Body Double

by Tess Gerritsen

  EIGHTEEN

  “YOU DID EXACTLY the right thing. Backed the hell away and moved to a safe place,” said Rizzoli.

  Maura sat at her desk and stared at the creased papers that Rizzoli had retrieved for her from the parking lot. A now-untidy stack from Nikki Wells’s file, smudged with dirt, trampled in panic. Even now, sitting safe in Rizzoli’s company, Maura still felt the aftershocks.

  “Did you find any fingerprints on my door?” Maura asked.

  “A few. What you’d expect to find on any car door.”

  Rizzoli rolled a chair close to Maura’s desk and sat down. Rested her hands on the shelf of her belly. Mama Rizzoli, pregnant and armed, thought Maura. Was there any less likely savior to come to my rescue?

  “How long was your car in that parking lot? You said you arrived around six.”

  “But the scratches could have been made before I got here. I don’t use the passenger door every day. Only if I’m loading groceries or something. I saw it tonight because of the way the car was parked. And it was right under the lamp.”

  “When was the last time you looked at that door?”

  Maura pressed her hands to her temples. “I know it was fine yesterday morning. When I left Maine. I put my overnight bag in the front seat. I would have noticed the scratches then.”

  “Okay. So you drove home yesterday. Then what?”

  “The car stayed in my garage all night. And then, this morning, I went to see you at Schroeder Plaza.”

  “Where did you park?”

  “In that garage near police headquarters. The one off Columbus Ave.”

  “So it was in that parking garage all afternoon. While we were visiting the prison.”

  “Yes.”

  “That garage is fully monitored, you know.”

  “Is it? I didn’t notice . . .”

  “And then where did you go? After we got back from Framingham?”

  Maura hesitated.

  “Doc?”

  “I went to see Joyce O’Donnell.” She met Rizzoli’s gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I had to see her.”

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Of course. Look, I just needed to know more about my mother.”

  Rizzoli leaned back, mouth set in a straight line. She’s not happy with me, thought Maura. She told me to stay away from O’Donnell and I ignored her advice.

  “How long were you at her house?” Rizzoli asked.

  “About an hour. Jane, she told me something I didn’t know. Amalthea grew up in Fox Harbor. That’s why Anna went to Maine.”

  “And after you left O’Donnell’s house? What happened then?”

  Maura sighed. “I came straight here.”

  “You didn’t notice anyone following you?”

  “Why would I bother to look? I have too many things on my mind.”

  They regarded each other for a moment, neither one speaking, the tension about her visit to O’Donnell still hanging between them.

  “Did you know your security camera’s broken?” Rizzoli said. “The one here in your parking lot.”

  Maura gave a laugh. A shrug. “Do you know how much our budget’s been cut this year? That camera’s been broken for months. You can almost see the wires hanging out.”

  “My point is, that camera would have scared off most vandals.”

  “Unfortunately, it didn’t.”

  “Who else knows that camera’s broken? Everyone who works in this office, right?”

  Maura felt a stab of dismay. “I don’t like what you’re implying. A lot of people have noticed it’s broken. Cops. Mortuary drivers. Anyone who’s ever delivered a body here. You just have to look up and see it.”

  “You said there were two cars parked here when you arrived. Dr. Costas’s and Yoshima’s.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you came out of the building, around eight, those cars were gone.”

  “They left before I did.”

  “Do you get along with both of them?”

  Maura gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Because these are ridiculous questions.”

  “I’m not crazy about having to ask them.”

  “Then why are you? You know Dr. Costas, Jane. And you know Yoshima. You can’t treat them like suspects.”

  “They both walked through that parking lot. Right past your car. Dr. Costas left first, around six forty-five. Yoshima left sometime after that, maybe around seven fifteen.”

  “You’ve spoken to them?”

  “They both told me they didn’t see any scratches on your car. You’d think they would have seen it. Certainly Yoshima would, since he was parked right beside you.”

  “We’ve worked together for almost two years. I know him. So do you.”

  “We think we do.”

  Don’t, Jane, she thought. Don’t make me afraid of my own colleagues.

  “He’s worked in this building eighteen years,” said Rizzoli.

  “Abe’s been here nearly as long. Louise has, too.”

  “Did you know Yoshima lives alone?”

  “So do I.”

  “He’s forty-eight years old, never married, and he lives by himself. Comes to work every day, and here you are, up close and personal. Both of you working with corpses. Dealing with some pretty grim stuff. That’s got to forge a bond between you two. All the terrible things that only you and he have seen.”

  Maura thought of the hours that she and Yoshima had shared in that room with its steel tables and sharp instruments. He always seemed to anticipate her needs even before she did. Yes, there was a bond, of course there was, because they were a team. But after they stripped off the gowns and peeled off the shoe covers, they each walked out the door into their separate lives. They did not socialize; they’d never even shared a drink together after work. We’re alike that way, she thought. Two solitary people who only meet over corpses.

  “Look,” said Rizzoli with a sigh, “I like Yoshima. I hate even bringing up the possibility. But it’s something I have to consider, or I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

  “Which is what? To make me paranoid? I’m scared enough as it is, Jane. Don’t make me afraid of the very people I need to trust.” Maura swept up the papers from her desk. “Have you finished with my car? I’d like to go home.”

  “Yeah, we’re done with it. But I’m not so sure you should go home.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “There are other options. You could go to a hotel. You can sleep on my couch. I just spoke to Detective Ballard, and he mentioned he has a spare room.”

  “Why are you talking to Ballard?”

  “He’s been checking in with me every day about the case. Called about an hour ago, and I told him what happened to your car. He came right over to look at it.”

  “He’s in the parking lot now?”

  “Got here a little while ago. He’s concerned, Doc. I am, too.” Rizzoli paused. “So what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Well you’ve got a few minutes to think about it.” Rizzoli heaved herself to her feet. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”

  Now here was an absurd moment, thought Maura as they headed down the hallway together. I’m being protected by a woman who can barely push herself out of a chair. But Rizzoli made it clear that she was the one in charge, the one who’d assumed the role of guardian. She was the one who opened the door and stepped out first.

  Maura followed her across the parking lot, to the Lexus, where Frost and Ballard were standing.

  “Are you all right, Maura?” Ballard asked. The glow of the streetlamp cast his eyes in shadow; she looked up into a face whose expression she could not read.

  “I’m fine.”

  “This could have turned out a lot worse.” He looked at Rizzoli. “You told her what we think?”

  “I told her she might not want to go home tonight.”

  Maura looked at her car. The three scratches stood out, even u
glier than she’d remembered, like wounds left by a predator’s claws. Anna’s killer is talking to me. And I never knew how close he came.

  Frost said, “CSU noticed a little ding on the driver’s door.”

  “That’s old. Someone bumped me in a parking lot a few months ago.”

  “Okay, so it’s just the scratches. They pulled off a few fingerprints. They’ll need yours, Doc. As soon as you can get a set over to the lab.”

  “Of course.” She thought of all the fingers they’d inked in the morgue, all the cold flesh that was routinely pressed to cards. They’ll be getting mine ahead of the game. While I’m still alive. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling chilled despite the warm night. She thought of walking into her empty house, locking herself into her bedroom. Even with all those barricades, it was still just a house, not a fortress. A house with windows that were easily shattered, screens that could be cut with only a knife.

  “You said it was Charles Cassell who scratched Anna’s car.” Maura looked at Rizzoli. “Cassell wouldn’t have done this. Not to mine.”

  “No, he’d have no reason to. This is clearly meant as a warning to you.” Rizzoli said, quietly: “Maybe Anna was a mistake.”

  I’m the one. I’m the one who should have died.

  “Where do you want to go, Doc?” asked Rizzoli.

  “I don’t know,” Maura said. “I don’t know what to do . . .”

  “Well, may I suggest you not stand around out here?” said Ballard. “Where everyone can watch you?”

  Maura glanced at the sidewalk. Saw the silhouettes of people who’d been drawn by the flashing lights of the police cruiser. People whose faces she could not see because they were in shadow, while she stood here, lit like the star performer beneath the streetlamp’s glare.

  Ballard said, “I have a spare bedroom.”

  She did not look at him, but kept her gaze focused, instead, on those faceless shadows. Thinking: This is happening too fast. Too many decisions are being made on the spur of the moment. Choices I may come to regret.

  “Doc?” said Rizzoli. “What do you think?”

  At last Maura looked at Ballard. And she felt, once again, that disturbing tug of attraction. “I don’t know where else to go,” she said.

  He drove right behind her, so close that his headlights glared in her rearview mirror, as though he was afraid she might pull away, might try to lose him in the dense tangle of traffic. He stayed close even as they headed into the quieter suburb of Newton, even as she circled his block twice, the way he had instructed, to confirm no car was following them. When at last she came to a stop in front of his house, he was almost immediately standing at her window, tapping on the glass.

  “Pull into my garage,” he said.

  “I’ll be taking your space.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t want your car sitting on the street. I’ll open the bay door.”

  She turned into the driveway and watched as the door rumbled open to reveal an orderly garage where tools hung on a pegboard and built-in shelves held rows of paint cans. Even the concrete floor seemed to gleam. She eased into the bay, and the door immediately rolled shut behind her, closing off any view of her car from the street. For a moment she sat listening to the ticks of her cooling engine, and braced herself for the evening ahead. Only moments ago, returning to her own house had seemed unsafe, unwise. Now she wondered if this choice was any wiser.

  Ballard opened her car door. “Come on in. I’ll show you how to arm the security system. Just in case I’m not here to do it.”

  He led her into the house and up a short hallway to the foyer. Pointed to a keypad mounted near the front door.

  “I had this updated only a few months ago. First you punch in the security code, then you press ARM. Once you’ve armed it, if anyone opens a door or a window, it’ll trigger an alarm so loud it’ll make your ears ring. It also automatically notifies the security company, and they’ll call the house. To disarm it, you punch in the same code, then hit OFF. Is that clear so far?”

  “Yes. Do you want to tell me the code?”

  “I was just getting to that.” He glanced at her. “You realize, of course, that I’m about to hand you the numerical key to my house.”

  “Are you wondering if you can trust me?”

  “Just promise not to pass it along to your unsavory friends.”

  “Lord knows I have plenty of those.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “And they probably all carry badges. Okay, the code is twelve seventeen. My daughter’s birthday. Think you can remember that, or do you want to write it down?”

  “I’ll remember it.”

  “Good. Now go ahead and arm it, since I think we’re in for the night.”

  As she punched in the numbers, he stood so close beside her she could feel his breath in her hair. She pressed ARM and heard a soft beep. The digital readout now said: SYSTEM ARMED.

  “Fortress secure,” he said.

  “That was simple enough.” She turned and found him watching her so intently, she had the urge to step back, if only to reestablish a safe distance between them.

  “Did you get any dinner?” he asked.

  “I never got around to it. So much was happening tonight.”

  “Come on, then. I can’t let you go hungry.”

  His kitchen looked exactly the way she expected it would, with sturdy maple cabinets and butcher-block countertops. Pots and pans hung in orderly array from a ceiling rack. No extravagant touches, just the workspace of a practical man.

  “I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” she said. “Eggs and toast would be fine.”

  He opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs. “Scrambled?”

  “I can do it, Rick.”

  “How about you make us some toast? The bread’s right over there. I’d like one, too.”

  She took two bread slices from the package and dropped them into the toaster. Turned to watch as he stood by the stove, scrambling eggs in a bowl, and remembered their last meal together, both of them barefoot, laughing. Enjoying each other’s company. Before Jane’s phone call had made her wary of him. And if Jane hadn’t called that night, what would have happened between them? She watched him pour the eggs into a pan and turn up the burner. Felt her face flush, as though he’d lit another flame inside her as well.

  She turned and looked instead at the refrigerator door, where photos of Ballard and his daughter were displayed. Katie as an infant in her mother’s arms. As a toddler, sitting in a high chair. A progression of images, leading to a photo of a blond teenager with a grudging smile.

  “She’s changing so fast,” he said. “I can’t believe those photos are all the same kid.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “What did you decide to do about that joint in her locker?”

  “Oh, that.” He sighed. “Carmen grounded her. Even worse, she’s said no TV for a month. Now I’m going to have to lock up my own set, just to make sure Katie doesn’t sneak over here and watch it while I’m not at home.”

  “You and Carmen are good about keeping a united front.”

  “There’s not much choice, really. No matter how bitter the divorce is, you have to stand together, for the kid’s sake.” He turned off the stove and slid steaming eggs onto two plates. “You never had children?”

  “No, fortunately.”

  “Fortunately?”

  “Victor and I wouldn’t have managed to stay as civil as you two.”

  “It’s not as easy as it looks. Especially since . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “We manage to keep up appearances. That’s all.”

  They set the table, laid out plates of eggs and toast and butter, and sat down facing each other. The subject of their failed marriages had left them subdued. We are both still recovering from emotional wounds, she thought. No matter how attracted we are to each other, this is the wrong time to get involved.

  But later, as he walked her upstairs, she knew the same possibilities wer
e surely dancing in both their heads.

  “Here’s your room,” he said, opening the door to Katie’s bedroom. She walked in and confronted Britney Spears’s come-hither eyes, gazing down from a giant poster on the wall. Britney dolls and CDs lined the bookshelves. This room is going to give me nightmares, thought Maura.

  “You have your own bathroom, through that door,” he said. “There should be a spare toothbrush or two in the cabinet. And you can use Katie’s bathrobe.”

  “She won’t mind?”

  “She’s with Carmen this week. She won’t even know you’re here.”

  “Thank you, Rick.”

  He paused, as though waiting for her to say something more. Waiting for words that would change everything.

  “Maura,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll take care of you. I just want you to know that. What happened to Anna—I won’t let it happen to you.” He turned to leave. Said, softly: “Good night,” and closed the door behind him.

  I’ll take care of you.

  Isn’t that what we all want? she thought. Someone to keep us safe. She’d forgotten what it felt like, to be watched over. Even when she’d been married to Victor, she had never felt protected by him; he’d been too self-absorbed to watch over anyone but himself.

  Lying in bed, she listened to the clock ticking on the nightstand. To Ballard’s footsteps creaking in the room next door. Slowly the house settled into silence. She watched the hours advance on the clock. Midnight. One A.M. And still she couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow she would be exhausted.

  Is he lying awake, too?

  She hardly knew this man, just as she’d hardly known Victor when she’d married him. And what a mess that had turned out to be, three years of her life thrown away, all because of chemistry. Sparks. She did not trust her own judgment when it came to men. The one man you most want to sleep with may be the worst choice of all.

  Two A.M.

  The beams of a car’s headlights slid past the window. An engine purred on the street. She tensed, thinking: It’s nothing, probably just a neighbor coming home late. Then she heard the creak of footsteps on the porch. She held her breath. Suddenly the darkness was shrieking. She shot up in bed.