The Sinner

by Tess Gerritsen

  Too stunned to speak, Maura could only gaze down in horror at the skull, gaping open, the brain exposed. At the face, folded in like a squashed rubber mask.

  A metal tray suddenly toppled and crashed.

  Maura looked up just in time to see Jane Rizzoli, her face drained white, slowly crumple to the floor.

  TEN

  “I DON’T WANT TO GO to the ER”

  Maura wiped away the last of the blood and frowned at the inch-long laceration on Rizzoli’s forehead. “I’m not a plastic surgeon. I can stitch this up, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be a scar.”

  “Just do it, okay? I don’t want to sit for hours in some hospital waiting room. They’d probably just sic a medical student on me, anyway.”

  Maura wiped the skin with Betadine, then reached for a vial of Xylocaine and a syringe. “I’m going to numb your skin first. It’ll sting a little bit, but after that, you shouldn’t feel a thing.”

  Rizzoli lay perfectly still on the couch, her eyes focused on the ceiling. Though she didn’t flinch as the needle pierced her skin, she closed her hand into a fist and kept it tightly balled as the local anesthetic was injected. Not a word of complaint, not a whimper escaped her lips. Already she’d been humiliated by the fall in the lab. Humiliated even further when she’d been too dizzy to walk, and Frost had carried her like a bride into Maura’s office. Now she lay with her jaw squared, grimly determined not to show any weakness.

  As Maura pierced the edges of the laceration with the curved suture needle, Rizzoli asked, in a perfectly calm voice: “Are you going to tell me what happened to that baby?”

  “Nothing happened to it.”

  “It’s not exactly normal. Jesus, it’s missing half its head.”

  “It was born that way,” Maura said, snipping off suture and tying a knot. Sewing skin was like stitching a living fabric, and she was simply a tailor, bringing the edges together, knotting the thread. “The baby is anencephalic.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Its brain never developed.”

  “There’s more wrong with it than just a missing brain. It looked like the whole top of his head was chopped off.” Rizzoli swallowed. “And the face . . .”

  “It’s all part of the same birth defect. The brain develops from a sheath of cells called the neural tube. If the top of the tube fails to close the way it’s supposed to, the baby will be born missing a major part of the brain, the skull, even the scalp. That’s what anencephalic means. Without a head.”

  “You ever seen one like that before?”

  “Only in a medical museum. But it’s not that rare. It happens in about one in a thousand births.”

  “Why?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Then it could—it could happen to any baby?”

  “That’s right.” Maura tied off the last stitch and snipped the excess suture. “This child was born gravely malformed. If it wasn’t already dead at birth, then it almost certainly died soon after.”

  “So Camille didn’t drown it.”

  “I’ll check the kidneys for diatoms. That would tell us if the child died by drowning. But I don’t think this is a case of infanticide. I think the baby died a natural death.”

  “Thank god,” Rizzoli said softly. “If that thing had lived . . .”

  “It wouldn’t have.” Maura finished taping a bandage to the wound and stripped off her gloves. “All done, Detective. The stitches need to come out in five days. You can drop by here and I’ll snip them for you. But I still think you need to see a doctor.”

  “You are a doctor.”

  “I work on dead people. Remember?”

  “You just sewed me up fine.”

  “I’m not talking about putting in a few stitches. I’m concerned about what else is going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Maura leaned forward, her gaze tight on Rizzoli’s. “You fainted, remember?”

  “I didn’t eat lunch. And that thing—the baby—it shocked me.”

  “It shocked us all. But you’re the one who keeled over.”

  “I’ve just never seen anything like it.”

  “Jane, you’ve seen all sorts of terrible things in that autopsy room. We’ve seen them together, smelled them together. You’ve always had a strong stomach. The boy cops, I have to keep an eye on them, because they’ll drop like rocks. But you’ve always managed to hang in there. Until now.”

  “Maybe I’m not as tough as you thought.”

  “No, I think there’s something wrong. Isn’t there?”

  “Like what?”

  “You got light-headed a few days ago.”

  Rizzoli shrugged. “I’ve gotta start eating breakfast.”

  “Why haven’t you? Is it nausea? And I’ve noticed you’re in the bathroom practically every ten minutes. You went in there twice, just while I was setting up the lab.”

  “What the hell is this, anyway? An interrogation?”

  “You need to see a doctor. You need a complete physical and a blood count to rule out anemia, at the very least.”

  “I just need to get some fresh air.” Rizzoli sat up, then quickly dropped her head in her hands. “God, this is some friggin’ headache.”

  “You whacked your head pretty hard on the floor.”

  “It’s been whacked before.”

  “But I’m more concerned about why you fainted. Why you’ve been so tired.”

  Rizzoli lifted her head and looked at her. In that instant, Maura had her answer. She had already suspected it, and now she saw it confirmed in the other woman’s eyes.

  “My life is so fucked up,” Rizzoli whispered.

  The tears startled Maura. She had never seen Rizzoli cry, had thought this woman was too strong, too stubborn, to ever break down, yet tears were now trickling down her cheeks, and Maura was so taken aback she could only watch in silence.

  The knock on the door startled them both.

  Frost stuck his head into the office. “How’re we doing in here . . .” His voice trailed off when he saw his partner’s damp face. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?”

  Rizzoli gave an angry swipe at her tears. “I’m fine.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I said I’m fine!”

  “Detective Frost,” said Maura, “We need time alone. Could you give us some privacy, please?”

  Frost flushed. “Sorry,” he murmured, and withdrew, softly closing the door.

  “I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” said Rizzoli. “But sometimes, he’s so goddamn dense.”

  “He’s just concerned about you.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know. At least he’s one of the good guys.” Her voice broke. Fighting not to cry, she balled her hands into fists, but the tears came anyway, and then the sobs. Choked, embarrassed sobs that she could not hold back. It disturbed Maura to witness the disintegration of a woman whose strength had always impressed her. If Jane Rizzoli could fall apart, then anyone could.

  Rizzoli suddenly slapped her fists on her knees and took a few deep breaths. When at last she raised her head, the tears were still there, but pride had set her face in a rigid mask.

  “It’s the goddamn hormones. They’re screwing around with my head.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “I don’t know. A while, I guess. I finally did a home pregnancy test this morning. But I’ve sort of known for weeks. I could feel the difference. And I didn’t get my period.”

  “How late are you?”

  Rizzoli shrugged. “At least a month.”

  Maura leaned back in her chair. Now that Rizzoli had her emotions under control, Maura could retreat into her role of clinician. The cool-headed doctor, ready with practical advice. “You have plenty of time to decide.”

  Rizzoli gave a snort and wiped her hand across her face. “There’s nothing to decide.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I can’t have it. You know I can’t.”

  “Why no
t?”

  Rizzoli gave her a look reserved for imbeciles. “What would I do with a baby?”

  “What everyone else does.”

  “Can you see me being a mother?” Rizzoli laughed. “I’d be lousy at it. The kid wouldn’t survive a month in my care.”

  “Children are amazingly resilient.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m no good with them.”

  “You were very good with that little girl Noni.”

  “Right.”

  “You were, Jane. And she responded to you. She ignored me, and she shrinks from her own mother. But you two were like instant pals.”

  “It doesn’t mean I’m the mommy type. Babies freak me out. I don’t know what to do with ’em, except to hand ’em over to someone else, quick.” She released a sharp breath, as though that was that. Issue settled. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.” She rose from the chair and crossed to the door.

  “Have you told Agent Dean?”

  Rizzoli halted, her hand on the knob.

  “Jane?”

  “No, I haven’t told him.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s kind of hard to have a conversation when we hardly see each other.”

  “Washington’s not the other end of the earth. It’s even in the same time zone. You could try picking up the phone. He’d want to know.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s just one of those complications he’d rather not hear about.”

  Maura sighed. “Okay, I admit it, I don’t know him very well. But in the short time we all worked together, he struck me as someone who takes his responsibilities seriously.”

  “Responsibilities?” Rizzoli finally turned and looked at her. “Oh, right. That’s what I am. That’s what this baby is. And he’s just enough of a Boy Scout to do his duty.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “But you’re absolutely right. Gabriel would do his duty. Well, to hell with that. I don’t want to be some man’s problem, some man’s responsibility. Besides, it’s not his decision. It’s mine. I’m the one who’d have to raise it.”

  “You haven’t even given him a chance.”

  “A chance to what? Get down on his knee and propose to me?” Rizzoli laughed.

  “Why is that so far-fetched? I’ve seen you two together. I’ve seen how he looks at you. There’s more going on than just a one-night stand.”

  “Yeah. It was a two-week stand.”

  “That’s all it was to you?”

  “What else could we manage? He’s in Washington and I’m here.” She shook her head in amazement. “Jesus, I can’t believe I got caught. This is only supposed to happen to dumb chicks.” She stopped. Laughed. “Right. So what does that make me?”

  “Definitely not dumb.”

  “Unlucky. And too goddamn fertile.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “Last week. He called me.”

  “You didn’t think to tell him then?”

  “I wasn’t sure then.”

  “But you are now.”

  “And I’m still not going to tell him. I have to choose what’s right for me, not for anyone else.”

  “What are you afraid he’ll say?”

  “That he’ll talk me into screwing up my life. That he’ll tell me to keep it.”

  “Is that really what you’re afraid of? Or are you more afraid that he won’t want it? That he’ll reject you before you get the chance to reject him?”

  Rizzoli looked at Maura. “You know what, Doc?”

  “What?”

  “Sometimes, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  And sometimes, thought Maura as she watched Rizzoli walk out of the office, I hit the bull’s-eye.

  Rizzoli and Frost sat in the car, the heater blowing cold air, snowflakes fluttering onto the windshield. The gray skies matched her mood. She sat shivering in the claustrophobic gloom of the car, and every snowflake that fell on the window was another opaque chip cutting off her view. Closing her in, burying her.

  Frost said, “You feeling better?”

  “Got a headache. That’s all.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to drive you to the ER?”

  “I just need to pick up some Tylenol.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He put the car into gear, then changed his mind and shifted back into park. He looked at her. “Rizzoli?”

  “What?”

  “You ever want to talk about anything—anything at all, I don’t mind listening.”

  She didn’t respond, just turned her gaze to the windshield. To the snowflakes forming a white filigree on the glass.

  “We’ve been together what, two years now? Seems to me, you don’t tell me a lot about what’s going on in your life,” he said. “I think I probably talk your ear off about me and Alice. Every fight we have, you hear about it, whether you want to or not. You never tell me to shut up, so I figure you don’t mind. But you know, I just realized something. You do a lot of listening, but you hardly ever talk about yourself.”

  “There’s nothing much to say.”

  He thought this over for a moment. Then he said, sounding almost embarrassed: “I’ve never seen you cry before.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Now you have.”

  “Look, we haven’t always gotten along great—”

  “You don’t think so?”

  Frost flushed, as he always did when caught in an awkward moment. The guy had a face like a stoplight, turning red at the first hint of embarrassment. “What I mean is, we’re not, like, buddies.”

  “What, you want to be buddies now?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Okay, we’re buddies,” she said brusquely. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  “Rizzoli?”

  “What?”

  “I’m here, okay? That’s all I want you to know.”

  She blinked, and turned to her side window, so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had on her. For the second time in an hour, she felt tears coming. Goddamn hormones. She didn’t know why Frost’s words should make her cry. Maybe it was just the fact he was showing such kindness to her. In truth, he had always been kind to her, but she was exquisitely sensitive to it now, and a small part of her wished that Frost was as thick as a plank and unaware of her turmoil. His words made her feel vulnerable and exposed, and that was not the way she wanted to be regarded. It was not the way you earned a partner’s respect.

  She took a breath and lifted her jaw. The moment had passed, and the tears were gone. She could look at him and manage a semblance of her old attitude.

  “Look, I need that Tylenol,” she said. “We gonna sit here all day?”

  He nodded and put the car into gear. The windshield wipers whisked snow off the glass, opening up a view of sky and white streets. All through a blistering summer, she’d been looking forward to winter, to the purity of snow. Now, staring at this bleak cityscape, she thought she would never again curse the heat of August.

  On a busy Friday night, you couldn’t swing a cat in the bar at J. P. Doyle’s without hitting a cop. Located just down the street from Boston PD’s Jamaica Plain substation, and only ten minutes from police headquarters at Schroeder Plaza, Doyle’s was where off-duty cops usually gathered for beer and conversation. So when Rizzoli walked into Doyle’s that evening for dinner, she fully expected to see a crowd of familiar faces. What she didn’t expect to see was Vince Korsak sitting at the bar, sipping an ale. Korsak was a retired detective from the Newton PD, and Doyle’s was out of his usual territory.

  He spotted her as she came in the door and gave her a wave. “Hey, Rizzoli! Long time, no see.” He pointed to the bandage on her forehead. “What happened to you?”

  “Aw, nothing. Had a little slip in the morgue and needed a few stitches. So what’re you doing in the neighborhood?”

  “I’m moving in here.”

  “What?”

  “Just signed a lease on an apartment down the street.”<
br />
  “What about your house in Newton?”

  “Long story. Look, you want some dinner? I’ll tell you all about it.” He grabbed his ale. “Let’s get a booth in the other room. These asshole smokers are polluting my lungs.”

  “Never bothered you before.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s when I used to be one of those assholes.”

  Nothing like a coronary to turn a chain-smoker into a health freak, thought Rizzoli as she followed in the wake left by Korsak’s substantial frame. Although he’d lost weight since his heart attack, he was still heavy enough to double for a linebacker, which was what he reminded her of as he bulldozed through the Friday evening crowd.

  They stepped through a doorway into the nonsmoking section, where the air was marginally clearer. He chose a booth beneath the Irish flag. On the wall were framed and yellowed clippings from the Boston Globe, articles about mayors long gone, politicians long dead. The Kennedys and Tip O’Neill and other fine sons of Eire, many of whom had served with Boston’s finest.

  Korsak slid onto the wooden bench, squeezing his generous girth behind the table. Heavy as he was, he still looked thinner than he’d been back in August, when they had worked a multiple homicide investigation together. She could not look at him now without remembering their summer together. The buzzing of flies among the trees, the horrors that the woods had yielded up, lying among the leaves. She still had flashbacks to that month when two killers had joined to enact their terrible fantasies on wealthy couples. Korsak was one of the few people who knew the impact that the case had had on her. Together, they had fought monsters and survived, and they had a bond between them, forged in the crisis of an investigation.

  Yet there was so much about Korsak that repelled her.

  She watched him take a gulp of ale, and flick his tongue over the mustache of foam. Once again she was struck by his simian appearance. The heavy eyebrows, the thick nose, the bristly black hair covering his arms. And the way he walked, with thick arms swinging, shoulders rolled forward, the way an ape walks. She knew his marriage was troubled, and that, since his retirement, he had far too much time on his hands. Looking at him now, she felt a twinge of guilt, because he had left several messages on her phone, suggesting they meet for dinner, but she’d been too busy to return his calls.