Love You More (Tessa Leoni, #1)(63)

“There was one situation that comes to mind,” Hamilton said abruptly. “Not involving Trooper Leoni, but her husband.”

D.D. and Bobby exchanged a glance.

“Probably six months ago,” Hamilton continued, not really looking at them. “Let’s see … November. That sounds right. Trooper Lyons arranged an outing to Foxwoods. Many of us attended, including Brian Darby. Personally, I took in a show, blew my fifty bucks in the casino, and called it a night. But Brian … When the time came, we couldn’t get him to leave. One more round, one more round, this would be the one. He and Shane ended up in an argument, with Shane physically pulling him off the casino floor. The other guys laughed it off. But … It seemed pretty clear to me that Brian Darby should not return to Foxwoods.”

“He had a gambling problem?” Bobby asked with a frown.

“I’d say his interest in gaming appeared higher than average. I’d say that if Shane hadn’t yanked him away from the roulette table, Brian would still be sitting there, watching the numbers spin around.”

Bobby and D.D. exchanged glances. D.D. would like this story better if Brian didn’t have fifty grand sitting in the bank. Gambling addicts didn’t normally leave fifty grand in savings. Still, they studied the lieutenant colonel.

“Have Shane and Brian returned to Foxwoods lately?” Bobby asked.

“You would have to ask Trooper Lyons.”

“Trooper Leoni ever mention any financial stress? Ask for extra shifts, more OT hours, that sort of thing?”

“To judge by the duty logs,” Hamilton said slowly, “she’s been working more hours lately.”

But fifty grand in the bank, D.D. thought. Who needed OT when you had fifty grand in the bank?

“There is something else you probably should know,” Hamilton said quietly. “I need you to understand, this is strictly off the record. And it may have nothing to do with Trooper Leoni. But … You said the past three weeks, and as a matter of fact, we launched an internal investigation exactly two weeks ago: An outside auditor discovered funds had been improperly moved from the union’s account. The auditor believes the funds were embezzled, most likely from an inside source. We are trying to locate those monies now.”

D.D. went wide-eyed. “How nice of you to mention that. And to volunteer it so readily, too.”

Bobby shot her a warning glance.

“How much are we talking?” he asked in a more reasonable tone.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Missing as of two weeks ago?”

“Yes. But the embezzlement started twelve months prior, a series of payments made to an insurance company, which it turns out, doesn’t exist.”

“But the checks have been cashed,” Bobby stated.

“Each and every one,” Hamilton replied.

“Who signed for them?”

“Hard to make out. But all were deposited into the same bank account in Connecticut, which four weeks ago was closed out.”

“The fake insurance company was a shell,” D.D. determined. “Set up to receive payments, a quarter of a million dollars’ worth, then shut down.”

“That’s what the investigators believe.”

“Bank’s gotta have information for you,” Bobby said. “Same bank for all transactions?”

“The bank has been cooperating fully. It supplied us with video footage of a woman in a red baseball cap and dark sunglasses closing out the account. That has become internal affair’s biggest lead—they are pursuing a female with inside information on the troopers’ union.”

“Such as Tessa Leoni,” D.D. murmured.

The lieutenant colonel didn’t argue.





23



If you want someone dead, prison is the perfect place to do it. Just because the Suffolk County Jail was minimum security didn’t mean it wasn’t filled with violent offenders. The convicted murderer who’d just served twenty years at the state maximum security prison might finish up his or her county sentence here, completing eighteen months for burglary or simple assault that had been in addition to the homicide charge. Maybe my roommate Erica was locked up for dealing drugs, or turning tricks, or petty theft. Or maybe she’d killed the last three women who’d tried to get between her and her meth.

When I asked the question, she just smiled, showing off twin rows of black teeth.

Unit 1-9-2 held thirty-four other women just like her.

As pretrial detainees, we were kept separate from the general inmate population, in a locked-down unit where food came to us, the nurse came to us, and programming came to us. But within the unit, there was plenty of intermingling, creating multiple opportunities for violence.

Erica walked me through the daily schedule. Morning started at seven a.m., with “count time,” when the CO would conduct head count. Then we would be served breakfast in our cells, followed by a couple of hours “rec time”—we could leave our cells and roam unshackled around the unit, maybe hang out in the commons area watching TV, maybe shower (three showers located right off the commons area, where everyone could also enjoy that show), or ride the squeaky exercise bike (verbal insults from your fellow detainees not included).

Most women, I quickly realized, spent their time playing cards or gossiping at the round stainless steel tables in the center of the unit. A woman would join a table, pick up one rumor, share two more, then visit a neighbor’s cell, where she could be the first to provide the big scoop. And around and around the women went, table to table, cell to cell. The whole atmosphere reminded me of summer camp, where everyone wore the same clothes, slept in bunks, and obsessed over boys.