Love You More (Tessa Leoni, #1)(54)

My father, standing impassively in the doorway, his arms crossed over his dirty white T-shirt. And me, understanding even then that I’d lost him. That my answers didn’t matter anymore. I was guilty, I would always be guilty.

Sometimes, that’s the price you paid for love.

Detective Warren read me my rights. I didn’t speak; what was left to say? She cuffed my wrists, prepared to lead me away, then encountered the first logistical issue. I had no clothes. My uniform had been bagged and tagged as evidence upon my admittance, delivered to the crime lab yesterday afternoon. That left me in a hospital Johnny, and even D.D. understood the political dangers of a Boston cop being photographed dragging away a battered state trooper who was wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

She and Detective Dodge had a quick conference, off to one side of the room. I sat back down on the edge of the bed. A nurse had entered and was watching the proceedings with concern. Now she crossed to me.

“Head?” she asked crisply.

“Hurts.”

She took my pulse, made me track her finger with my eyes, then nodded in satisfaction. Apparently, I was merely in pain, not in crisis. Having assured herself that her patient was in no immediate danger, the nurse retreated out the door.

“Can’t use a prison jumpsuit,” D.D. was arguing in low tones with Bobby. “Her lawyer will argue we biased the judge, bringing her before him in jailhouse orange. Hospital gown presents the same issue, except this time we look like insensitive jerks. We need clothes. Simple nondescript blue jeans, sweater. That sort of thing.”

“Get an officer to swing by her house,” Bobby muttered back.

D.D. regarded him for a second, then turned to study me.

“Got a favorite outfit?” D.D. asked.

“Wal-Mart,” I said, standing up.

“What?”

“Couple blocks over. Size 6 jeans, medium sweater. I’d appreciate underclothes, too, plus socks and shoes.”

“I’m not buying you clothes,” D.D. said crossly. “We’ll get some from your house.”

“No,” I said, and sat back down.

D.D. glared at me. I let her. She was arresting me, after all, what did she have to be so angry about? I didn’t want clothing from home, personal articles the Suffolk County Jail would seize from me and lock away for the duration of my incarceration. I would rather arrive in a hospital gown. Why not? The look bought me sympathy, and I would take all the help I could get.

Apparently, D.D. figured that out, as well. A uniformed officer was summoned, instructions given. The patrol officer didn’t even bat an eye at being told to buy women’s clothing. He disappeared out the door, which left me alone with D.D. and Bobby again.

Others must be staying out in the hall. Hospital rooms weren’t that big. They might as well wait in the corridor for the show.

I was counting down, though I didn’t know to what.

“What did you use?” D.D. asked abruptly. “Bags of ice? Snow? Funny, you know. I noticed the damp spot on the basement floor, yesterday. I wondered about it.”

I said nothing.

She walked toward me, eyes narrowed, as if studying a particular species of wildlife. I noticed when she walked, she kept one hand splayed over her stomach, the other on her hip. I also noticed that her face was pale with dark circles under her eyes. Apparently, I was keeping the good detective up at night. Score one for me.

I regarded her with my good eye. Dared her to look at the swollen, eggplant purple mess of my face, and pass judgment.

“You ever meet the ME?” she asked now, switching gears, becoming more conversational. She halted in front of me. From my vantage point, perched on the edge of the hospital bed, I had to look up at her.

I didn’t speak.

“Ben’s good. One of the best we’ve ever had,” she continued. “Maybe another ME wouldn’t have noticed it. But Ben loves the details. Apparently, the human body is like any other meat. You can freeze it and thaw it, but not without some changes in—how did he put it?—consistency. The flesh on your husband’s extremities felt wrong to him. So he took a few samples, stuck them under a microscope, and hell if I understand all the science, but basically determined damage at a cellular level consistent with the freezing of human tissue. You shot your husband, Tessa. Then, you put him on ice.”

I didn’t speak.

D.D. leaned closer. “This is what I don’t get, though. Obviously, you were buying time. You needed to get something done. What, Tessa? What were you doing while your husband’s corpse lay frozen in the basement?”

I didn’t speak. I listened to a song instead, playing in the back of my mind. All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, my two front teeth, my two front teeth.…

“Where is she?” D.D. whispered, as if reading my mind. “Tessa, what did you do with your little girl? Where’s Sophie?”

“When are you due?” I asked, and D.D. recoiled as if shot, while five feet away, Bobby inhaled sharply.

He hadn’t known, I determined. Or maybe he’d known, but not known, in that way men sometimes do. I found this interesting.

“Is he the father?” I asked.

“Shut up,” D.D. said curtly.

Then I remembered. “No,” I corrected myself, as if she’d never spoken. I looked over at Bobby. “You’re married to another woman, from the state mental institute case, couple years back. And you have a baby now, don’t you? Not that long ago. I heard about that.”