The Wrong Bones (Widow's Island #10)(15)

“No. The bones will need to go to a forensic anthropologist, but our coroner suspects she was dismembered.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Tessa agreed and described the discovery and general appearance of the remains.

“Someone tried to bury her bones in an existing grave?” Kreisler asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s a new one,” Kreisler said.

“Tell me about her disappearance.”

The clicks of Kreisler tapping on a keyboard sounded over the line. “Last December, Alyssa disappeared from her bedroom in the middle of the night. Alyssa had missed curfew, and her parents grounded her. Alyssa was very angry with them. Unbeknownst to her parents, Alyssa had been communicating with someone online. This person appeared to be a seventeen-year-old boy named Jefferson Davis.”

“Jefferson Davis?” Tessa asked. “Like the president of the Confederacy?”

“Yep,” Kreisler said. “It was clearly a fake account. He used an anonymous email account and spoofed his IP address. Frankly, we never made much headway with the case. From all appearances, Alyssa ran away, and she would have turned eighteen back in July anyway, so . . .”

Tessa suspected Kreisler hadn’t put much effort into the case. In her defense, runaways were damned hard to find, and most departments simply didn’t have adequate resources to devote to the case in the absence of clear foul play. “Do the names Duncan Marshall or Simon Dooley sound familiar?”

Kreisler typed on her keyboard, then said, “I don’t see either of those names in the computer files, but I’ll double-check with the print files at the station and get back to you.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you updated on my investigation as well. Will you perform the death notification?”

“Yes, as soon as I have an official ID. I won’t tell the family anything until it’s certain.”

“I don’t blame you.” Tessa ended the call.

Logan said, “Sounds like the ID is all but definite.”

“Yeah.” She drove along Bishopton Road to Chandler’s home address, a large, expensive cedar-and-glass home on the top of a hill with a spectacular view of Widow’s Bay.

Logan stared through the windshield. “I don’t know why I expected them to be poor.”

Tessa rested both hands on the steering wheel. “Domestic violence breaches all socioeconomic boundaries.”

They climbed out of the SUV and approached the front door. Tessa pressed the doorbell.

A blond man in his midforties answered the door. He wore khaki slacks and a white polo with the logo for a local private golf course. He raised an eyebrow at Tessa’s uniform, then gave Logan an equally haughty look. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Simon Dooley?” Tessa asked.

“Yes.” Suspicion filled Simon’s voice.

“We’re here about your son, Chandler,” Tessa began.

Simon’s brow lowered, and his tone grew angry. “What did he do?”

“Nothing serious,” Logan said. “Unauthorized camping.”

“Then why are you here?” Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “Is he under arrest?”

“We’ve called social services. Chandler claims you threatened him,” Tessa said.

“That’s absurd.” Simon inhaled deeply, unfolded his arms, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Chandler is a liar. He’s also dramatic.”

“So you didn’t threaten him?” Tessa asked.

“What do you mean threaten him?” Simon snapped.

Tessa pulled out her notepad and read from her notes. “You said you’d make sure he was sorry.”

“Then yes, I did say that, and I meant it.” Simon stood taller. “He’s a spoiled, ungrateful brat, which is partially my fault. I haven’t been around for the last few years. A boy needs a father to teach him how to behave. It’s literally my job as his father to make him sorry when he misbehaves.”

“How did he misbehave?” Tessa took a pen from her pocket and poised it over her pad.

“For one, he tried to put his hands on me.” He gave her a nasty look. “Before you ask, I did not strike him.” He seemed proud. “Though it took great self-restraint.”

Logan chimed in. “Chandler said you hit his mother, and he was defending her.”

“As I’ve already said, he’s a liar.” Simon licked his lips. “His mother and I had a fight. Admittedly, our arguments can be passionate. But our marriage is none of his business.”

Tessa pressed. “Do you care if he comes back?”

“Of course I care.”

“You didn’t report him missing when he left home last night,” Tessa pointed out.

“He’s hardly a toddler. One night sleeping outside won’t kill him, especially in this weather.” He circled a hand in the air. “I assumed he’d come back after he’d cooled off. I also noticed that he took his camping gear, along with that bike he thinks I don’t know about.”

Tessa wrote a note. “Is your wife at home?”

He stared down at her. “She’s busy.”

Tessa felt Logan tense next to her. He said, “We need to speak with her.”