“You will broadcast my wife’s photo on the TV and the newspaper. Copies will be made. It will be distributed and stapled up all over the city. Search parties will be organized. People from Sandy’s school will volunteer. The neighbors will stop by with offers of casseroles and hopes for the inside scoop. You will request clothing for canine teams. You will request hair for DNA tests, should you discover human remains. You will request a family photo, because the media will like that better than a lone shot of Sandy. Then the media vans will park outside my house with klieg lights that will power on every morning at four A.M. And you will have to assign uniforms simply to hold the hordes at the perimeter of my property line, where they will stand eighteen out of every twenty-four hours, screaming questions they hope I will magically appear to answer. If I serve as my own spokesman, everything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law. On the other hand, if I hire an attorney to serve as a spokesperson, I will look like I’m hiding something.

“A memorial will start to form on my front yard. People dropping off flowers, notes, teddy bears, all intended for Sandy. Then there will be the candlelight vigils, where good-intentioned souls will pray for Sandra’s safe return. More likely than not, a few psychics will also volunteer their services. Then there will be the young ladies who will start sending me condolence notes because they find the allure of a single father to be strangely seductive, particularly if I may or may not have harmed my wife. Of course, I will decline their offers of free babysitting.”

There was a long pause. “You seem to know the process very well,” D. D. said.

“I’m a member of the media. Of course I know this process well.”

We’re dancing, he thought idly. It made him picture Sergeant D.D. Warren, whirling around him in some hot pink flamenco dress, while he stood there in solid black, trying to look strong and stoic, when really, he just didn’t know the moves.

“Of course, now that the investigation is ramping up,” the detective was saying, “it’s important that we get as much information to the taskforce team as fast as possible. You understand that with every hour that passes, the odds of successfully finding your wife diminish significantly.”

“I understand that not finding her yesterday means that most likely we won’t find her at all.”

“Got anything you want to add to that?” Sergeant Warren asked it quietly.

“No ma’am,” he said, then immediately wished he hadn’t. He caught the Southern drawl that crept into the words, as it always did when he used phrases from home.

Sergeant Warren was quiet for a bit. He wondered if that meant she caught the Southern-fried inflection, as well.