Bobby finally smiled. “Missed you, too, D.D.”

“How’s Annabelle?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“And the baby?”

“Carina’s already crawling. Can barely believe it.”

D.D. couldn’t either. Crap, they were getting old.

“And Alex?” Bobby asked.

“Good, good.” She waved her gloved hand, done with small talk. “So what d’ya think happened?”

Bobby shrugged again, taking his time answering. While some investigators felt a need to work their homicide scenes, Bobby liked to study his. And while many detectives were prone to jabber, Bobby rarely spoke unless he had something useful to say.

D.D. respected him immensely, but was careful never to tell him that.

“At first blush, it would appear to be a domestic situation,” he stated finally. “Husband attacked with a beer bottle, Trooper Leoni defended with her service weapon.”

“Got a history of domestic disturbance calls?” D.D. asked.

Bobby shook his head; she nodded in agreement. The lack of calls meant nothing. Cops hated to ask for help, especially from other cops. If Brian Darby had been beating his wife, most likely she’d taken it in silence.

“You know her?” D.D. asked.

“No. I left patrol shortly after she started. She’s only been on the force four years.”

“Word on the street?”

“Solid officer. Young. Stationed out of the Framingham barracks, working the graveyard shift, then racing home to her kid, so not one to mingle.”

“Works only the graveyard shift?”

He arched a brow, looking amused. “Scheduling’s a competitive world for troopers. Rookies get to spend an entire year on graveyard before they can bid for another time slot. Even then, scheduling is awarded based on seniority. Four-year recruit? My guess is she had another year before she could see daylight.”

“And I thought being a detective sucked.”

“Boston cops are a bunch of crybabies,” Bobby informed her.

“Please, at least we know better than to disturb crime-scene snow.”

He grimaced. They resumed their study of the trampled yard.

“How long have they been married?” D.D. asked now.

“Three years.”

“So she was already on the force and she already had the kid when she met him.”

Bobby didn’t answer, as it wasn’t a question.

“In theory, he would’ve known what he was getting into,” D.D. continued out loud, trying to get a preliminary feel for the dynamics of the household. “A wife who’d be gone all night. A little girl who’d require evening and morning care.”

“When he was around.”

“What do you mean?”

“He worked as a merchant marine.” Bobby pulled out a notepad, glanced at a line he’d scribbled. “Shipped out for sixty days at a time. Sixty out, sixty home. One of the guys knew the drill from statements Trooper Leoni had made around the barracks.”