Last to Die

“To what?”

“Fish. Shrimp. Eggs.” He used his fingers to count down his list of allergies. “Wheat. Peanuts. Tomatoes. And maybe, but I’m not sure, strawberries.”

“Geez, how do you not starve to death?”

“I’m as carnivorous as you are.”

She looked at his pale face, his matchstick arms, and thought: You are the least carnivorous-looking boy I’ve ever met.

“I like meat. Yesterday, I ate the chicken.” He paused, and his cheeks suddenly suffused with pink. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“I didn’t kill Herman. No matter what they’re all saying about me.”

“They’re not all saying that.”

She slapped her fork on the table. “I’m not stupid, Teddy.”

“Will believes you. And Julian says a good investigator always avoids snap judgments.”

She glanced at the other table and caught Briana’s sneer. “Bet she’s not defending me.”

“Is it because of Julian?”

She looked at Teddy. “What?”

“Is that why you and Briana hate each other? Because you both like Julian?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Briana says you’ve got a crush on him.” Teddy looked at Bear, who wagged his tail, hoping for another morsel of food. “And that’s why you’re always fussing over his dog, to make Julian like you.”

Was that what everyone thought? She gave Bear a sudden shove and snapped, “Stop bothering me, stupid dog.”

The whole dining room heard it and turned to look at her as she stood up.

“Why are you leaving?” said Teddy.

She didn’t answer. Just walked out of the dining hall, out of the building.

Outside it was not yet dark, but another lingering summer twilight. The swallows were whirling and looping in the sky. She walked the stone path around the building, halfheartedly scanning the shadows for the telltale flashes of fireflies. The crickets were chirping so loudly that at first she did not hear the clatter overhead. Then something tumbled down and thudded right at her feet. A chunk of slate.

That could have hit me!

She looked up and saw a figure perched on the edge of the roof. Silhouetted against the night sky, arms spread wide like wings, it seemed poised to take flight.

No, she wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her throat. No.

The figure leaped. Against the darkening sky, the swallows continued to circle and soar, but the body plummeted straight down, a doomed bird stripped of its wings.

When Claire opened her eyes again, she saw the black pool spreading on the path, widening like a corona around Dr. Anna Welliver’s shattered skull.

THE CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER in the state of Maine was Dr. Daljeet Singh, whom Maura had met years earlier at a forensic pathology conference. At every conference since then, they’d made it a tradition to meet for dinner, where they’d discuss odd cases and share photos of vacations and family. But it was not Daljeet who emerged from the white SUV with the ME placard; instead a young woman stepped out, dressed in boots, cargo pants, and a fleece jacket, as if she’d come straight from a hiking trail. She strode past the Maine State Police vehicles with the confident gait of someone who knew her way around a death scene, and walked straight toward Maura.

“I’m Dr. Emma Owen. And you’re Dr. Isles, right?”

“Good guess,” Maura said as they automatically shook hands, although it felt strange to do so with another woman. Especially a woman who looked scarcely old enough to have finished college, much less a pathology fellowship.

“Not a guess, really. I saw your photo in that article you wrote last year in Journal of Forensic Pathology. Daljeet talks about you all the time, so I feel like I already know you.”

“How is Daljeet?”

“He’s in Alaska this week, on vacation. Otherwise he’d be here himself.”

Maura said, with an ironic laugh, “And this was supposed to be my vacation.”

“That’s got to suck. Come to Maine and the dead bodies follow you.” Dr. Owen pulled shoe covers out of her pocket and, with the grace of a dancer, easily slipped them on while balancing on one leg, then the other. Like so many young female physicians now transforming the face of the medical profession, Dr. Owen seemed smart, athletic, and sure of herself. “Detective Holland already briefed me over the phone. Did you see this coming? Notice any signs of suicidal ideation, depression?”

“No. I’m as shocked as everyone else here. Dr. Welliver seemed perfectly fine to me. The only thing different today is that she didn’t come down to dinner.”

“And the last time you saw her?”

“At lunchtime. I believe she had her last student appointment of the day at one o’clock. No one saw her after that. Until she jumped.”

“Do you have any theories? Any idea why she’d do this?”

“Absolutely none. We’re all baffled.”

“Well,” the woman said, “if an expert like Dr. Isles is in the dark, then we’ve really got a mystery.” She pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Detective Holland told me there was a witness.”

“One of the students saw it happen.”

“Oh God. That’ll give the kid nightmares.”

As if Claire Ward didn’t already have her share of them, thought Maura.

Dr. Owen looked up at the building, the windows lit up against the night sky. “Wow. I’ve never been out here before. I didn’t even know this school existed. It looks like a castle.”

“Built in the nineteenth century as a railroad baron’s estate. Judging by the Gothic architecture, I think he fancied himself as royalty.”

“Do you know where she jumped from?”

“The roof walk. It leads off the turret, where her office is located.”

Dr. Owen stared up at the turret, where Welliver’s office lights were still shining. “That looks like it’s about seventy feet, maybe even higher. What do you think, Dr. Isles?”

“I’d agree.”

As they followed the path around the side of the building, Maura wondered when she’d assumed the role of Senior Authority, a status made apparent whenever the young woman addressed her as Dr. Isles. Up ahead were the flashlight beams of the two Maine State Police detectives. The body lying at their feet was covered with a plastic sheet.

“Evening, gentlemen,” said Dr. Owen.

“Ain’t it always the shrinks who do this sort of thing?” one of the detectives said.

“She was a shrink?”

“Dr. Welliver was the school psychologist,” said Maura.

The detective grunted. “As I was saying. I guess there’s a reason they choose the field.”

As Dr. Owen lifted up the sheet, both cops aimed their flashlights to illuminate the body. Anna Welliver lay on her back, face exposed to the glare, her hair splayed about her head like a wiry gray nest. Maura glanced up at the third-floor dormitory windows and saw the silhouettes of students staring down at a sight that children should never have to see.

“Dr. Isles?” Dr. Owen offered Maura a pair of gloves. “If you’d like to join me.”

It was an invitation Maura didn’t particularly welcome, but she pulled on the gloves and crouched down beside her younger colleague. Together they palpated the skull, examined the limbs, tallied up the obvious fractures.

“All we want to know is: accident or suicide?” said one of the detectives.