investigation and Ramsey was the first and only officer to question Colton on the matter. So far, there was no reason to suspect the guy, except that he’d been in the area. A normal occurrence for him and not a crime.
“Do you know if Jack ever lost a stop for being off schedule?” Ramsey asked.
“I have no idea. If he did, he never said so.” She glanced toward the photo on the table closest to her. “My Hank was a hard worker, too. He was in college, in Boston, when he was called up. That’s how we met. In college. And in the evening and on weekends, he stocked shelves at his daddy’s hardware store. Jack kind of reminded me of Hank the way he was so good at fixing things.”
“Your Hank had you.” Ramsey took the lead she’d offered. “Did Jack have a girl in his life?”
Was the man as upstanding as he’d seemed? Or had Jack and Frank Whittier—the live-in fiancé of Claire’s mother, Rose Sanderson, and the only suspect in the case—somehow been partners in the most hideous of crimes? There was a lot of money to be made at selling children on the black market and Frank Whittier had been taking on the responsibility of a new wife and two children, in addition to his own son. Three more mouths to feed. Two more college tuitions. By all accounts little Claire had been a handful. And a charmer. Rose had been completely devoted to her. Frank could have been resentful of all the attention the woman gave to the toddler. Or jealous of the fact that he hadn’t fathered the little girl.
It wouldn’t be the first time Ramsey had seen something like that.
A couple of months ago, Jack had cleared Frank’s name in the case, releasing the sixty-two-year-old from twentyfive years of suspicion. Frank was back in school, taking the continuing-education classes that would allow him to get his high-school teaching certification again. Before his initial arrest, he’d been the principal of a well-known boy’s school, and a winning basketball coach at a public school, as well.
When Ramsey had finally located Jack Colton, based on private writings that Cal Whittier, Frank’s son, had turned over to him, Jack had testified that he’d seen Claire Sanderson alone in her front yard, watching as then seven-year-old Cal walked down the driveway, on his way to school. He said that Claire had gone back to the house. Because she’d only been two, he’d swung back by after making his delivery to make certain that she’d made it inside, and he’d seen Frank Whittier, alone, open the back door of his car—exposing its emptiness—to drop his briefcase on the backseat. The man had then gotten in the front of his car and driven off to work.
His testimony and timeline followed Frank’s own testimony from twenty-five years before regarding his actions that morning. He’d come out of the house at 7:20 a.m., five minutes later than usual, dropped his briefcase on the backseat of his car, climbed in the front and driven away. He’d never seen Claire outside of the house.
He hadn’t seen her inside the house just before he left, either, but that wasn’t unusual as she’d have been back in the bedroom with her four-year-old sister, Emma, waiting for their mother to brush their hair and put it in ponytails.
The only unusual thing in their routine that morning had been the babysitter’s call saying she was sick, which meant that Rose was on the phone trying to make other arrangements for Claire and Emma, and for Cal, for when he got home from school. She’d been on the phone when Frank left.
“Jack didn’t just have one girl, like my Hank did,” Amelia was saying. “He had a few of them.”
New information. New leads?
“He had them here?”
“Yes. They were sweet girls.”
“And it didn’t bother you that Jack wasn’t faithful to them? That he had more than one of them?”
“Oh, my, Detective, I’m sorry if I misled you. He didn’t have them at the same time! There was one girl he dated for a bit, but it didn’t last
“Do you know if Jack ever lost a stop for being off schedule?” Ramsey asked.
“I have no idea. If he did, he never said so.” She glanced toward the photo on the table closest to her. “My Hank was a hard worker, too. He was in college, in Boston, when he was called up. That’s how we met. In college. And in the evening and on weekends, he stocked shelves at his daddy’s hardware store. Jack kind of reminded me of Hank the way he was so good at fixing things.”
“Your Hank had you.” Ramsey took the lead she’d offered. “Did Jack have a girl in his life?”
Was the man as upstanding as he’d seemed? Or had Jack and Frank Whittier—the live-in fiancé of Claire’s mother, Rose Sanderson, and the only suspect in the case—somehow been partners in the most hideous of crimes? There was a lot of money to be made at selling children on the black market and Frank Whittier had been taking on the responsibility of a new wife and two children, in addition to his own son. Three more mouths to feed. Two more college tuitions. By all accounts little Claire had been a handful. And a charmer. Rose had been completely devoted to her. Frank could have been resentful of all the attention the woman gave to the toddler. Or jealous of the fact that he hadn’t fathered the little girl.
It wouldn’t be the first time Ramsey had seen something like that.
A couple of months ago, Jack had cleared Frank’s name in the case, releasing the sixty-two-year-old from twentyfive years of suspicion. Frank was back in school, taking the continuing-education classes that would allow him to get his high-school teaching certification again. Before his initial arrest, he’d been the principal of a well-known boy’s school, and a winning basketball coach at a public school, as well.
When Ramsey had finally located Jack Colton, based on private writings that Cal Whittier, Frank’s son, had turned over to him, Jack had testified that he’d seen Claire Sanderson alone in her front yard, watching as then seven-year-old Cal walked down the driveway, on his way to school. He said that Claire had gone back to the house. Because she’d only been two, he’d swung back by after making his delivery to make certain that she’d made it inside, and he’d seen Frank Whittier, alone, open the back door of his car—exposing its emptiness—to drop his briefcase on the backseat. The man had then gotten in the front of his car and driven off to work.
His testimony and timeline followed Frank’s own testimony from twenty-five years before regarding his actions that morning. He’d come out of the house at 7:20 a.m., five minutes later than usual, dropped his briefcase on the backseat of his car, climbed in the front and driven away. He’d never seen Claire outside of the house.
He hadn’t seen her inside the house just before he left, either, but that wasn’t unusual as she’d have been back in the bedroom with her four-year-old sister, Emma, waiting for their mother to brush their hair and put it in ponytails.
The only unusual thing in their routine that morning had been the babysitter’s call saying she was sick, which meant that Rose was on the phone trying to make other arrangements for Claire and Emma, and for Cal, for when he got home from school. She’d been on the phone when Frank left.
“Jack didn’t just have one girl, like my Hank did,” Amelia was saying. “He had a few of them.”
New information. New leads?
“He had them here?”
“Yes. They were sweet girls.”
“And it didn’t bother you that Jack wasn’t faithful to them? That he had more than one of them?”
“Oh, my, Detective, I’m sorry if I misled you. He didn’t have them at the same time! There was one girl he dated for a bit, but it didn’t last
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