Love You More_ A Novel - Lisa Gardner [41]
“Preliminary report on Brian Darby’s vehicle,” she said sharply.
She flattened her hands on the table in front of Trooper Lyons and leaned down, till she was mere inches from his face.
“They found a collapsible shovel tucked into a rear compartment, still covered in dirt and bits of leaves.”
Lyons didn’t say anything.
“Found a brand-new air freshener as well, melon scented, the kind that plugs into a socket. Lab geeks thought that was strange, so they took it out.”
Lyons didn’t say anything.
“Odor became apparent in less than fifteen minutes. Very strong, they said. Very distinct. But being geeks, they call in a cadaver dog just to be sure.”
The officer paled.
“Decomp, Trooper Lyons. As in, the lab gurus are pretty damn certain a dead body was placed in the back of Brian Darby’s vehicle in the past twenty-four hours. Given the presence of the shovel, they further surmise the body was driven to an unknown location and buried. Brian got a second home? Lake house, hunting lodge, ski cabin? Maybe if you finally start talking to us, we can at least bring home Sophie’s body.”
“Ah no …” Lyons paled further.
“Where did Brian take his stepdaughter?”
“I don’t know! He doesn’t have a second home. Least nothing he ever told me about!”
“You failed them. You introduced Brian Darby to Tessa and Sophie, and now Tessa is in a hospital beaten to a pulp and little Sophie’s most likely dead. You set these wheels in motion. Now man up, and help us find Sophie’s body. Where would he take her? What would he do? Tell us all of Brian Darby’s secrets.”
“He didn’t have secrets! I swear … Brian was a stand-up guy. Sailed the ocean blue, then returned home to his wife and stepdaughter. Never heard him raise his voice. Certainly, never saw him raise a fist.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
A heartbeat pause. Another long, shuddering breath.
“There is … There is another option,” Lyons said abruptly. He looked at both of them, face still ashen, hands flexing and unflexing around his Coke. “Not really talking out of school,” he babbled. “I mean, you’ll find out sooner or later from Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. He’s the one who told me. Plus, it’s a matter of record.”
“Trooper Lyons! Spit it out!” D.D. yelled.
So he did. “What happened this morning … Well, let’s just say, this wasn’t the first time Trooper Leoni has killed a man.”
12
First thing I learned as a female police officer was that men were not the enemy I feared them to be.
A bunch of drunken rednecks at a bar? If my senior officer, Trooper Lyons, got out of the cruiser, they escalated immediately to more aggressive acts of machismo. If I appeared on the scene, however, they dropped their posturing and began to study their boots, a bunch of sheepish boys caught in the act by Mom. Rough-looking long-haul truckers? Can’t say yes, ma’am, or no, ma’am fast enough if I’m standing beside their rigs with a citation book. Pretty college boys who’ve tossed back a few too many brews? They stammer, hem and haw, then almost always end up asking me out on a date.
Most men have been trained since birth to respond to a female authority figure. They view someone like me either as the mom they have been prepped to obey, or maybe, given my age and appearance, as a desirable woman worthy of being pleased. Either way, I’m not a direct challenge. Thus, the most belligerent male can afford to step down in front of his buddies. And in situations overloaded with testosterone, my fellow troopers often called me directly for backup, counting on my woman’s touch to defuse the situation, as it generally did.
Male parties might flirt a little, fluster a little, or both. But inevitably, they did what I said.
Females on the other hand …
Pull over the soccer mom doing ninety-five in her Lexus, and she’ll instantly become verbally combative, screeching shrilly about her need for speed in front of her equally entitled-looking two-point-two kids. Doing a civil standby, assisting while a guy under a restraining