“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.
Shane’s police cruiser was parked outside his house. It was five till eleven, meaning he’d be appearing any time for duty.
I took up position, crouched low behind the trunk, where I could blend into the shadow cast by the Crown Vic in the pool of streetlight.
My hands were cold, even with gloves. I blew on my fingers to keep them warm; I couldn’t afford for them to be sluggish. I was going to get only one shot at this. I would either win, or I wouldn’t.
My heart pounded. I felt a little dizzy and it suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t eaten in at least twelve hours. Too late now. Front door opened. Patio light came on. Shane appeared.
His wife, Tina, stood behind him in a fluffy pink bathrobe. Quick kiss to the cheek, sending her man off for duty. I felt a pang. I squashed it.
Shane came down the first step, then the second. Door closed behind him, Tina not waiting for the full departure.
I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and started the countdown in my head.
Shane descended all the steps, crossing the driveway, keys jingling in his hand. Arriving at his cruiser, inserting the key in the lock, twisting, popping open the driver-side door.
I sprung out from behind the cruiser and rammed my Glock .40 into the side of his neck.
“One word and you’re dead.”
Shane remained silent.
I took his duty weapon. Then we both climbed into his police cruiser.
I made him sit in the back, away from the radio and the instrument panel. I took the driver’s seat, the sliding security panel open between us. I kept the Glock on this side of the bulletproof barrier, away from Shane’s lunging reach, while pointing squarely on target. Normally, officers aimed for the subject’s chest—the largest mass. Given that Shane was already wearing body armor, I trained on the solid block of his head.
At my command, he passed me his cellphone, his duty belt, then his pager. I piled it all in the passenger’s seat, helping myself to the metal bracelets, which I then passed back and had him place around his own wrists.
Subject secured, I pulled my gaze from him long enough to start the car engine. I could feel his body tense, preparing for some kind of action.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said crisply. “I owe you, remember?” I gestured to my battered face. He sagged again, cuffed hands flopping back down onto his lap.
Car engine roared to life. If Shane’s wife happened to glance out the window, she would see her husband warming up his cruiser while checking in with dispatch, maybe tending to a few messages.
A five- to ten-minute delay wouldn’t be too unusual. Anything more than that, she might grow concerned, might even come out to investigate. Meaning, I didn’t have much time for this conversation.
Still had to get a few digs in.
“Shoulda hit me harder,” I said, turning back around, giving my former fellow officer my full attention. “Did you really think a concussion would be enough to keep me down?”
Shane didn’t say anything. His eyes were on the Glock, not my bruised face.
I felt myself growing angry. Like I wanted to crawl through the narrow opening in the security shield and pistol-whip this man half a dozen times, before beating him senseless with my bare hands.
I had trusted Shane, a fellow officer. Brian had trusted him, a best friend. And he had betrayed us both.
I’d called him Saturday afternoon, after paying off the hit man. My last hope in a rapidly disintegrating world, I’d thought. Of course I’d been told not to contact the police. Of course I’d been told to keep quiet or else. But Shane wasn’t just a fellow officer. He was my friend, he was Brian’s closest friend. He’d help me save Sophie.
Instead, his voice cold, totally devoid of emotion on the other end of the phone: “You don’t take instruction too well, do you, Tessa? When these boys tell you to shut up, you shut up. Now stop trying to get us all killed, and do what they told you to do.”
Turned out, Shane already knew Brian was dead. He’d received some instructions of his own over the matter, and now he spelled it all out for me: Brian was a wife beater. In the heat of the moment, he’d gone too far and I’d discharged my weapon in self-defense. No evidence of physical assault? Don’t worry, Shane would assist with that. I babbled that I’d been granted twenty-four hours to prepare for Sophie’s return. Fine, he’d said curtly.
He’d be over first thing in the morning. A minor pummeling, then we’d contact the authorities together, Shane by my side every step of the way. Shane, keeping watch and reporting back.
Of course, I’d realized then. Shane wasn’t just Brian’s friend, he was his partner in crime. And now he had to protect his own hide at any cost. Even if that involved sacrificing Brian, me, and Sophie.
I was screwed and my daughter’s life hung in the balance. It’s amazing how clear-eyed you can suddenly become when your child needs you. How covering your husband’s dead body with snow makes all the sense in the world. As well as fetching Duke’s corpse from underneath the back deck, where Brian had stored the body while waiting for the spring thaw. And looking up bombs on the Internet …
I let go of my denial. I embraced the chaos. And I learned that I was a much more ruthless person than I’d ever believed.
“I know about the money,” I told Shane now. Despite my best intentions for calm, I could feel my rage bubble up again. I remembered the first eye-shattering impact of Shane’s fist connecting with my face. The way he’d towered above me as I went down on the bloody kitchen floor. The endless minute, when I’d realized he could kill me, and then there would be no one to save Sophie. I’d cried. I’d begged. That’s what my “friend” had done to me.
Now Shane’s gaze flickered to mine, his eyes rounding in surprise.
“Did you think I’d never connect the dots?” I said. “Why did you demand this whole farce that I claim to have killed my own husband? Because you and your partners wanted me out of the way. You wanted to destroy my credibility, then frame me for the theft. Your mobster friends aren’t interested in shaking me down for money. You’re using me to cover your tracks, letting me take the fall for all the money you stole from the troopers’ union. You were gonna blame me for everything. Everything!
He didn’t say a word.
“You goddamn bastard!” I exploded. “If I went to prison, what would happen to Sophie? You signed her death warrant, you prick. You basically killed my daughter!”
Shane blanched. “I didn’t … I wouldn’t. It never would’ve gone that far!”
“That far? You stole from the troopers’ union. You screwed your friends, your career, and your family. That wasn’t letting things go too far?”
“It was Brian’s idea,” Shane said automatically. “He needed the money. He’d lost a little too much … They’d kill him, he said. I was just trying to help. Honest, Tessa. You know how Brian can be. I was just trying to help.”
In response, I grabbed his duty belt with my left hand, unclipped the Taser, and held it up.
“One more lie, and you’re gonna dance. Do you understand me, Shane? Stop lying!”
He swallowed, tongue darting out nervously to lick the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t … Ah Christ,” he blurted out suddenly. “I’m sorry, Tessa. I don’t know how it came to this. At first, I’d go with Brian to Foxwoods to keep him under control. Which meant, of course, that sometimes I’d play, too. Then, coupla of times, I won. I mean, I won. Five grand, just like that. Bought Tina a new ring. She cried. And it felt … great. Wonderful. Like I was Superman. So, of course, I had to play again, except we didn’t always win. So then you play more because now you’re due. It’s your turn. One good hand, that’s all you need, one good hand.
“That’s what we told ourselves, these past few weeks. One solid afternoon at the tables and it would all turn around. We’d be okay. Couple of hours even. Just the right coupla hours and we would’ve been fine.”
“You embezzled money from the troopers’ union. You sold your soul to mobsters.”
Shane looked at me. “Gotta have money to make money,” he said simply, as if this were the most logical explanation in the world.
Maybe to a gambler, it was.
“Who did you borrow the money from? Who shot Brian? Who took my daughter?”
Shrug.
“Fuck you, Shane! They have my little girl. You will talk or I will blow off your head!”
“They’ll kill me anyway!” he fired back, eyes finally blazing to life. “You don’t mess with these guys. They already sent me pictures—Tina in the grocery store, Tina going to yoga, Tina picking up the boys. I’m sorry about Brian. I’m sorry about Sophie. But I gotta protect my own family. I might be a fuckup, but I’m not a total failure.”
“Shane,” I said crisply. “You’re not getting it yet. I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to pin the word ‘snitch’ to your chest. I give Tina and the boys about forty-eight hours to live beyond that. Probably less.”
He blinked. “You wouldn’t.…”
“Think of how far you’d go for your sons, and know that I would, too.”
Shane exhaled sharply. He stared at me, and I could tell in his gaze he’d finally figured out how this was all going to go down. Maybe, like me, he’d spent the last few days figuring out there really were multiple layers of Hell, and no matter how deep you’d thought you’d fallen, there was still someplace deeper and darker to go.
“If I give you a name,” he said abruptly, “you gotta kill him. Tonight. Swear to me, Tessa. You’ll get him, before he gets my family.”
“Done.”
“I love them,” Shane whispered. “I’m a fuckup, but I love my family. I just want them to be okay.”
My turn not to talk.
“I’m sorry about Brian, Tessa. Really, didn’t think they’d do that. Didn’t think they’d harm him. Or go after Sophie. I never shoulda gambled. Never shoulda picked up one fucking card.”
“The name, Shane. Who killed Brian? Who took my daughter?”
He studied my battered face, finally seemed to wince. Then he nodded, sat up a little straighter, squared his shoulders. Once, Shane had been a good cop. Once, he’d been a good friend. Maybe he was trying to find that person again.
“John Stephen Purcell,” he told me. “An enforcer. A guy who works for guys. Find Purcell, and he’ll have Sophie. Or at least know where she is.”
“His address?”
Slight hesitation. “Take off the cuffs and I’ll get it.”
His pause was enough warning for me. I shook my head. “You never should’ve harmed my daughter,” I said softly, bringing up the Glock.
“Tessa, come on. I told you what you needed to know.” He rattled his cuffed wrists. “Jesus Christ, this is crazy. Let me go. I’ll help you get your daughter back. We’ll find Purcell together. Come on …”
I smiled, but it was sad. Shane made it all sound so easy. Of course, he could’ve made that offer on Saturday. Instead, he’d informed me to sit down, shut up, and oh yeah, he’d be by in the morning for my beating.
Good Brian. Bad Brian.
Good Shane. Bad Shane.
Good Tessa. Bad Tessa.
Maybe for all of us, that line between good and bad is thinner than it ought to be. And maybe for all of us, once that line’s been crossed, there’s no going back. You were who you were, and now you are who you are.
“Shane,” I murmured. “Think of your sons.”
He appeared confused, then I saw him connect the dots. Such as cops who died in the line of duty received death benefits for their families, while cops who went to jail for embezzling funds and engaging in criminal activities didn’t.
As Shane had said, he was a fuckup, but not a total failure.
Good Shane thought of his three sons. And I could tell when he reached the logical conclusion, because his shoulders came down. His face relaxed.
Shane Lyons looked at me one last time.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“Me, too,” I said.
Then, I pulled the trigger.
Afterward, I drove the cruiser out of the driveway and onto the street, eventually pulling in behind a darkened warehouse, the kind of place a cop might go if he spotted suspicious activity. I climbed into the back, ignoring the stench of blood, the way Shane’s body still felt warm and pliable.
I du
g through his pockets, then his duty belt. I discovered a scrap of paper with digits that resembled GPS coordinates tucked beside his cellphone. I used the computer in the front seat to look up the coordinates, then wrote down the corresponding address and directions.
I returned to the backseat, uncuffing Shane’s hands, then placing his duty belt back around him. I’d done him a favor, shooting him with Brian’s Glock. I could’ve used his own Sig Sauer, raising the possibility that his death was suicide. In which case, Tina and the boys would’ve received nothing.
I’m not that hard yet, I thought. Not that stone cold.
My cheeks felt funny. My face curiously numb.
I kept myself focused on the business at hand. The night was young yet, and I had plenty of work to do.
I moved around the cruiser and popped the trunk. State troopers believed in being prepared and Shane did not disappoint. A case of water, half a dozen protein bars, and even some MREs lined one side. I dumped the food in my duffel bag, half a protein bar already stuffed into my mouth, then used Shane’s keys to open the long metal gun locker.
Shane stocked a Remington shotgun, M4 rifle, half a dozen boxes of ammo, and a KA-BAR knife.
I took it all.
37
Bobby and D.D. were halfway to Trooper Lyons’s house when they heard the call—Officer down, officer down, all officers respond …
Dispatch rattled off an address. D.D. plugged it into her computer. She paled as the local map appeared on the screen in front of her.
“That’s right by Tessa’s house,” she murmured.
“And Trooper Lyons’s,” Bobby said.
They stared at each other.
“Shit.”
Bobby hit the lights, floored the gas. They sped toward the address in utter silence.
By the time they arrived, ambulances and police cruisers had already bottlenecked the scene. Lots of officers milling about, no one really doing anything. Which meant only one thing.