Die Again (Rizzoli & Isles, #11)(59)

Jane wasn’t ready to be shaken off and kept pace as Maura walked out of the building and headed to the parking garage. “You’re still ticked off that I didn’t agree with you.”

“No.”

“Yes you are, or you’d have asked me, and not Tam.”

“You refused to see the parallels between Gott and Jane Doe, but they’re there. I feel it.”

“Feel it? Since when did you start listening to hunches instead of evidence?”

“You’re the one who always talks about instinct.”

“But you never do. You’re always about facts and logic, so what’s changed?”

Maura halted beside her car but did not unlock it. Just stood beside the door, staring at her own reflection in the window. “She wrote me again,” she said. “My mother.”

There was a long silence. “And you didn’t just toss the letter away?”

“I couldn’t, Jane. There are things I need to know before she dies. Why she gave me up. Who I really am.”

“You know who you are, and it has nothing to do with her.”

“How do you know that?” She took a step toward Jane. “Maybe you’re only seeing what I let you see. Maybe I’ve hidden the truth.”

“What, that you’re some kind of monster like her?” Maura had moved so close they were now standing eye to eye, but Jane merely laughed. “You’re the least scary person I know. Well, except for Frost. Amalthea’s a freak, but she didn’t pass that on to you.”

“She did pass on one thing. We both see the darkness. Where everyone else sees sunshine, we notice what’s in the shadows. The child with bruises, the wife who’s too afraid to speak. The house where the curtains are always shut. Amalthea called it a gift for recognizing evil.” Maura pulled an envelope out of her purse and handed it to Jane.

“What’s this?”

“Items she collects from newspapers. She saves everything where I’m mentioned and follows every case I’m working on.”

“Including Gott and Jane Doe.”

“Of course.”

“Now I know where this is coming from. Amalthea Lank tells you there’s a connection, and you believe her.” Jane shook her head. “Didn’t I warn you about her? She’s playing you.”

“She sees things no one else does. Spots the clues lost among all the details.”

“How can she? She doesn’t have access to the details.”

“Even in prison, she hears things. People tell her, or write her, or send her news clippings. She sees connections, and she was right about this one.”

“Yeah. If she weren’t a convicted killer, she’d make a great crime analyst.”

“Maybe she would. After all, she is my mother.”

Jane raised both hands, a gesture of surrender. “Okay. You want to give her that power, I can’t stop you. But I know a mistake when I see one.”

“And you’re always so happy to point it out.”

“Who else is going to say it? That’s what a friend does, Maura. She stops you before you screw up your life again.”

Again. Maura could offer no retort and she stared back in silence, stung by the truth of what Jane had said. Again. She thought of all the times Jane had tried to stop her from making the mistake that still haunted her all these months later. As she and Father Daniel Brophy had circled closer and closer, drawn into a love affair with no possible happy ending, Jane had been the voice of reason, warning her of heartbreak ahead. A voice that Maura had ignored.

“Please,” Jane said quietly. “I just don’t want you to be hurt.” She reached for Maura’s arm with the stalwart grasp of a friend. “You’re so smart in every other way.”

“Except when it comes to people.”

Jane laughed. “People are the problem, aren’t they?”

“Maybe I should stick to cats,” Maura said as she opened her car door and slid inside. “With them, at least you know exactly where you stand.”





LOBSTER AND MOOSE AND WILD BLUEBERRIES. THAT’S WHAT MOST PEOPLE imagined when they thought about the state of Maine, but Jane’s images were far grimmer. She thought of dark woods and murky bogs and all the hidden places where a human being could vanish. And she thought of the last time she and Frost had made this drive north, only five months earlier, on a night that had ended in a mist of blood and death. For Jane, Maine was no Vacationland; it was a place where bad things happened.

Five years ago, a bad thing happened to a petty thief named Brandon Tyrone.

The rain turned to icy pellets as they drove north on Coastal Route 1, Frost at the wheel. Even with the heater blowing, Jane’s feet were chilled and she wished she’d pulled on boots that morning, instead of the thin flats she was now wearing. As much as she hated to acknowledge that summer was over, all it took was a glance out the car window at bare trees and gunmetal-gray skies to see that the darkest season had arrived. It seemed they were driving into winter itself.

Frost slowed down as they passed two hunters in blaze orange, hefting a gutted doe into a parked pickup truck. He gave a sad shake of his head. “Bambi’s mom.”

“November. It’s that time of year.”

“With all these guns blasting away, it makes me nervous crossing the state line. Bang! Bagged another M*!”