Love You More: A Novel

“Why kill the husband, but kidnap the child?” Bobby asked.

“Leverage,” D.D. supplied immediately. “This does go back to gambling. Brian owed too much. Instead of shaking him down, however—the weak link—they’re going after Tessa instead. They shoot Brian to show they mean business, then grab Sophie. Tessa can have her daughter back if she pays up. So Tessa heads to the bank, takes out fifty grand—”

“Clearly not enough,” Bobby commented.

“Exactly. She needs more money, but also has to deal with the fact that her husband’s dead, shot by her gun, as ballistics was a match.”

Bobby’s eyes widened. “She was home,” he said suddenly. “Only way they could’ve shot Brian with her gun. Tessa was home. Maybe even walked into the situation. Someone’s already holding her child. What can she do? Man demands that she turn over her Sig Sauer, then …”

“Shoots Brian,” D.D. said softly.

“She’s screwed,” Bobby continued quietly. “She knows she’s screwed. Her husband is dead by her service weapon, her child has been kidnapped, and she already has a previous history of shooting to kill. What are the odds of anyone believing her? Even if she said, Hey, some mobster offed my gambling-addicted husband with my state sidearm, and now I need your help to rescue my kid …”

“I wouldn’t buy it,” D.D. said flaty.

“Cops are born cynics,” Bobby repeated.

“So she starts thinking,” D.D. continued. “Only way to get Sophie back is to get the money, and only way to get the money is to stay out of jail.”

“Meaning, she needs to start planning ahead,” Bobby filled in.

D.D. frowned. “So, based on the Tommy shooting, option A is to plead self-defense. That can be tricky, however, as spousal abuse is an affirmative defense, so she decides she needs a safety net, as well. Option A will be self-defense, and option B will be to hide dog bones in the woods, which she’ll claim are her daughter’s remains. If self-defense doesn’t work and she ends up arrested, then she can escape utilizing plan B.”

“Clever,” Bobby commented. “As Juliana said, self-sufficient.”

“Complicated.” D.D. was scowling. “Especially given that she’s now on the run, making it that much harder for her to get money and rescue Sophie. Would you risk that much when it’s your daughter’s life at stake? Wouldn’t it still be cleaner to fall on her sword and beg for our help? Get us tracking mobsters, get us to rescue Sophie, even if we arrest her first?”

Bobby shrugged. “Maybe, like Juliana, she’s not impressed by other cops.”

But D.D. suddenly had another thought. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “because another cop is part of the problem.”

Bobby stared at her, then she could see him connect the dots.

“Who beat her up?” D.D. asked now. “Who hit her so hard that for the first twenty hours she couldn’t even stand? Who was present the entire time we were at her house on Sunday morning, his hand on her shoulder? I thought he was showing his support. But maybe, he was reminding her to shut up.”

“Trooper Lyons.”

“The helpful ‘friend’ who fractured her cheekbone, and got her husband hooked on gambling in the first place. Maybe because Lyons was already spending a lot of quality time at Foxwoods.”

“Trooper Lyons isn’t part of the solution,” Bobby muttered. “Trooper Lyons is the heart of the problem.”

“Let’s get him!” D.D. said.

She was already taking the first step off the front porch when Bobby grabbed her arm, drawing her up short.

“D.D., you know what this means?”

“I finally get to break Trooper Lyons?”

“No, D.D. Sophie Leoni. She could still be alive. And Trooper Lyons knows where she’s at.”

D.D. stilled. She felt a flare of emotion. “Then listen to me, Bobby. We need to do this right, and I have a plan.”





36


The old Ford didn’t like to shift or brake. Thankfully, given the winter storm alert and the late hour, the roads were mostly empty. I passed several snowplows, a couple of emergency vehicles, and various police cruisers tending to business. I kept my eyes forward and the speedometer at the exact speed limit. Dressed in black, baseball cap pulled low over my brow, I still felt conspicuous heading back into Boston, toward my home.

I drove slowly by my house. Watched my headlights flash across the yellow crime-scene tape, which stood out garishly against the clean white snow.

The house looked and felt empty. A walking advertisement for Something Bad Happened Here.

I kept going until I found parking in an empty convenience store parking lot.

Shouldering my bag, I set out the rest of the way on foot.

Moving quickly now. Wanting the cover of darkness and finding little in a busy city liberally sprinkled with streetlights and brightly lit signs. One block right, one block left, then I was honing in on target.