“Because Tessa is on the loose. We know it. He knows it. Furthermore, he would’ve heard by now that Trooper Lyons’s shotgun and M4 rifle are missing. Meaning he knows Tessa is armed, dangerous, and desperate to locate her daughter.”

“He’s on the run,” Bobby filled in, “from his own officer.” But then it was his turn to shake his head. “Nah, not a guy as experienced and wily as Hamilton. Best defense is a good offense, right? He’s going for Sophie. If she’s still alive, he’s gonna get his hands on her. She’s the only bargaining chip he’s got left.”

“So where’s Sophie?” D.D. asked again. “We’ve had a statewide Amber Alert for three days. Her picture is plastered all over the TV, her description on the radio. If the girl’s around, we should’ve gotten a lead by now.”

“Meaning she’s someplace buttoned up tight,” Bobby mused. “Rural, no close neighbors. With someone assigned to keep her under lock and key. So a place that is inaccessible, but well supplied. A location Hamilton trusts not to be compromised.”

“He’d never stash Sophie in his own house,” D.D. said. “Too close to him. Maybe she’s at a friend of a friend? Or a second home? We saw the pictures of him hunting deer. Does he have a hunting lodge, a cabin in the woods?”

Bobby suddenly smiled. “Bingo. Hamilton has a hunting cabin near Mount Greylock in western Mass. Two and half hours away from state headquarters, tucked in the foothills of the Berkshires. Isolated, containable, and distant enough to provide him with plausible deniability—even if he owns it, he can say he hasn’t been there in days or weeks, particularly given all the activity that’s required his attention in Boston.”

“Can you get us there?” D.D. asked immediately.

Bobby hesitated. “I’ve been there a couple of times, but years ago. Sometimes he invites troopers over for hunting weekends, that kind of thing. I can picture the roads …”

“Phil,” D.D. stated, pulling out her cellphone. “You get on the Pike. I’ll get us the address.”

Bobby hit the lights, roaring for the Mass Pike, the quickest route for cutting across the state. D.D. dialed BPD headquarters. It was after midnight, but nobody in the state or Boston force was sleeping tonight; Phil answered on the first ring.

“You heard about Trooper Lyons?” Phil stated in way of greeting.

“Already been there. Got a sensitive request for you. Want full background on Gerard Hamilton. Search under his family members’ names, too. I want all known property addresses, and after that, a full financial workup.”

There was a pause. “You mean the lieutenant colonel of the state police?” Phil asked carefully.

“Told you it was sensitive.”

D.D. heard a tapping sound. Phil’s fingers, already flying across the computer keyboard.