“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.”

Chapter 36

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.