Die Again (Rizzoli & Isles, #11)(87)

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you contact me? Why did you think I could help you?”

“Because we followed the links. They led us to the Botswana murders. And you.”

“Exactly. Those links led you to me. For six years I’ve been hiding in Touws River, living under a different name. I’ve stayed away from London because I was afraid Johnny would find me. You think he’s here, in Boston. And now, so am I.” I swallow hard. “Right where he wants me.”

I see my alarm reflected in her eyes. She says quietly: “Let’s go. I’m taking you back to Maura’s.”

As we step out of the house, I feel as vulnerable as a gazelle in open grass. I imagine eyes everywhere, watching me from the houses, from the passing cars. I wonder how many people know that I’m in Boston. I remember the crowded airport where we landed yesterday, and I think of all the people who might have seen me in the Boston PD lobby or in the cafeteria or waiting for the elevator. If Johnny was there, would I have spotted him?

Or am I like the gazelle, blind to the lion until the moment he springs?





“IN HER MIND, HE’S GROWN INTO A MONSTER OF MYTHICAL PROPORTIONS,” said Maura. “For six years, she’s been obsessed with him. It’s only natural she thinks this hunt is all about her.”

From the living room, Jane could hear the sound of the shower running in the guest bathroom. While Millie was out of earshot, this was their chance to talk about her in private, and Maura was quick to offer her opinion.

“Think about how preposterous her idea is, Jane. She thinks superhuman Johnny killed Elliot’s father, killed Elliot’s girlfriend, and had the miraculous foresight to plant a silver cigarette lighter as a clue five years ago? All this, to lure her out of hiding?” Maura shook her head. “Even for a master chess player, it’s too elaborate.”

“But it’s possible this is about her.”

“Where’s your proof that Jodi Underwood and Leon Gott were killed by the same perp? He was strung up and gutted. She was strangled in a quick, efficient blitz attack. Unless there’s a DNA match with those cat hairs—”

“The tiger hair’s pretty convincing.”

“What tiger hair?”

“The forensic lab called me just before we left to come here. You know that unidentified third strand on Jodi’s blue bathrobe? It came from a Bengal tiger.” Jane pulled the plastic evidence bag from her pocket. “Leon Gott just happens to have a tiger head mounted on his wall. What are the chances there are two different killers running around who’ve both been in contact with a tiger?”

Maura frowned at the hairs in the evidence bag. “Well, that does make your case a lot more convincing. Outside of a zoo, you’re not going to find many …” She paused, looked at Jane. “The zoo has a Bengal tiger. What if that hair was from a live animal?”

The zoo.

A memory suddenly sprang into Jane’s head. The leopard cage. Debra Lopez, mauled and bleeding at her feet. And the veterinarian, Dr. Oberlin, crouched over Debra’s body, his hands pumping on her chest as he desperately tried to restart her heart. Tall, blond, blue eyes. Just like Johnny Posthumus.

Jane pulled out her cell phone.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Dr. Alan Rhodes called back. “I’m not sure why you want this, but I was able to find you a photo of Greg Oberlin. It’s not a very good one. It was taken at our fund-raiser a few weeks ago. What’s this all about, anyway?”

“You didn’t tell Dr. Oberlin about this, right?” said Jane.

“You asked me not to. Frankly, I don’t feel comfortable going behind his back. Is this some sort of police matter?”

“I can’t share the details, Dr. Rhodes. It needs to stay confidential. Can you email that photo?”

“You mean, right now?”

“Yes right now.” Jane called out: “Maura, I need to use your computer. He’s sending the photo.”

“It’s in my study.”

By the time Jane sat down at Maura’s desk and signed into her email account, the photo was already in her inbox. Rhodes had said it was taken during a zoo fund-raiser, and the event was clearly a black-tie affair. She saw half a dozen smiling guests posed in a ballroom, wineglasses in hand. Dr. Oberlin was at the edge of the image, partly turned away as he reached toward the canapé tray.

“Okay, I’m looking at it now,” she said to Rhodes over the phone. “But it’s not the best shot of him. Do you have any others?”

“I’d have to hunt around. Or I could just ask him for one.”

“No. Do not ask him.”

“Can you please tell me what this is all about? You’re not investigating Greg, are you, because he’s as straight-arrow as they come.”

“Do you know if he’s ever been to Africa?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you know if he’s visited Africa?”

“I’m sure he has. His mother’s originally from Johannesburg. Look, you need to ask Greg yourself. This is making me uncomfortable.”

Jane heard footsteps and swiveled around to see Millie standing behind her. “What do you think?” Jane asked her. “Is it him?”

Millie didn’t answer. She stood with eyes rooted on the photo, hands clutching the back of Jane’s chair. Her silence stretched on so long that the computer screen went black, and Jane had to reawaken it.