Love You More: A Novel

Lieutenant Colonel Gerard Hamilton didn’t sound thrilled to talk to D.D. and Bobby; more like resigned to his fate. One of his troopers was involved in an “unfortunate incident.” Of course the investigative team needed to interview him.

As a matter of courtesy, D.D. and Bobby met him in his office. He shook D.D.’s hand, then greeted Bobby with a more familiar hand clasp to the shoulder. It was obvious the men knew each other, and D.D. was grateful for Bobby’s presence—Hamilton probably wouldn’t have been so collegial otherwise.

She let Bobby take the lead while she studied Hamilton’s office. The Massachusetts State Police were notoriously fond of their military-like hierarchy. If D.D. worked in a modest office space decorated as Business-R-Us, then Hamilton’s space reminded her of an up-and-coming political candidate’s. The wood-paneled walls held black-framed photos of Hamilton with every major Massachusetts politician, including a particularly large snapshot of Hamilton and Mass.’s Republican senator, Scott Brown. She spotted a diploma from UMass Amherst, another certificate from the FBI Academy. The impressive rack of antlers mounted above the LT’s desk showcased his hunting prowess, and in case that didn’t do the trick, another photo showed Hamilton in green fatigues and an orange hunting vest standing next to the fresh kill.

D.D. didn’t dwell on the photo too long. She was getting the impression that Baby Warren was a vegetarian. Red meat bad. Dry cereal, on the other hand, was starting to sound good.

“Of course I know Trooper Leoni,” Hamilton was saying now. He was a distinguished-looking senior officer. Trim, athletic build, dark hair graying at the temples, permanently tanned face from years of outdoor living. D.D. bet the young male officers openly admired him, while the young female officers secretly found him sexy. Was Tessa Leoni one of those officers? And did Hamilton return the sentiment?

“Fine officer,” he continued evenly. “Young, but competent. No history of incidents or complaints.”

Hamilton had Tessa’s file open on his desk. He confirmed Tessa had worked graveyard Friday and Saturday nights. Then he and Bobby reviewed her duty logs, much of which made no sense to D.D. Detectives tracked active cases, cleared cases, warrants, interviews, etc., etc. Troopers tracked, among other things, vehicle stops, traffic citations, call outs, warrants served, property seized, and a whole slew of assists. It sounded less like policing to D.D. and more like basketball. Apparently, troopers were either making calls or assisting other troopers making calls.

Either way, Tessa had particularly robust duty logs, even Friday and Saturday night. On Saturday’s graveyard shift alone, she’d issued two citations for operating under the influence—OUI—which in the second case involved not just taking the driver into custody, but arranging for the suspect’s vehicle to be towed.

Bobby grimaced. “Seen the paperwork yet?” he said, tapping the two OUIs.

“Got it from the captain a couple of hours ago. It’s good.”

Bobby looked at D.D. “Then she definitely didn’t have a concussion Saturday night. I can barely complete those forms stone-sober, let alone suffering from a massive head trauma.”

“Take any personal calls Saturday night?” D.D. asked the LT.

Hamilton shrugged. “Troopers patrol with their personal mobiles, not just their department-issued pager. It’s possible she took all sorts of personal calls. Nothing, however, through official channels.”

D.D. nodded. She was surprised troopers were still allowed their cellphones. Many law enforcement agencies were banning them, as uniformed officers, often the first responders to crime scenes, had a tendency to snap personal photos using their mobiles. Maybe they thought the guy who blew his head off looked funny. Or they wanted to share that particular blood spatter with a buddy they had in a different field office. From a legal perspective, however, any crime-scene photo was evidence and subject to full disclosure to the defense. Meaning that if any such photos surfaced after the case had been adjudicated, their mere presence would be grounds for a mistrial.

The DA didn’t like it very much when that happened. Had a tendency to get downright nasty on the subject.

“Leoni ever reprimanded?” D.D. asked now.

Hamilton shook his head.

“Take a lot of days off, maybe personal time? She’s a young mom, spending half her year alone with a kid.”

Hamilton flipped through the file, shook his head. “Admirable,” he commented. “Not easy meeting both the demands of the job and the needs of a family.”

“Amen,” Bobby murmured.