on his way home late Friday. He claimed to have been pissed at Audrey, and that’s why he hadn’t told her about the trip.
Audrey had people to back up her alibi, too. The grandmother reported she’d checked on Jaycee several times on Tuesday evening before spending the night on her daughter’s couch, and that Audrey was sleeping when she left just after eight on Wednesday morning. And the friend supported the story about showing up at nine to find Audrey in bed.
Which left Audrey practically no window of time to kill her daughter and dispose of the body between when her mother left and her friend arrived.
But none of that really mattered because Jaycee was actually dead by then.
And that means the grandmother had also lied to the cops about checking on Jaycee. Hard to fathom a grandmother doing that, but perhaps she felt desperate to protect Audrey, or she was coerced by her.
I skim the articles, looking for any other references to Tuesday, the day Jaycee most likely was murdered, but there’s just one. Several Millerstown residents reported seeing Jaycee with her mother at a supermarket late Tuesday morning, at around eleven.
My mind scrambles, trying to gather all the pieces of information into a coherent pattern before they’re caught by the wind and lifted away. As the waiter sets down the pasta bowl in front of me, I fish out a pen and pad from my purse and start doing the math.
Knowing what I now know about rigor, Jaycee died twelve to twenty-four hours before I found her, which means between midday on Tuesday and 3:00 A.M. Wednesday morning. It seems highly possible that Jaycee was murdered in the hours before Audrey went to work and Wargo left town.
So, which one of them delivered the blow or blows to Jaycee’s head? Audrey, in a rage over spilled apple juice or a bathroom accident or whining that wouldn’t cease? Or the boyfriend, who had that long haul to Georgia ahead of him and might have already popped a handful of uppers, fueling his fury over a tiny infraction by a toddler? If it was Wargo, Audrey had covered for him. If it was Audrey, she probably convinced Wargo to help her dispose of the body.
It’s clear the couple needed Jaycee’s disappearance to coincide with times when they each had as good an alibi as possible. By choosing Wednesday, Wargo had a built-in one—his trip down south, easily documented. Audrey’s situation was trickier, so she must have had to work on her mother.
And the friend’s visit on Wednesday could have been concocted for Audrey’s benefit. “Why don’t you come by in the morning” . . . “Oh, hey sorry, I was still sleeping, worked late last night. Lemme get my kid up, okay?”
I turn my attention to the bowl in front of me, which brims with linguine and clams the size of tiny buttons. So sublime looking, but my appetite has turned, and the pasta smells like I’ve pressed my face against the pilings of a dock. I can’t bear the thought of eating it.
I butter a piece of bread and take a bite, along with a few sips of sparkling water.
If my theory about the crime is right, I realize, Audrey and Wargo had been extremely lucky. The woods had been a stupid place to hide the body, perhaps chosen in a frenzied rush. If someone else had stumbled across Jaycee’s body on Wednesday and reported it that day, the police would have noted the rigor. That would have stripped them of their alibis.
Despite how dispassionate Corbet seemed when I pressed her about the potential impact of my statement, she must have been agog on the inside. My admission could change everything. And it’s clear to me now that there are two people in this world to whom I pose a terrible threat.
By this point the smell of clam brine is nearly making me gag, and I push the bowl even farther away. I signal for the check and apologize to the waiter for my hasty departure. Minutes later, I’m out on the street.
Dozens of cars and taxis shoot up First Avenue, but there’s little pedestrian traffic in this area. I glance around, just to be sure. Also, waiting for the light to change, I try Mulroney again. I’m confused why I haven’t heard from him. He’d acted so eager to hear what I might discover at WorkSpace.
When the Walk sign flashes, I dart across the avenue, heading farther east