Love You More: A Novel

“So walk us through the case,” D.D. said to Walthers, the moment the waitress left.

“Call came into nine-one-one. The mom, that’s my memory, quite hysterical. First responder found Tommy Howe dead from a single gunshot wound in the family room, the parents and his sister gathered round in their bathrobes. The mother was sobbing, father trying to console, younger sister shell-shocked. Parents didn’t know nothing ’bout anything. They’d woken up to a noise, father had gone downstairs, found Tommy’s body, and that had been that.

“Sister, Juliana, was the one with the answers, but it took a bit to get them. She’d had a friend sleeping over—”

“Tessa Leoni,” D.D. supplied.

“Exactly. Tessa had fallen asleep on the couch while they were watching movies. Juliana had gone upstairs to bed. Shortly after one a.m., she’d also heard a noise. She’d come downstairs and saw her brother and Tessa on the couch. In her own words, she wasn’t sure what was going on, but then she heard a gunshot and Tommy staggered back. He fell to the floor, and Tessa got off the sofa, still holding the gun.”

“Juliana saw Tessa shoot her brother?” D.D. asked.

“Yep. Juliana was pretty messed up. She said Tessa claimed Tommy had attacked her. Juliana didn’t know what to do. Tommy was bleeding everywhere, she could hear her father coming down the stairs. She panicked, told Tessa to go home, which Tessa did.”

“Tessa ran home in the middle of the night?” Bobby spoke up with a frown.

“Tessa lived on the same street, five houses down. Not a big distance to cover. When the dad made it downstairs, he yelled at Juliana to have her mom call nine-one-one. Which is the scene I walked into. Bloody family room, dead teenager, missing shooter.”

“Where was Tommy shot?”

“Upper left thigh. Bullet nicked his femoral artery and he bled out. Bad luck, if you think about it—dying from a single GSW to the leg.”

“Only one shot?”

“That’s all it took.”

Interesting, D.D. thought. At least Brian Darby had earned three in the chest. What a difference twenty-five weeks of intensive firearms training could make.

“So where was Tessa?” D.D. asked.

“After Juliana’s statement, I proceeded to the Leoni residence, where Tessa answered on the first knock. She’d showered—”

“No way!”

“Told you the physical evidence was FUBAR. Then again”—Walthers shrugged his burly shoulders—“she was sixteen years old. By her own admission, she’d been sexually assaulted, before shooting her attacker. Heading straight for the shower—can you blame her?”

D.D. still didn’t like it. “What physical evidence could you recover?”

“The twenty-two. Tessa handed it right over. Her prints were on the handle and ballistics matched the slug that killed Tommy Howe to the gun. We bagged and tagged her discarded clothes. No semen on the underwear—she claimed he didn’t, ahem, get to finish what he’d started. But some blood on her clothing, same type as Tommy Howe.”

“Test her hands for powder?”

“Negative—but then, she’d showered.”

“Rape kit?”

“She declined.”

“She declined?”

“She said she’d been through enough. I tried to convince her to let a nurse examine her for bruising, tried to explain it would be in her own best interest, but she wasn’t buying it. Girl was shaking like a leaf. You could see—she was done.”

“Where’s the father through all this?” Bobby wanted to know.

“He woke up when we entered the home. Apparently figuring out for the first time that his daughter had returned early from her sleepover and that there’d been an incident. He seemed a little … checked out. Stood in the kitchen in his boxers and wife-beater T-shirt, arms crossed over his chest, not saying a word. I mean, here’s his sixteen-year-old daughter talking about being attacked by a boy, and he’s just standing there like a goddamn statue. Donnie,” Walthers snapped his fingers as the name came to him, “Donnie Leoni. Owned his own garage. Never could figure him out. I was guessing drinking, but never confirmed it.”

“Mother?” D.D. asked.

“Dead. Six months earlier, heart failure. Not a happy household, but …” Again, Walthers shrugged. “Most of them aren’t.”

“So,” D.D. replayed the events in her mind, “Tommy Howe is dead from a single GSW in his family room. Tessa confesses to the crime, all cleaned up and unwilling to submit to a physical exam. I don’t get it. The DA simply took her word for it? Poor traumatized sixteen-year-old girl must be telling the truth?”

Walthers shook his head. “Between you and me?”