faded jeans, a heavy flannel shirt, and an unwelcoming scowl.
“What?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Got a couple of questions,” D.D. said.
“Not at my house you don’t.”
D.D. eased back, let Bobby take the lead. He was a fellow state officer, not to mention better at playing good cop.
“Not intruding,” Bobby said immediately, tone placating. “We were at the Darby house,” he lied, “thought of a couple of things, and since you’re right around the corner…”
“I don’t bring work home.” Lyons’s ruddy face was still guarded, but not as hostile. “I got three kids. They don’t need to be hearing about Sophie. They’re freaked out enough as it is.”
“They know she’s missing,” D.D. spoke up. He shot her a look.
“Heard it on the radio when their mother was driving them to school. Amber Alerts.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Can’t avoid ’em. Guess that’s the whole point. But they know Sophie. They don’t understand what could’ve happened to her.” His voice grew rougher. “They don’t understand why their father, the super-cop, hasn’t brought her home yet.”
“Then we’re all on the same page,” Bobby said. He and D.D. had made it to the front stoop. “We want to find Sophie, bring her home.”
Lyons’s shoulders came down. He seemed to finally relent. After another moment, he opened the door, gestured them inside.
They entered into a small mudroom, wood-paneled walls covered in coats, ceramic-tiled floor overrun with boots. House was small, and it only took D.D. a minute to figure out who ran the roost, three young boys, ages five to nine, who rushed into the crowded space to greet the newcomers, talking over one another in their excitement, before their mother, a pretty thirty-something woman with shoulder-length brown curls, tracked them down, looking exasperated.
“Bedtime!” she informed the boys. “To your rooms. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve brushed your teeth and changed into pajamas!”
Three boys stared at her, didn’t budge a muscle.
“Last one to the top of the stairs is a rotten egg!” the oldest boy suddenly yelled, and the three roared off like rockets, piling over one another in their haste to get to the stairs first.
Their mother sighed.
Shane shook his head.
“This is my wife, Tina,” he offered, making the introduction. Tina shook their hands, smiling politely, but D.D. could read tension in the fine lines bracketing the woman’s mouth, the way she looked instinctively at her husband, as if for assurance.
“Sophie?” she whispered, the name hitching in her throat.
“No news,” Shane said softly, and he laid his hands on his wife’s shoulders in a gesture D.D. found genuinely touching. “Got some work to do here, okay? I know I said I’d put the boys to bed…”
“It’s okay,” Tina said automatically.
“We’ll be in the front room.”
Tina nodded again. D.D. could feel her eyes on them as they followed Shane from the mudroom into the kitchen. She thought the woman still looked worried.
Off the kitchen was a small front room. Looked like it had once been a three-season porch that Lyons had finished off with windows, installing a small gas-burning stove for heat. The room was decorated Rugged Male, with a big-screen TV, two oversized brown recliners, and a plethora of sports memorabilia. The Man Cave, D.D. deduced, where the stressed-out state trooper could retreat to recover from his day.
She wondered if the wife had an equivalent Crafts Room or Day Spa, because personally, she was betting life with three boys topped eight hours on patrol any day of the week.
Room didn’t really offer seating for three, unless you counted the beanbags piled in the corner, so they stood.
“Nice home,” Bobby said, once again good cop.
Lyons shrugged. “We bought it for the location. You can’t see it right now, but the back lawn rolls down into a park, giving us plenty of green space. Great for barbecues. Essential for three boys.”
“That’s right,” D.D. spoke up. “You’re known for your cookouts. That’s how Tessa and Brian met.”
Lyons nodded, didn’t say anything. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a defensive stance, D.D. thought. Or maybe an aggressive stance, given how it bulged the muscles of his shoulders and chest.
“We talked to Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” Bobby commented.
Was it D.D.’s imagination, or did Lyons just tense?
“He mentioned several of the outings you’ve organized, you know-boys’ night out to Red Sox games, Foxwoods.”
Lyons nodded.
“Sounds like Brian Darby often joined.”
“If he was around,” Lyons said. Another noncommittal shrug.
“Tell us about Foxwoods,” D.D. said.
Lyons stared at her, then returned his gaze to Bobby. “Why don’t you just ask me the question.”
“All right. To your knowledge did Brian Darby have a gambling problem?”
“To my knowledge…” The trooper suddenly sighed, uncrossed his arms, shook them out. “Goddammit,” he said.
D.D. took that as a yes.
“How bad?” she asked.
“Don’t know. He wouldn’t talk about it with me. He knew I disapproved. But Tessa called me, ’bout six months ago. Brian was on tour, upstairs bathtub had sprung a leak. I gave her the name of a plumber, which she then contacted. Couple of pipes had to be replaced, some drywall patched. When all was said and done, guess it cost a good eight hundred, nine hundred bucks. Except when she went to withdraw it from savings, the money wasn’t there.”
“It wasn’t there?” D.D. repeated.
Lyons shrugged. “According to Tessa, they should’ve had thirty grand in savings, except they didn’t. I ended up loaning her the money to pay the contractors. Then, when Brian got back…”
“What happened?”
“We confronted him. Both of us. Tessa wanted me there. She said, if it was just her, it would sound like a nagging wife. But if it was both of us, Brian’s wife and best friend, he’d have to pay attention.”
“You ran a gambling addiction ‘intervention,’ ” Bobby said. “Did it work?”
Lyons barked hollowly. “Did it work? Hell, not only did Brian refuse to acknowledge he had a problem, he actually accused us of having an affair. We were in cahoots against him. Whole world out to get him.” Lyons shook his head. “I mean… you think you know a guy. We’d been friends for how long? And then one day, he just goes off. It’s easier for him to believe his best friend is fucking his wife than to accept that he has a gambling problem, and that liquidating his life savings to pay off loan sharks isn’t a good way to live.”
“He took money from loan sharks?” D.D. asked sharply.
Lyons gave her a look. “Not according to him. He said he’d taken the money to pay off the Denali. So, while we’re all sitting there, Tessa, cool as a cucumber, picks up the phone and dials their bank. It’s all automated systems these days, and sure enough, their vehicle loan still has a $34,000 balance due. Which is when he started yelling that we were obviously sleeping together. Go figure.”
“What did Tessa do?”
“Pleaded with him. Begged him to get help before he got in too deep. Which he refused to acknowledge. So finally she said, if he didn’t have a problem, then it should be easy for him to agree not to gamble. At all. He’d stay out of Foxwoods, Mohegan Sun, everywhere. He agreed, after making her promise never to see me again.”
D.D. raised a brow, looked at him. “Sounds like he really believed you and Tessa were too close.”
“Addicts blame everyone else for their problems,” Lyons replied evenly. “Ask my wife. I told her all about it, and she can vouch for my time, both when Brian is home and when he’s not home. We don’t have secrets between us.”
