Love You More: A Novel (21 page)

Jessica regarded him curiously. “He wasn’t still trying to bulk up. However, Brian’s not naturally a big guy. When a … smaller man …”

On behalf of men everywhere, Bobby winced.

“When a smaller man wants to maintain bigger results, he has to keep working. That’s the truth. High protein, big weights, day after day. Otherwise, his body is going to return to its preferred size, which in Brian’s case was closer to one eighty, not two twenty.”

Bobby considered that information, which, as a smaller guy, wasn’t great to hear.

“Sounds like a lot of work,” he said at last. “Not easy for anyone to maintain, let alone a working parent. Time to time, I bet Brian’s schedule got a little busy, his hours squeezed. He ever … seek additional assistance?”

Jessica furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Products to aid his speed/ability to add muscle?”

Jessica frowned harder; then, she got it. “You mean steroids.”

“I’m curious.”

Immediately, she shook her head. “I’m not down with that. If I thought he was juicing up, I’d quit. Screw the two hundred a week. I dated a guy into ’roids. No way I’d go down that road again.”

“You were dating Brian?”

“No! I didn’t mean
that
. I mean associating with someone abusing steroids. It makes people crazy. The stuff you see on the news—it’s not a lie.”

Bobby regarded her levelly. “And for your own training?”

She met his gaze just as levelly. “Sweat and tears, baby. Sweat and tears.”

Bobby nodded. “So you’re not a proponent of steroids—”

“No!”

“But what about other trainers in the gym? Or even outside the gym. Brian got some great results very fast. How sure are you that it was all his sweat and tears?”

Jessica didn’t answer right away. She chewed her lower lip again, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t think so,” she said at last. “But I couldn’t swear to it. Something was going on with Brian. He just got back into town three weeks ago, and this time around … He was moody. Dark. Something was on his mind.”

“You ever meet his wife?”

“The state trooper? No.”

“But he talked about her.”

Jessica shrugged. “They all do.”

“They?”

“Clients. I don’t know, being a trainer is like being a hairdresser. The ministers of the grooming services sector. Clients talk. We listen. It’s half our job.”

“So what did Brian say?”

Jessica shrugged, obviously uncomfortable again.

“He’s dead, Jessica. Killed in his own home. Help me understand why Brian Darby embarked on a major self-improvement program and it still wasn’t enough to save him.”

“He loved her,” Jessica whispered.

“Who?”

“Brian loved his wife. Genuinely, deeply, soulfully. I’d kill for a man to love me like that.”

“Brian loved Tessa.”

“Yeah. And he wanted to be stronger for her. For her and Sophie. He needed to be a big man, he used to joke, because guarding two females was four times the work.”

“Guarding?” Bobby asked with a frown.

“Yeah. That’s the word he’d used. Guess he’d screwed up once and Tessa had gotten on his case. Sophie was to be guarded. He took it seriously.”

“You ever sleep with Brian?” Bobby asked suddenly.

“No. I don’t screw around with my clients.” She shot him a look. “Asshole,” she muttered.

Bobby flashed his creds again. “That would be ‘Detective Asshole’ to you.”

Jessica merely shrugged.

“Tessa screw around on Brian? Maybe he discovered something, helped spark his quest to become a bigger man.”

“Not that he ever said. Though …” She paused. “No guy is gonna admit that to a girl. Especially a pretty one like me. Come on, that’s like saying,
I’m a miserable weenie
, up front. Guys make you find that out for yourself.”

Bobby couldn’t argue with that logic. “But Brian didn’t think his wife loved him.”

That hesitation again. “I don’t know. I got the impression … Tessa’s a state trooper, right? A police officer. Kind of sounded like she was tough. Things were her way or the highway. Brian jumped through a lot of hoops. Didn’t mean, however, she thought he was the greatest guy on God’s green earth. Just meant she expected him to jump through a lot of hoops, especially when it came to Sophie.”

“She had a lot of rules regarding her daughter?”

“Brian worked hard. When he was home, he wanted to play. Tessa, however, wanted him to babysit. Sounds like sometimes they went round and round a bit. But he never said anything bad about her,” Jessica added hastily. “He wasn’t that kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy?”

“Guy who rags on his wife. Trust me”—she rolled her eyes—“we have plenty of those around here.”

“So why was Brian moody?” Bobby cycled back. “What happened this last time he was on tour?”

“I don’t know. He never said. He just seemed … miserable.”

“You think he beat his wife?”

“No!” Jessica appeared horrified.

“She has a medical history consistent with abuse,” Bobby added, just for the sake of argument.

Jessica, however, stood by her man. “No fucking way.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How would you know?”

“Because he was sweet. And sweet guys don’t whack their wives.”

“Again, how would you know?”

She stared at him. “Because I managed to find a wife beater all by myself. Married him for five long years. Till I got smart, got fit, and kicked his ass to the curb.”

She flexed her arms pointedly. Miss Fit New England four times running, indeed. “Brian loved his wife. He didn’t hit her, and he didn’t deserve to die. Are we done?”

Bobby reached into his pocket, fished out his card. “Think about why Brian might have been ‘moody’ since his last return. And if anything comes to you, give me a call.”

Jessica took his card, while regarding his outstretched arm, which did not look nearly as toned as her own.

“I could help you with that,” she said.

“No.”

“Why not? Cost? You’re a detective. I could cut you a deal.”

“You haven’t met my wife,” Bobby said.

“She also a cop?”

“Nope. But she’s very good with a gun.”

Bobby got his mini-recorder, got his notepad, and got out of there.

18

D.D.
didn’t have any trouble tracking down Tessa’s childhood friend Juliana MacDougall, nee Howe, wife of three years, mother of one, living in a seventeen hundred square foot cape in Arlington. D.D. might have lied a little. Said she was from the high school, tracking down alumnae for an upcoming reunion.

Hey, not everyone wanted to take calls from their local detectives, and even fewer probably wanted to answer yet more questions regarding the shooting that had killed a brother ten years ago.

D.D. got Juliana’s address, established she was home, and took a ride over. On the way there, she checked her voice messages, including a cheery morning greeting from Alex wishing her the best with the missing persons case and letting her know he was in the mood to cook homemade alfredo, if she was in the mood to eat it.

Her stomach growled. Then spasmed. Then growled again. Leave it to her to be carrying a baby as contrarian as she was.

She should call Alex. She should make some time this evening, even thirty minutes to sit and talk. She tried to picture the conversation in her mind, but still wasn’t sure how it would go.

It wasn’t much of a conversation. Maybe because she didn’t have much of an imagination, or any experience with these things. Personally, she was more adept at the “Don’t call me, I’ll call you” conversation.

Would he offer to marry her? Should she accept that kind of deal, if not for her sake, then for the baby’s? Or did it matter in this day and age? Did she just assume he would help her? Or would he just assume she’d never let him?

Her stomach hurt again. She didn’t want to be pregnant anymore. It was too confusing and she wasn’t great with big life questions. She preferred more elemental debates, such as why did Tessa Leoni kill her husband, and what did it have to do with her shooting Thomas Howe ten years ago?

Now, there was a question for the ages.

D.D. followed her guidance system into a maze of tiny side streets in Arlington. A left here, two rights there, and she arrived in front of a cheerful red-painted house with white trim and a snow-covered front yard the size of D.D.’s car. D.D. parked by the curb, grabbed her heavy coat, and headed for the door.

Juliana MacDougall answered after the first ring. She had long, dishwater blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and a fat, drooling baby balanced on her denim-clad hip. She regarded D.D. curiously, then blanked her face completely when D.D. flashed her creds.

“Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren, Boston PD. May I come in?”

“What is this regarding?”

“Please.” D.D. gestured to the inside of the toy-strewn house. “It’s cold out here. I think we’d all be more comfortable talking inside.”

Juliana thinned her lips, then silently held the door open for D.D.
to enter. The home boasted a tiny, tiled entryway, opening to a small family room with nice windows and recently refinished hardwood floors. The house smelled like fresh paint and baby powder, a new little family settling into a new little home.

A laundry basket occupied the single dark green sofa. Juliana flushed, then lowered the plastic bin to the floor without ever releasing her grip on her baby. When she finally sat, she perched on the edge of the cushion, her child held in the middle of her lap as the first line of defense.

D.D. sat on the other end of the sofa. She regarded the drooling baby. The drooling baby stared back at her, then shoved its whole fist in its mouth and made a sound that might have been “Gaa.”

“Cute,” D.D. said, in a voice that was clearly skeptical. “How old?”

“Nathaniel is nine months.”

“Boy.”

“Yes.”

“Walking?”

“Just learned to crawl,” Juliana said proudly.

“Good boy,” D.D. said, and that quickly was out of baby prattle. Good Lord, how was she ever going to be a mom, when she couldn’t even talk to one?

“Do you have a job?” D.D. asked.

“Yes,” Juliana said proudly, “I’m raising my child.”

D.D. accepted that answer, moved on. “So,” she announced curtly. “I imagine you’ve seen the news. The missing girl in Allston-Brighton.”

Juliana regarded her blankly. “What?”

“The Amber Alert? Six-year-old Sophie Leoni, missing from her home in Allston-Brighton?”

Juliana frowned, held her baby a little closer. “What does that have to do with me? I don’t know any child from Allston-Brighton. I live in Arlington.”

“When was the last time you saw Tessa Leoni?” D.D. asked.

Juliana’s reaction was immediate. She stiffened and looked away from D.D., her blue gaze dropping to the hardwood floor. A square block with the letter “E” and a picture of an elephant was by her slippered
foot. She retrieved the block and offered it to the baby, who took it from her, then tried to cram the whole thing in his mouth.

“He’s teething,” she murmured absently, stroking her child’s red-flushed cheek. “Poor little guy hasn’t slept in nights, and whimpers to be held all day long. I know all babies go through it, but I didn’t think it would be so hard. Seeing my own child in pain. Knowing there’s nothing I can do but wait.”

D.D. didn’t say anything.

“Sometimes, at night, when he’s crying, I rock and cry with him. I know it sounds corny, but it seems to help him. Maybe no one, not even babies, likes to cry alone.”

D.D. didn’t say anything.

“Oh my God,” Juliana MacDougall exclaimed abruptly. “Sophie Leoni.
Sophia
Leoni. She’s Tessa’s daughter. Tessa had a little girl. Oh. My. God.”

Then Juliana Howe shut up completely, just sitting there with her baby boy, who was still chewing the wooden block.

“What did you see that night?” D.D. asked the young mother gently. No need to define which night. Most likely, Juliana’s entire life circled back to that one moment in time.

“I didn’t. Not really. I was half asleep, heard a noise, came downstairs. Tessa and Tommy … They were on the couch. Then there was a noise, and Tommy stood up, kind of stepped back, then fell down. Then Tessa stood up, saw me, and started crying. She held out her hand, and she was holding a gun. That was the first thing I really noticed. Tessa had a gun. The rest sunk in from there.”

“What did you do?”

Juliana was quiet. “It’s been a long time.”

D.D. waited.

“I don’t understand. Why these questions now? I told everything to the police. Last I knew, it was an open-and-shut case. Tommy had a reputation … The detective said Tessa wasn’t the first girl he’d hurt.”

“What do you think?”