Love You More_ A Novel - Lisa Gardner [113]
Juliana looked at me, remained silent.
“They shouldn’t be able to trace today’s call,” I told her. “Our only point of contact has been someone else’s cellphone, and I’m about to take an acetylene torch to it. Once I’ve melted its circuits, there’s nothing it can give away. So you went for a drive this afternoon. I deliberately chose a location that didn’t involve any toll roads, meaning there’s no way for them to trace where you went. You could’ve gone anywhere and done anything. Make them work for it.”
It went without saying that she would hold up under police questioning. She had before.
“We’re even.” She spoke up suddenly, her voice flat. “Don’t call again. We’re even.”
I smiled, sadly, with genuine regret. For ten years, we’d kept our distance. And would’ve continued if not for Saturday morning and my stupid husband dying on our stupid kitchen floor.
Blood is thicker than water. Actually, friendship was, and so I had honored what I’d known Juliana had needed. Even when it hurt me.
“I would do it again,” I murmured, my eyes locking on hers in the rearview mirror. “You were my best friend, and I loved you and I would do it again.”
“Did you really name her Sophie?”
“Yeah.”
Juliana Sophia MacDougall nee Howe covered her mouth. She started to cry.
I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and stepped out into the snowy night. Another moment, the engine started up. Then the headlights flicked on and Juliana drove away.
I headed toward my father’s shop. I could tell from the light burning inside that he was already waiting.
33
Bobby and D.D. headed back to HQ in silence. Bobby drove. D.D. sat in the passenger’s seat. She had her hands fisted on her lap, trying not to think, her mind racing anyway.
She hadn’t eaten all day and last night her sleep had been marginal at best. Combine that with the all-time shittiest day of her career and she was entitled to go a little nuts and kiss a married man while carrying another man’s baby. Made total sense.
She leaned her forehead against the cool window, stared at the snow. The frozen flakes were falling heavily now. Obliterating Tessa Leoni’s trail. Snarling traffic. Complicating an already complicated investigative operation.
She’d contacted her boss before leaving the crime scene. Better Horgan hear the news from her than the latest media report, where it was bound to break at any time. D.D. had lost a suspected double-murderer. Taken her out to middle-of-nowhere Mass., where her entire team had fallen victim to a rookie booby trap.
The BPD looked like a bunch of idiots. Not to mention, the violent fugitive apprehension unit—a state operation—was most likely going to take the entire case from them, given the steadily growing size of the search operation. So the BPD would appear incompetent and be denied any chance to redeem themselves. Talk about a one-way ticket to Asshole Avenue. Let alone a punch line in all future media reports—suspected double-murderer Tessa Leoni, who escaped while in the custody of the Boston police …
She’d better hope she was pregnant, D.D. thought. Then, instead of getting fired, she could take maternity leave.
She ached.
She did. Her head hurt. Her chest, as well. She mourned for Sophie Leoni, a sweet-faced child who’d deserved better. Had she looked forward to her mommy coming home from work each morning? Hugs and kisses, while snuggling close for stories or showing off her latest homework? D.D. would think so. That’s what children did. They loved and loved and loved. With their entire hearts. With every fiber of their being.
Then the adults in their lives failed them.
And the police failed them.
And so it went.
I love my daughter.
“Gonna stop ahead,” Bobby spoke up, flipping on the right turn signal. “Need food. Want anything?”
D.D. shook