Love You More: A Novel (13 page)

D.D. couldn’t watch the newscast. It depressed her too much.

Eight hours after the first call out, they weren’t making sufficient progress. One neighbor had reported seeing Brian Darby driving away in his white GMC Denali shortly after four p.m. yesterday. After that, nothing. No visual sightings. No phone calls logged on the landline or messages on his cell. Where Brian Darby had gone, what he’d done, who he might have seen, no one had any idea.

Which brought them to six-year-old Sophie. Yesterday had been a Saturday. No school, no playdates, no appearances in the yard, no sightings in local cameras or magical tips pouring in through the hotline. Friday, she’d been picked up from school at three p.m. After that, it was anybody’s guess.

Tessa Leoni had reported in for her eleven p.m. graveyard shift on Saturday night. Three neighbors had noticed her cruiser departing; one had noticed its reappearance after nine the next morning. Dispatch had a full roster of duty calls, verifying Trooper Leoni had worked her shift, turning in the last batch of paperwork shortly after eight a.m. Sunday morning.

At which point, the entire family fell off the grid. Neighbors didn’t see anything. Neighbors didn’t hear anything. No fighting, no screaming, not even gunshots, though that made D.D. suspicious because how you could
not
hear a 9mm fire off three rounds was beyond her. Maybe people just didn’t want to hear what they didn’t want to hear. That seemed more likely.

Sophie Leoni had now been declared missing since ten this morning. Sun was down, thermostat was plunging, and four to six inches of snow were reportedly on their way.

The day had been bad. The night would be worse.

“I gotta make a call,” Bobby said. He’d finished his sandwich, was balling up the wrapping.

“Gonna tell Annabelle you’re working late?”

He gestured outside the sub shop window, where the first flakes had started to fall. “Am I wrong?”

“She okay with your schedule?” D.D. asked.

He shrugged. “What can she do? The job’s the job.”

“What about Carina? Soon she’ll figure out Daddy disappears and doesn’t always return home to play. Then there’s the missed recitals, school plays, soccer games.
I scored one for the team, Dad! Except you weren’t there.
”

Bobby regarded her curiously. “The job’s the job,” he repeated. “Yeah, there are times it sucks, but then, most jobs do.”

D.D. scowled. She looked down, poked at her soup. The saltines had absorbed the broth, creating a lumpy mess. She didn’t feel like
eating anymore. She was tired. Discouraged. She was thinking of a little girl they probably wouldn’t find alive. She was thinking of elderly Mrs. Ennis’s comments on how hard it was for Trooper Leoni to juggle her job, a house, and a kid.

Maybe female law enforcement officers weren’t meant to lead lives of domestic bliss. Maybe if Trooper Leoni hadn’t tried for the whole husband and white picket fence, D.D. wouldn’t have been called out this morning and a cute, innocent child wouldn’t now be missing.

Good Lord, what was D.D. supposed to tell Alex? How was she, a career detective and self-admitted workaholic, supposed to
feel
about this?

She poked at her soup one last time, then pushed it away. Bobby was still standing there, apparently waiting for her to say something.

“You ever picture me as a mom?” she asked him.

“No.”

“You didn’t even have to think about that.”

“Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never pictured myself as a mom. Moms … sing lullabies and carry around Cheerios and make funny faces just to get their babies to smile. I only know how to make my squad smile and that involves fresh coffee and maple-frosted donuts.”

“Carina likes peekaboo,” Bobby said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I put my hand over my eyes, then jerk it away and cry,
‘Peekaboo!’
She can do that for hours. Turns out I can do that for hours, too. Who knew?”

D.D. covered her eyes with her palm, then whipped her hand away. Bobby disappeared. Bobby reappeared. Other than that, it didn’t do much for her.

“I’m not your baby,” Bobby said by way of explanation. “We’re genetically programmed to want to make our children happy. Carina beams, and … I can’t even describe it. But my whole day has been worth it, and whatever silly thing makes her look like that, I’m gonna do it again. What can I tell you? It’s crazier than love. Deeper than love. It’s … being a parent.”

“I think Brian Darby murdered his stepdaughter. I think he killed Sophie, then Tessa Leoni returned home and shot him.”

“I know.”

“If we’re genetically programmed to want to make our offspring happy, how come so many parents hurt their own kids?”

“People suck,” Bobby said.

“And that thought gets you out of bed each morning?”

“I don’t have to hang out with people. I have Annabelle, Carina, my family, and my friends. That’s enough.”

“Gonna have a second Carina?”

“Hope so.”

“Why, you’re an optimist, Bobby Dodge.”

“In my own way. I take it you and Alex are getting serious?”

“Guess that’s the question.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“I’m not someone who gets happy.”

“Then does he make you content?”

She thought of her morning, wearing Alex’s shirt, sitting at Alex’s table. “I could spend more time with him.”

“It’s a start. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna call my wife and probably make some goo-goo noises for my daughter.”

Bobby stepped away from the table. “Can I listen in?” D.D. called after him.

“Absolutely not,” he called back.

Which was just as well, because her stomach was cramping uneasily again and she was thinking of a little bundle in blue or maybe a little bundle in pink and wondering what a little Alex or little D.D. might look like, and if she could love a child as much as Bobby obviously loved Carina, and if that love alone could be enough.

Because domestic bliss rarely worked out for female cops. Just ask Tessa Leoni.

B
y the time Bobby finished his call, the early evening snow had turned the roads into a snarled mess. They used lights and sirens all the way, but it still took them over forty minutes to hit Roxbury.
Another five minutes to find parking, and Trooper Shane Lyons had been cooling his heels for at least a quarter of an hour by the time they entered the lobby of BPD headquarters. The burly officer stood as they walked in, still dressed in full uniform, hat pulled low on his brow, black leather gloves encasing both hands.

Bobby greeted the officer first, then D.D. An interrogation room would appear disrespectful, so D.D. found an unoccupied conference room for them to use. Lyons took a seat, removing his hat, but leaving on his coat and gloves. Apparently, he was planning on a short conversation.

Bobby offered him a Coke, which he accepted. D.D. stuck to water, while Bobby nursed a black coffee. Preliminaries settled, they got down to business.

“You didn’t seem surprised to hear from us,” D.D. started off.

Lyons shrugged, twirled his Coke can between his gloved fingers. “I knew my name would come up. Had to complete my duties as union rep, first, however, which was my primary responsibility at the scene.”

“How long have you known Trooper Leoni?” Bobby asked.

“Four years. Since she started at the barracks. I was her senior officer, overseeing her first twelve weeks of patrol.” Lyons took a sip of his soda. He appeared uncomfortable, every inch the reluctant witness.

“You worked closely with Trooper Leoni?” D.D. prodded.

“First twelve weeks, yes. But after that, no. Troopers patrol alone.”

“Socialize much?”

“Maybe once a week. On duty officers will try to meet up for coffee or breakfast. Breaks up our shifts, maintains camaraderie.” He looked at D.D. “Sometimes, the Boston cops even join us.”

“Really?” D.D. did her best to sound horrified.

Lyons finally smiled. “Gotta back each other up, right? So good to keep the lines of communication open. But having said that, most of a trooper’s shift is spent alone. Especially graveyard. It’s you, the radar gun, and a highway full of drunks.”

“What about at the barracks?” D.D. wanted to know. “You and Tessa hang out, grab a bite to eat after work?”

Lyons shook his head. “Nah. A trooper’s cruiser is his—or her—office. We only return to the barracks if we make an arrest, need to process an OUI, that kind of thing. Again, most of our time is on the road.”

“But you assist one another,” Bobby spoke up. “Especially if there’s an incident.”

“Sure. Last week, Trooper Leoni pinched a guy for operating under the influence on the Pike, so I arrived to help. She took the guy to the barracks to administer the breathalyzer and read him his rights. I stayed with his vehicle until the truck came to tow it away. We backed each other up, but we hardly stood around talking about our spouses and kids while she stuffed a drunk in the back of her cruiser.” Lyons pinned Bobby with a look. “You must remember how it is.”

“Tell us about Brian Darby,” D.D. spoke up again, redirecting Lyons’s stare.

The state trooper didn’t answer right away, but thinned his lips, appearing to be wrestling with something inside himself.

“I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” he muttered abruptly.

“Damned for what, Trooper?” Bobby asked evenly.

“Look.” Lyons set down his soda. “I know I’m screwed here. I’m supposed to be an excellent judge of character, goes with the job. But then, this situation with Tessa and Brian. Hell, either I’m a total idiot who didn’t know my neighbor had rage management issues, or I’m an asshole who set up a fellow officer with a wife beater. Honest to God … If I’d known, if I’d suspected …”

“Let’s start with Brian Darby,” D.D. said. “What did you know about him?”

“Met him eight years ago. We were both in a neighborhood hockey league. Played together every other Friday night; he seemed like a nice guy. Had him over a couple of times for dinner and beer. Still seemed like a nice guy. Worked a crazy schedule as a merchant marine, so he got my job, too. When he was around, we’d get together—play hockey, go skiing, maybe a day hike. He liked sports and I do, too.”

“Brian was an active guy,” Bobby said.

“Yeah. He liked to keep moving. Tessa did, too. Frankly, I thought
they’d be a good fit. That’s why I set them up. Figured even if they didn’t end up dating, they could be hiking buddies, something.”

“You set them up,” D.D. repeated.

“Invited them both to a summer cookout. Let them take it from there. Come on, I’m a guy. That’s as involved as a guy gets.”

“They leave the party together?” Bobby asked.

Lyons had to think about it. “Nah. They met later for drinks, something like that. I don’t know. But next thing I knew, Tessa and her daughter were moving in with him, so I guess it worked.”

“You attend the wedding?”

“No. Didn’t even hear about it until it was all over. I think I noticed Tessa was suddenly wearing a ring. When I asked, she said they’d gotten married. I was a little startled, thought it was kind of quick, and okay, maybe I was surprised they didn’t invite me, but …” Lyons shrugged. “It’s not like we were that close or I was that involved.”

It seemed important for him to establish the point. He wasn’t
that
close to the couple, not
that
involved in their lives.

“Tessa ever talk about the marriage?” D.D. asked.

“Not to me.”

“So to others?”

“I can only speak for myself.”

“And you’re not even doing that,” D.D. stated bluntly.

“Hey. I’m trying to tell you the truth. I don’t spend my Sundays dining at Brian and Tessa’s house or having them over to my place after church. We’re friends, sure. But, we got our own lives. Hell, Brian wasn’t even in town half the year.”

“So,” D.D. said slowly. “Your hockey buddy Brian Darby ships out half the year, leaving behind a fellow trooper to juggle the house, the yard, and a small child, all by herself, and you just go your own way. Have your own life, don’t need to get bogged down with theirs?”

Trooper Lyons flushed. He looked at his Coke, his square jaw noticeably clenched.

Good-looking guy, D.D. thought, in a ruddy face sort of way. Which made her wonder: Did Brian Darby start bulking up because
his wife carried a gun? Or because his wife started calling a hunky fellow trooper for help around the house?

“I might have fixed the lawn mower,” Lyons muttered.

D.D. and Bobby waited.

“Kitchen faucet leaked. Took a look at that, but out of my league, so I gave her the name of a good plumber.”

“Where were you last night?” Bobby asked quietly.

“Patrolling!” Lyons looked up sharply. “For chrissake, I haven’t been home since eleven last night. I got three kids of my own, you know, and if you don’t think I’m not picturing them every time Sophie’s photo flashes across the news … Shit. Sophie’s just a kid! I still remember her rolling down the hill in my backyard. Then last year, climbing the old oak. Not even my eight-year-old son could catch up with her. She’s half monkey, that one. And that smile, and ah … Dammit.”

Trooper Lyons covered his face with his hand. He appeared unable to speak, so Bobby and D.D. gave him a moment.

When he finally got himself together, he lowered his hand, grimacing. “You know what we called Brian?” he said abruptly. “His nickname on the hockey team?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sensitive. The man’s favorite movie is
Pretty Woman
. When his dog, Duke, died, he wrote a poem and ran it in the local paper. He was that kind of guy. So no, I didn’t think twice about introducing him to a fellow officer with a small child. Hell, I thought I was doing Tessa a favor.”

“You and Brian still play hockey together?” Bobby asked.

“Not so much. My schedule changed; I work most Friday nights.”

“Brian looks bigger now than when he got married. Like he’s bulked up.”

“I think he joined a gym, something like that. He talked about lifting weights.”

“You ever work out with him?”