“Yes. She’s six years old, her name is Sophie and she’s counting on me to rescue her. So help me, Dad. Help me save her.”

“She as tough as her mom?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Who took her?”

“First thing I have to figure out.”

“How you gonna do that?”

I smiled, grimly this time. “Let’s just say, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts invested a lot of resources into my training, and they’re about to get their money’s worth. Vehicle, Dad. I don’t have much time, and neither does Sophie.”

He didn’t move, just crossed his arms and peered down at me. “You lying to me?”

I didn’t feel like arguing anymore. Instead, I stepped forward, wrapped my arms around his waist, and leaned my head against the bulk of his chest. He smelled of cigarettes, motor oil, and whiskey. He smelled of my childhood, and the home and mother I still missed.

“Love you, Dad. Always have. Always will.”

His frame shook. A slight tremor. I chose to believe that was his way of saying he loved me, too. Mostly because the alternative hurt too much.

I stepped back. He unfolded his arms, crossed to the Peg-Board, and handed me a single key.

“Blue Ford truck, out back. Gotta lotta miles, but its heart’s good. Four-wheel drive. You’re gonna need that.”

For navigating the snowy road. Perfect.

“Gas cans are against the outside wall. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“Bring her,” he said suddenly. “When you find her, when you … get her back. I want … I want to meet my granddaughter.”

“Maybe,” I said.

He startled at my hesitation, glared at me.

I took the key, returning his look calmly. “From one alcoholic to another—gotta stop drinking, Dad. Then we’ll see.”

“Hard-ass,” he muttered.

I smiled one last time, then kissed him on his leathery cheek. “Get it from you,” I whispered.

I palmed the key, picked up my duffel bag, then I was gone.

Chapter 35

35

Why was the scene in the woods so horrific?” D.D. was saying fifteen minutes later. She answered her own question: “Because what kind of mom would kill her own child, then blow up the body? What kind of woman could do such a thing?”

Bobby, standing beside her on Juliana Howe’s front porch, nodded. “Diversion. She needed to buy time to escape.”

D.D. shrugged. “Except not really. She was already alone with Officer Fiske and they were a quarter of a mile away from the search team. She could’ve easily jumped Fiske without the diversion, and still had a solid thirty minutes head start. Which is why exploding the child’s remains seems so horrifying—it’s gratuitous. Why do such a terrible thing?”

“Okay, I’ll bite: Why do such a thing?”