“No.”
“Gambling?”
“No.”
“Any large debts?”
“No, I told you.”
“Could she have met someone online?” Carillo asked.
“No, I doubt that.”
“How would you know?”
“I know my wife.”
“Could she have been scammed online?” Carillo said.
“No, I don’t think so. She’s smart and careful. Her activity with social media was only with people she knew, or tied to her activities with the school, book club, that sort of thing.”
“A lot of careful and very smart people are getting taken in by some pretty elaborate schemes,” Carillo said. “Before they know it, things get out of control, they get embarrassed, keep it quiet, try to get ahead of it, or there are threats against them or the family if they tell anyone.”
“Are you telling me that’s what you think happened?” Greg said.
“It’s a possibility,” Carillo said.
“No, oh no.”
“We have no evidence of that,” Carillo assured Greg. “It’s only a possibility.”
Kozak adjusted her position in her chair.
“Greg, how would you characterize your marriage?”
“Good.”
“Did the subject of divorce ever come up?” Kozak asked.
“Absolutely not. Is this from Jake? Look, he’s eight, his mom’s missing, and he’s scared. Jenn and I are not getting a divorce.”
“Do you argue?”
“Yes. Don’t all married couples argue?”
“Did you argue in the time before you reported Jenn missing?”
“No.”
“Did you ever lose your temper in an argument?” Kozak asked.
Greg stared at her.
“Ever strike your wife?” Carillo asked.
Greg’s jaw muscles pulsed.
“No.”
“Do you own a gun?” Carillo asked.
“No.”
“Do you possess any firearms?” Carillo asked.
“No.”
“Is it possible Jenn was having an affair?” Kozak asked.
“No.”
“Maybe she met someone on a dating site or in one of her many activities?” Carillo said.
“No.”
“Can you be certain?” Carillo asked.
Almost whispering, Greg said: “No.”
“How did you get those scratches on your hands?” Kozak asked.
“I told Menza. A traffic cone got stuck under my truck.”
“When you were on Ripple Valley Boulevard, not far from the entrance gate to Blueripple?”
“That’s what I told Menza.”
“Is there a life insurance policy for Jenn?” Kozak asked.
Greg didn’t answer immediately. “Yes, for three hundred thousand dollars.”
“And who’s the beneficiary?”
“Me.”
Kozak nodded, then said: “Greg, you’ve already volunteered to let us check Jenn’s phone—”
“Wait, did you find her phone in her car?”
“We’re not disclosing what we found,” Carillo said.
“We need her computer,” Kozak said. “Our forensic people will come over to get her computer and your devices too, your phones, computers, accounts. We’ll get warrants.”
“Warrants—what? But why—”
“It’s all routine, procedural. And we’ll have them get your fingerprints, as well,” Kozak said.
“Greg—” Carillo leaned closer “—are you involved in any way in your wife’s disappearance?”
“God no!”
“Do you know or suspect anyone who might be involved?”
Greg shook his head.
“One final matter,” Kozak said. “Would you agree to submit to a polygraph, if we requested it?”
“A polygraph? Why?”
“Again, it’s routine,” Carillo said.
“Greg, we want to cross you off the list as soon as possible,” Kozak said.
“What list? I don’t get it.”
“Greg, you were the one who reported her missing.”
“But I’m her husband.”
Kozak and Carillo looked at him, their expressions betraying nothing.
“Yes, you are,” Kozak said.
A long moment passed. Kozak picked up her phone, then she and Carillo left Greg alone to stare at Jenn’s face in the picture on his desk.
He thought of the girl who’d broken his heart that day, crying near the school cafeteria. He thought of their dreams and this house—our forever home—that he built for them, and how now, the walls were closing in.
Eighteen
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove
Vince kept turning his ballcap over in his hands, which were creased by a lifetime of laying brick. He stared blankly, blinking several times.
“Jenn is like my second daughter.”
Carillo and Kozak had taken him aside to interview him in one of the bedrooms, where they’d closed the door and for thirty minutes asked questions about his daughter-in-law.
“The last time I saw Jenn?” He thought. “About four or five days ago, she was driving in town. I’d gone to Walgreens to pick up my prescription. She was in her Corolla at a traffic light on Cordoba Avenue.”
“What was her demeanor?” Kozak asked.
“She seemed happy, wiggling her fingers, waving at me.”
Vince looked at the floor.
“You found her car,” he said. “What does that mean? What happened to her?”
“We’re doing everything we can to answer that,” Carillo said.
“And we’re hoping for the best,” Kozak added.
As they wrapped up, they asked Vince if there was anything he thought they should know.
“I tell you, she’s a saint. She loves my son. She’s devoted to my grandson. She doesn’t have an enemy in the world.”