automatically for the familiar copper pile of Mr. Smith curled up at his daughter’s feet. The spot was empty, and Jason felt the familiar pang again.

“Goddammit, Sandy,” he muttered tiredly, then found his coat and stepped into his back yard.

The caller was younger than he expected. Twenty-two, twenty-three. The thin lanky build of a young man who hadn’t filled out yet and probably wouldn’t until his early thirties. The kid had scaled the wooden fence around Jason’s yard.

Now he leapt down and sprang forward a few steps, moving like a golden retriever puppy with floppy blond hair and long, rangy limbs. The kid stopped the instant he spotted Jason, then wiped his hands on his jeans. It was cold out, and he wore only a white T-shirt with faded black print and no coat. If the March chill bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“Umm, cop out front. Sure you know. Didn’t want to be seen,” the kid said, as if that explained everything. Jason noticed he wore a green elastic band around his left wrist and was snapping it absently, like a nervous habit.

“Who are you?”

“Neighbor,” the kid said. “Live five houses down. Name’s Aidan Brewster. We’ve never met.” Snap, snap, snap.

Jason said nothing.

“I, uh, keep to myself,” the kid offered, again as if that explained everything.

Jason said nothing.

“Your wife has gone missing,” the kid stated. Snap, snap.

“Who told you?”

Kid shrugged. “Didn’t have to be told. Cops are canvassing the neighborhood, looking for a missing female. A detective has set up camp outside your house, so obviously this is ground zero. You’re here. Your kid is here. Ergo, your wife is missing.” The kid started to snap the elastic again, caught himself this time, and both hands fell to his sides.

“What do you want?” Jason asked.

“Did you kill her?”

Jason looked at the boy. “Why do you think she’s dead?”