Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

by Tess Gerritsen

  “But it does. This ends it.”

  “That’s what the courts are for.”

  “The courts?” Cathy’s laugh was bitter. “They won’t touch him. They never have.” Her grip tightened, and the barrel tilted higher, yet Jeremiah did not flinch. His gaze remained serene, almost amused.

  “You see, my friends?” he called out. “This is what we face. Irrational anger and hatred.” He gave a sad shake of the head and looked at Cathy. “I think it’s clear to everyone here that you need help, Katie. I feel only love for you. That’s all I’ve ever felt.” Once again, he turned to leave.

  “Love?” Cathy whispered. “Love?”

  Jane saw the tendons in Cathy’s wrist snap taut. Saw the woman’s fingers tighten, yet her own reflexes refused to kick in. Her hands froze around her weapon.

  The blast of Cathy’s gun sent a bullet flying into Jeremiah’s back. He lurched forward and stumbled to his knees.

  The room exploded in gunfire. Cathy’s body jerked and twitched as a hail of police bullets punched into her flesh. Her weapon thudded to the floor and she went sprawling. She landed facedown beside the body of Jeremiah Goode.

  “Cease fire!” shouted MacAfee.

  There were two final, stuttering shots, and then silence fell.

  Jane dropped to her knees beside Cathy. From the congregation came a woman’s wail, a high and eerie keening that did not even sound human. Now others joined in, a chorus of shrieks that soon became deafening as hundreds of voices cried out in grief for their fallen prophet. No one mourned Cathy Weiss. No one called out her name. Only Jane, kneeling on the bloody floor, was leaning in close enough to stare into the woman’s eyes. Only Jane saw the light in those eyes fade out as her soul tumbled away.

  “Murderer!” someone screamed. “She’s a Judas!”

  Jane looked at the body of Jeremiah Goode. Even in death, he was smiling.

  HER BIRTH NAME WAS KATIE SHELDON,” SAID JANE, AS SHE AND Maura drove toward Jackson. “At age thirteen, she became one of Jeremiah’s so-called spiritual brides, expected to submit herself completely to his desires. For six years, she belonged to him. But somehow, she managed to pull together the courage to escape. And she fled The Gathering.”

  “That’s when she changed her name?” asked Maura.

  Jane nodded, but kept her eyes on her driving. “She became Catherine Sheldon Weiss. And she devoted her life to bringing down Jeremiah. The problem is, no one was listening to her. She was just a voice in the wilderness.”

  Maura stared ahead at what was now a familiar road, one she’d traveled every day to visit Rat at the hospital. This would be her last visit. Tomorrow, she was flying home to Boston, and she dreaded this goodbye. Dreaded it because she still did not know what kind of future she could offer him, what promises she could realistically keep. Little Katie Sheldon had been deeply poisoned by The Gathering; was Rat similarly damaged? Did Maura really want to take such a scarred creature into her home?

  “At least this answers a few questions,” said Jane.

  Maura looked at her. “What questions?”

  “About the double homicide at the Circle B Guest Ranch. The couple killed in their motel cabin. There was no forced entry. The killer simply walked in and proceeded to bash the husband’s head, completely obliterating his face.”

  “A rage killing.”

  Jane nodded. “They found the murder weapon in Cathy’s garage. A hammer.”

  “So there’s no doubt she did it.”

  “It also explains another thing that puzzled me about that crime scene,” said Jane. “There was a baby left alive in the crib. Not only was she unharmed, there were four empty bottles in the crib with her. The killer wanted that baby to survive. Even removed the DO NOT DISTURB sign, so housekeeping would be sure to come in and find the bodies.” She glanced at Maura. “Sounds like someone who cares about kids, doesn’t it?”

  “A social worker.”

  “Cathy kept constant tabs on The Gathering. She knew when any of them showed up in town. Maybe she killed that couple out of fury. Or maybe she was just trying to save one baby girl.” Jane gave a grim nod of approval. “In the end, she saved a lot of girls. The kids are all in protective custody. And the women are starting to leave Plain of Angels. Just as Cathy predicted, the cult’s collapsing without Jeremiah.”

  “But she had to kill him to make it happen.”

  “I’m not going to judge her. Think of how many lives he destroyed. Including the boy’s.”

  “Rat has no one now,” said Maura softly.

  Jane looked at her. “You realize he comes with a big set of problems.”

  “I know.”

  “A juvenile record. Bounced around among foster homes. And now his mom and sister are dead.”

  “Why are you bringing this up, Jane?”

  “Because I know you’re thinking about adopting him.”

  “I want to do the right thing.”

  “You live alone. You have a demanding job.”

  “He saved my life. He deserves better than what he’s got.”

  “And you’re ready to be his mom? Ready to take on all his problems?”

  “I don’t know!” Maura sighed and looked out at snow-covered rooftops. “I just want to make a difference in his life.”

  “What about Daniel? How’s the boy going to fit into that relationship?”

  Maura didn’t respond, because she herself didn’t know the answer. What about Daniel? Where do we go from here?

  As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Jane’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and answered: “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

  Babe. The endearment slipped off Jane’s lips so easily, so comfortably. This was how two people who shared both a bed and a life spoke to each other, no matter who was listening in. They didn’t need to whisper, to slink off into the shadows. This was what love sounded like when it came out of the darkness and declared itself to the world.

  “Is the lab absolutely certain about that result?” said Jane. “Maura’s convinced otherwise.”

  Maura looked at her. “What result?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell her. Maybe she can explain it. We’ll see you guys at dinner.” She hung up and looked at Maura. “Gabriel just spoke to the toxicology lab in Denver. They ran a STAT analysis of the girl’s stomach contents.”

  “Did they find organophosphates?” asked Maura.

  “No.”

  Maura shook her head in bewilderment. “But it was a classic case of organophosphate poisoning! All the clinical signs were there.”

  “She had no degradation products in her stomach. If she swallowed that pesticide, there should be some trace of it, right?”

  “Yes, there should have been.”

  “Well, there was nothing,” said Jane. “That’s not what killed her.”

  Maura fell silent, unable to explain the results. “You can also absorb a fatal dose through the skin.”

  “Forty-one people got the stuff splashed on them? Does that sound likely?”

  “The gastric analysis can’t be right,” said Maura.

  “It’s going to the FBI lab for further analysis. But right now, it looks like your diagnosis was wrong.”

  A medical supply truck rumbled into the parking lot and pulled up beside their vehicle. Maura struggled to concentrate as the truck’s rear panel rattled open and two men began unloading oxygen tanks.

  “Gruber had pinpoint pupils,” said Maura. “And he definitely responded to that dose of atropine.” She sat up straighter, more convinced than ever. “My diagnosis has to be correct.”

  “What else could cause those symptoms? Is there some other poison, something the lab might not have picked up?”

  The noisy clang of metal made Maura glance out in annoyance at the two deliverymen. She focused on the oxygen tanks, lined up in the cart like green missiles, and a memory suddenly clicked into place. Something that she had seen in the valley of Kingdom Come, something she hadn’t regi
stered at the time. Like those oxygen tanks, it had been a cylinder, but it was gray and encrusted in snow. She thought of the Code Blue in the autopsy suite, remembering Fred Gruber’s pinpoint pupils and his response to atropine.

  My diagnosis was almost right.

  Almost.

  Jane pushed open her car door and stepped out, but Maura didn’t move from her seat. “Hey,” said Jane, looking in at her. “Aren’t we going in to visit the kid?”

  Maura said, “We need to go to Kingdom Come.”

  “What?”

  “There’s only a few hours of daylight left. If we leave now, we can get there while it’s still light. But we have to stop at a hardware store first.”

  “A hardware store? Why?”

  “I want to buy a shovel.”

  “They’ve recovered all the bodies. There’s nothing left to find there.”

  “Maybe there is.” Maura waved Jane into the car. “Come on, let’s go! We need to leave now.”

  With a sigh, Jane climbed back behind the wheel. “This is going to make us late for dinner. And I haven’t even started packing yet.”

  “It’s our last chance to see the valley. Our last chance to understand what killed those people.”

  “I thought you had it all figured out.”

  Maura shook her head. “I was wrong.”

  UP THE MOUNTAIN ROAD they drove, the same road that Maura had traveled on that unlucky day with Doug and Grace, Elaine and Arlo. She could still hear their voices arguing in the Suburban, could picture Grace’s lips pursed into a sulk and Doug’s unwavering cheerfulness as he insisted that everything would turn out okay, if you just trusted in the universe. Ghosts, she thought, and they still haunt this road. They still haunt me.

  Today no snow was falling, and the road was plowed, but Maura could picture it as she’d seen it on that day, obscured by a blinding curtain of white. Here, at this bend, was the spot where they’d first talked about turning around. If only they had. How different everything would have come out if they had gone back down the mountain, if they had chosen, instead, to return to Jackson. They might have had lunch at a nice restaurant, said their goodbyes, and gone back to their lives. Perhaps, in some parallel universe, that was the choice they’d made, and in that universe Doug and Grace and Arlo and Elaine were still alive.

  The PRIVATE ROAD sign loomed ahead. No snowdrifts, no chain or gate barred the way this time. Jane turned onto the road, and Maura remembered trudging past these same pine trees, Doug in the lead, Arlo dragging Elaine’s roll-aboard suitcase. She remembered the sting of blowing snow and the darkness thickening around them.

  The ghosts were here, too.

  They passed the sign for Kingdom Come, and as they started down the road into the valley, Maura glimpsed charred foundations, and the excavated burial pit. Strands of discarded police tape littered the field in bright slashes of color that fluttered against the snow.

  Jane’s tires crunched over ice as they reached the first ruined foundation.

  “They found the bodies all buried together, over there,” said Jane, pointing to the pit that still gaped in the snow. “If there’s anything left to uncover around here, it won’t be obvious until spring.”

  Maura pushed open her door and stepped out.

  “Where are you going?” Jane asked.

  “For a walk.” From the back, Maura pulled out the shovel that she’d just purchased in the hardware store.

  “I told you, they’ve already gone over this field.”

  “But did they search the woods?” Carrying the shovel, Maura headed down the row of ruined houses, the ice crackling beneath her boots. Everywhere, she saw evidence that law enforcement personnel had combed this site, from the trampled snow to the multiple tire tracks to the cigarette butts and scraps of paper fluttering across the snow. The sun was sinking, taking with it the last daylight. She strode more quickly now, leaving behind the burned village, and started into the trees.

  “Wait up!” Jane called.

  She could not remember exactly where she and Rat had entered the woods. Their snowshoe prints had since vanished under subsequent snowfall. She kept moving in the general direction in which they had fled from the men and the bloodhound. She had not brought snowshoes, and every step was hard work, through knee-high drifts. She heard Jane complaining loudly behind her, but Maura kept plowing ahead, dragging the shovel, her heart pounding from the effort. Had she gone too far into the woods? Had she missed the spot?

  Then the trees opened up and the clearing stretched before her, the snow mounded over heaps of construction debris. The excavator was still parked at the far edge, and she saw the skeletal frames of new buildings, still awaiting completion. Here was the place where she had fallen, mired in a deep drift. Where she’d lain helplessly as the bloodhound closed in. She saw it all again, her pulse thudding at the memory. The bloodhound leaping toward her. His yelp of surprise as Bear intercepted him in midair.

  All traces of the dogs’ battle had vanished beneath fresh powder, but she could still make out the depression in the snow where she had fallen, could see the hilly contours of construction rubbish cloaked beneath white.

  She sank her shovel into one of the mounds and flung aside a scoop of snow.

  Jane finally caught up and trudged, panting, into the clearing. “Why are you digging in this spot?”

  “I saw something here before. It might be nothing. It might be everything.”

  “Well, that sure answers my question.”

  Maura flung aside another scoop of snow. “I got only a glimpse of it. But if it’s what I think it is …” Maura’s shovel suddenly hit something solid. Something that gave off a muffled clang. “This could be it.” She dropped to her knees and began scooping away the snow with her gloved hands.

  Little by little the object emerged, smooth and curved. She could not pry it loose because it was solidly frozen to the mound of debris beneath it. She kept scooping away snow, but half of the object remained buried out of sight and encased in ice. What she’d exposed was one end of a gray metal cylinder. It was encircled by two painted stripes, one green and one yellow. Stamped on that cylinder was the code D568.

  “What is that thing?” asked Jane.

  Maura didn’t answer. She just continued to scrape away snow and ice, exposing more and more of the cylinder. Jane knelt down to help her. New numbers appeared, stamped in green.

  2011-42-114

  155H

  M12TAT

  “You have any idea what these numbers mean?” Jane asked.

  “I assume they’re serial numbers of some kind.”

  “For what?”

  A scrim of ice suddenly broke away, and Maura stared at the stenciled letters that she’d just revealed.

  VX GAS

  Jane frowned. “VX. Isn’t that some kind of nerve gas?”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Maura said softly, and she rocked back on her knees, stunned. She stared across the clearing at the excavator. The settlers were putting up new buildings on this site, she thought. They’d cleared the trees and were digging foundations for more homes. Preparing the valley for new families who’d be moving into Kingdom Come.

  Did they know that a time bomb lay buried in this soil, the soil they were digging into and churning up?

  “A pesticide didn’t kill these people,” said Maura.

  “But you said it matched the clinical picture.”

  “So does VX nerve gas. It kills in exactly the same way that organophosphates do. VX disrupts the same enzymes, causes the same symptoms, but it’s far more potent. It’s a chemical weapon designed to be dispersed through the air. If you release it in a low-lying area …” Maura looked at Jane. “It would turn this valley into a killing zone.”

  The growl of a truck engine made them both jump to their feet. Our car is parked out in the open, thought Maura. Whoever has just arrived already knows we’re here.

  “Are you carrying?” Maura asked. “Please tell me you’r
e armed.”

  “I left it locked in the trunk.”

  “You have to get it.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “This is what it’s all about!” Maura pointed to the half buried canister of VX gas. “Not pesticides. Not mass suicide. It was an accident. These are chemical weapons, Jane. They should have been destroyed decades ago. They’ve probably been buried here for years.”

  “Then The Gathering—Jeremiah—”

  “He had nothing to do with why these people died.”

  Jane looked around the clearing with growing comprehension. “The Dahlia Group—the fake company that paid off Martineau—it has something to do with them, doesn’t it?”

  They heard the snap of a breaking branch.

  “Hide!” whispered Maura.

  They both ducked into the woods just as Montgomery Loftus stepped into the clearing. He was carrying a rifle, but it was pointed at the ground, and he moved with the casual pace of a hunter who has not yet spotted his quarry. Their footprints were all over that clearing, and he could not miss the evidence of their presence. All he had to do was follow their tracks to where they both crouched among the pines. Yet he ignored the obvious and calmly approached the hole that Maura had just dug. He looked down at the exposed cylinder. At the shovel that Maura had left lying there.

  “If you bury anything for thirty years, it’ll eventually corrode,” he said. “Metal gets brittle. Accidentally run over it with a bulldozer or crush it against a rock, and it’ll fracture apart.” He raised his voice, as though the trees themselves were his audience. “What do you think would happen if I fired a bullet at this right now?”

  Only then did Maura realize that his rifle was pointing toward the canister. She remained frozen, afraid to make a sound. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jane slowly creep deeper into the woods, but Maura could not seem to move.

  “VX gas doesn’t take long to kill you,” said Loftus. “That’s what the contractor told me thirty years ago, when they paid me to dump it. Might take a little longer to disperse on a cold day like this. But on a warm day, it spreads fast. Blows on the wind, seeps through open windows. Into houses.” He lifted his rifle and aimed at the canister.