Love You More - Lisa Gardner [126]
I moved around the cruiser and popped the trunk. State troopers believed in being prepared and Shane did not disappoint. A case of water, half a dozen protein bars, and even some MREs lined one side. I dumped the food in my duffel bag, half a protein bar already stuffed into my mouth, then used Shane’s keys to open the long metal gun locker.
Shane stocked a Remington shotgun, M4 rifle, half a dozen boxes of ammo, and a KA-BAR knife.
I took it all.
37
Bobby and D.D. were halfway to Trooper Lyons’s house when they heard the call—Officer down, officer down, all officers respond …
Dispatch rattled off an address. D.D. plugged it into her computer. She paled as the local map appeared on the screen in front of her.
“That’s right by Tessa’s house,” she murmured.
“And Trooper Lyons’s,” Bobby said.
They stared at each other.
“Shit.”
Bobby hit the lights, floored the gas. They sped toward the address in utter silence.
By the time they arrived, ambulances and police cruisers had already bottlenecked the scene. Lots of officers milling about, no one really doing anything. Which meant only one thing.
Bobby and D.D. climbed out of the car. The first officer they came to was a state trooper, so Bobby did the honors.
“Situation?” he asked.
“Trooper Shane Lyons, sir. Single GSW to the head.” The young trooper swallowed hard. “Deceased, sir. Declared at the scene. Nothing the EMTs could do.”
Bobby nodded, glancing in D.D.’s direction.
“Was he on a call?” she asked.
“Negative. Hadn’t reported in yet to the duty desk. Detective Parker”—the kid gestured to a man dressed in a gray heavy wool coat and standing inside the crime-scene tape—“is leading the investigation. Might want to talk to him, sir, ma’am.”
They nodded, thanked the kid, and moved forward.
Bobby knew Al Parker. He and D.D. flashed their creds for the uniformed officer handling the murder log, then they ducked under the yellow tape and approached the lead detective.
Parker, a thin, gangly man, straightened at their arrival. He shook Bobby’s hands with his leather gloves still on, then Bobby introduced D.D.
The snow was finally slowing down. A couple of inches remained on the pavement, revealing a churn of footprints as officers and EMTs had rushed to assist. Only one set of tire tracks, though. That was D.D.’s first thought. Another vehicle would’ve left some kind of imprint behind, but she didn’t see anything.
She related this to Detective Parker, who nodded.
“Appears Trooper Lyons drove behind the building,” he said. “Not officially on duty yet. Nor did he notify dispatch that he was responding to signs of suspicious activity …”
Detective Parker let that statement explain itself.
Officers on duty always called in. It was imprinted into their DNA. If you grabbed coffee, peed, or spied a burglary in progress, you called it in. Meaning whatever had brought Trooper Lyons to this remote destination hadn’t been professional, but personal.
“Single GSW,” Detective Parker continued. “Left temple. Shot fired from the front seat. Trooper Lyons was in the back.”
D.D. startled. Bobby, as well.
Seeing their looks, Detective Parker waved them over to the cruiser, which sat with all four doors open. He started with the bloodstain in the backseat, then worked backwards for the trajectory of the shot.
“He was wearing his duty belt?” Bobby asked with a frown.
Parker nodded. “Yes, but there are marks on his wrists consistent with restraints. Bracelets were no longer present when the first officer arrived, but at some point this evening, Trooper Lyons’s hands were cuffed.”
D.D. didn’t like that image—a bound officer, sitting in the back of his cruiser, staring down the barrel of a gun. She hunkered deeper inside her winter coat, feeling cold snowflakes whisper across her eyelashes.
“His weapon?” she asked.
“Sig Sauer is in his holster. But check this out.”
Parker led them around to the rear of the cruiser, where he popped the trunk. It was empty. D.D. instantly understood the significance. No cop, uniformed or otherwise, had an empty