Last to Die (40 page)

“Rogue agent? Dead Americans?” She snorted. “No kidding.”

“The feds slapped a muzzle on us. So for now, it’s
no comment
, okay?” He cocked his head. “Now get outta here. Go home and have a beer. You deserve it.”

That was the nicest thing Marquette had ever said to her. A beer did sound good. And she did deserve it. She gathered up her files, left them at her desk, and walked out of the station.

But she did not go home.

Instead she drove to Brookline, to the home of someone who’d be equally depressed by that broadcast. Someone who had no one else to turn to. When she arrived at the house, she was relieved to see that no TV vans had arrived yet, but the press would certainly be there soon. Every reporter in Boston knew where Dr. Maura Isles lived.

The lights were on inside, and Jane heard classical music playing, the plaintive strains of a violin. She had to ring the bell twice before the door finally opened.

“Hey,” said Jane. “Did you see it on TV? It’s all over the Internet!”

Maura gave a weary nod. “The fun is just beginning.”

“Which is why I came over. I figured you might need the company.”

“I’m afraid my company’s not going to be much fun. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Jane followed Maura into the living room, where she saw an
open
bottle of red wine and a nearly empty glass on the coffee table. “When you bring out the whole bottle, there’s some serious drinking planned.”

“Would you like a glass?”

“Can I get a beer out of your fridge instead?”

“Be my guest. There should still be a bottle in there from your last visit.”

Jane went into the kitchen and saw pristine countertops, with not a single dirty dish in sight. It looked clean enough in there to perform surgery, but that was Maura for you. Everything in its place. It suddenly struck Jane how bleak it all looked without clutter, without even a hint of disorder. As if no human really lived there. As if Maura had scrubbed her life so clean, she had sterilized the joy out of it.

She found the bottle of Adam’s ale, probably months old, and uncapped it. Went back to the living room.

The violin music was still playing, but with the volume turned down. They sat on the sofa. Maura sipped wine and Jane took a swig of beer, careful not to spill a drop on Maura’s spotless upholstery or the pricey Persian rug.

“You must feel thoroughly vindicated after this,” said Maura.

“Yeah. I look like a real genius. The best part was taking Crowe down ten notches.” She took another sip of beer. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Closing a case. Knowing we got it right. It doesn’t change the fact that Nicholas Clock is probably never going to wake up.”

“But the children are safe,” said Maura. “That’s what matters. I spoke to Julian this morning, and he says Claire and Will are doing fine.”

“But not Teddy. I’m not sure he’ll ever be fine,” said Jane, looking down at her beer. “I saw him at his foster home last night. We brought him back to the Inigos, the family who looked after him before. He wouldn’t say a word to me, not one word. I think he
blames
me.” She looked at Maura. “He blames all of us. You, me. Sansone.”

“Nevertheless, Teddy’s always welcome back at Evensong.”

“You’ve spoken to Sansone about it?”

“This afternoon.” Maura reached for the glass of wine, as though needing to fortify herself for this subject. “He made me an interesting offer, Jane.”

“What kind of offer?”

“To work for the Mephisto Society as a forensic consultant. And to be part of Evensong, where I could ‘shape young minds,’ as he put it.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think he’s really offering you something more personal?”

“No, that’s exactly what he said. I have to judge him by his words. Not by my interpretation of those words.”

“Jesus.” Jane sighed. “The two of you are dancing around each other like you’re both blind.”

“If I weren’t blind, what exactly would I be seeing?”

“That Sansone’s a much better choice for you than Daniel ever was.”

Maura shook her head. “I don’t think I should be choosing
any
man right now. But I am considering his offer.”

“You mean, leave the ME’s office? Leave Boston?”

“Yes. That’s what it would mean.”

The violin music soared to a high, sad note. A note that seemed to pierce straight to Jane’s chest. “You’re seriously thinking about it?”

Maura reached for the CD remote and abruptly shut off the music. Silence hung, heavy as a velvet drape, between them. She looked around the living room at the white leather sofa, at the polished mahogany. “I don’t know what’s next for me, Jane.”

Lights flared through the window, and Jane rose to peek through the curtains. “Unfortunately, I
do
know what’s next for you.”

“What?”

“TV van just pulled up. Damn hyenas can’t even wait for the press conference. They gotta show up on your doorstep.”

“I’ve been told not to talk to them.”

Jane turned with a frown. “Who told you that?”

“I received a call half an hour ago. The governor’s office. They’re getting pressure from Washington to keep this under wraps.”

“Too late. It’s already on CNN.”

“That’s what I said to him.”

“So you’re not gonna talk to the press at all?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“We always have a choice,” said Jane. “What do
you
want to do?”

Maura rose from the sofa and went to stand beside Jane at the window. They both watched as a cameraman began to haul out equipment from the van, preparing for the invasion of Maura’s front lawn.

“The easy choice,” said Maura, “is to simply tell them
no comment
.”

“No one can force us to talk.”

Maura mulled this over as they watched a second TV van arrive. “But isn’t that how all of this happened?” she asked. “Too many secrets. Too many people not telling the truth. When you shine a bright light, a secret loses all its power.”

The way Nicholas Clock did with his video, thought Jane. Shining the light of truth had cost him his life. But it had saved his son.

“You know, Maura, that’s exactly what you’re so good at. You shine a light, and you make the dead give up their secrets.”

“The trouble is,
the dead
are the only relationships I seem to have. I need someone whose body temperature is a little warmer than ambient. I don’t think I’m going to find him in this city.”

“I’d hate it if you left Boston.”

“You have a family here, Jane. I don’t.”

“If you want a family, I’ll give you my parents. Let them drive you crazy. And I’ll even throw in Frankie, so you can share the joy.”

Maura laughed. “That particular joy is yours, and yours alone.”

“The point is, a family doesn’t automatically make us happy. Doesn’t your work matter, too? And …” She paused. Added quietly: “And your friends?”

On the street outside, yet another TV van pulled up, and they heard the sound of slamming vehicle doors.

“Maura,” said Jane, “I haven’t been a good enough friend. I know that. I swear, I’ll do better next time.” She went to the coffee table for Maura’s wineglass, for her own bottle of beer. “So let’s drink to friends being friends.”

Smiling, they clinked glass against bottle and sipped.

Jane’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and saw a Maine area code on the display. “Rizzoli,” she answered.

“Detective, this is Dr. Stein, Eastern Maine Medical Center. I’m the neurologist taking care of Mr. Clock.”

“Yes, we spoke the other day.”

“I’m, uh, not exactly sure how to tell you this, but …”

“He’s dead,” Jane said, already guessing the purpose of this call.

“No! I mean … I don’t
think
so.”

“How can you not know?”

There was a sheepish sigh on the other end. “We really can’t explain how it happened. But when the nurse went into his room this afternoon to check his vital signs, his bed was empty, and the IV line was disconnected. We’ve spent the last four hours searching the hospital grounds, but we can’t find him.”

“Four
hours
? He’s been missing that long?”

“Maybe longer. We don’t know exactly when he left the room.”

“Doctor, I’ll call you right back,” she cut in, and hung up. Immediately she dialed the Inigos’ residence. It rang once. Twice.

“What’s going on, Jane?” Maura asked.

“Nicholas Clock’s gone missing.”

“
What?
” Maura stared at her. “I thought he was comatose.”

On the phone, Nancy Inigo answered: “Hello?”

“Is Teddy there?” Jane said.

“Detective Rizzoli, is that you?”

“Yes. And I’m concerned about Teddy. Where is he?”

“He’s in his room. He came home after school and went straight upstairs. I was about to call him down for dinner.”

“Please check on him for me. Right now.”

Nancy Inigo’s footsteps creaked up the stairs as she asked Jane over the phone: “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Not yet.”

Jane heard Nancy knock on the door and call out: “Teddy, can I come in? Teddy?” A pause. Then an alarmed: “He’s not here!”

“Search the house,” ordered Jane.

“Wait. Wait, there’s a note here, on the bed. It’s Teddy’s handwriting.”

“What does it say?”

Over the phone, Jane heard the rustle of paper. “It’s addressed to you, Detective,” said Nancy. “It says,
Thank you. We’ll be fine now
. That’s all there is.”

Thank you. We’ll be fine now
.

Jane imagined Nicholas Clock, miraculously rising from his coma, untethering his own IV line, and walking out of the hospital. She pictured Teddy, placing the note on his bed before he slipped out of the Inigos’ house and disappeared into the night. Both of them knew exactly where they were going, because they were bound for the same destination: a future together, as father and son.

“Do you have any idea what this note means?” asked Nancy.

“Yes. I think I know exactly what it means,” Jane said softly, and hung up.

“So Nicholas Clock is alive,” said Maura.

“Not just alive. He finally has his son.” Jane gazed out the window at the TV news vans and the growing pack of reporters and cameramen. And even though she was smiling, the lights of all
those
vehicles suddenly blurred through her tears. She tipped her beer bottle in a toast to the night and whispered: “Here’s to you, Nicholas Clock.”

Game over
.

BLOOD IS MORE
easily washed away than memories, thought Claire. She stood in Dr. Welliver’s office, surveying the brand-new rugs and furniture. Sunlight gleamed on spotless surfaces, and the room smelled of fresh air and lemons. Through the open window she heard the laughter of students rowing on the lake. Saturday sounds. Looking around the room, it was hard to believe that anything terrible had ever happened here, so thoroughly had the school transformed it. But no amount of scrubbing could erase the images seared in Claire’s mind. She looked down at the pale green carpet, and superimposed on that pattern of vines and berries, she saw a dead man staring up at her. She turned toward the wall, and there was Nicholas Clock’s blood splattered across it. She looked at the desk and could still picture Justine’s body lying nearby, brought down by Detective Rizzoli’s gunshots. Everywhere she looked in this room, she saw bodies. The ghost of Dr. Welliver still lingered here as well, smiling across her desk, sipping her endless cups of tea.

So many ghosts. Would she ever stop seeing them?

“Claire, are you coming?”

She turned to Will, who stood in the doorway. No longer did she see the pudgy, spotty Will; now she saw
her
Will, the boy whose last impulse when he thought they were going to die was to protect her. She wasn’t sure whether that was love, exactly; she wasn’t even sure what she felt about
him
. All she knew was that he’d done something no other boy had ever done for her, and that meant something. Maybe it meant everything.

And he had beautiful eyes.

She cast a final look around the room, said a silent goodbye to the ghosts, and nodded. “I’m coming.”

Together they walked down the stairs and stepped outside, where their classmates were enjoying that bright Saturday, splashing in the lake, lolling on the grass. Shooting arrows at the targets that Mr. Roman had set up that morning. Claire and Will headed up the path they both knew well now, a path that brought them up the hillside, winding through the trees across lichen-covered boulders, past scrubby juniper bushes. They came to the stone steps and climbed to the terrace, and the circle of thirteen boulders.

The others were waiting. She saw the usual faces: Julian and Bruno, Arthur and Lester. On that fair morning, a chorus of birds sang in the trees, and Bear the dog dozed on a sun-warmed rock. She went to the edge of the terrace and looked down at the castle’s jagged rooftop. It seemed to rise from the valley below like an ancient mountain range. Evensong.
Home
.

Julian said. “I now call to order this meeting of the Jackals.”