Vanish

remained fixated on the bright evidence of death that was spattered across the walls. Then her gaze swung to the woman’s body, slumped against the couch, black hair wicking blood onto the floor. Never before had she felt faint at the sight of gore, but she suddenly found herself swaying sideways, and had to catch herself on the door frame. It’s the remnants of whatever gas they used in this room, she thought. It has not yet been fully ventilated.

She heard the whish of plastic, and through a fog of lightheadedness, she saw a white sheet being laid out on the floor. Saw Agent Barsanti and Captain Hayder standing by as two men wearing latex gloves rolled the bloodied corpse of Joseph Roke onto the plastic.

“What are you doing?” she said.

No one acknowledged her presence.

“Why are you moving the bodies?”

The two men who were now squatting over the corpse paused, and glanced up in Barsanti’s direction.

“They’re being flown to Washington,” said Barsanti.

“You don’t move a thing until someone from our office examines the scene.” She looked at the two men, poised to zip up the body bag. “Who are you? You don’t work for us.”

“They’re FBI,” said Barsanti.

Her head was now perfectly clear, all dizziness swept away by anger. “Why are you taking them?”

“Our pathologists will do the autopsy.”

“I haven’t released these bodies.”

“It’s only a matter of paperwork, Dr. Isles.”

“Which I’m not about to sign.”

The others in the room were all watching them now. Most of the men standing around were, like Hayder, Boston PD officers.

“Dr. Isles,” said Barsanti, sighing, “why fight this turf battle?”

She looked at Hayder. “This death occurred in our jurisdiction. You know we have custody of these remains.”

“You sound as if you don’t trust the FBI,” said Barsanti.

It’s you I don’t trust.

She stepped toward him. “I never did hear a good explanation for why you’re here, Agent Barsanti. What’s your involvement in this?”

“These two people are suspects in a New Haven shooting. I believe you already know that. They crossed state lines.”

“It doesn’t explain why you want the bodies.”

“You’ll get the final autopsy reports.”

“What are you afraid I’ll find?”

“You know, Dr. Isles, you’re starting to sound as paranoid as these two people.” He turned to the two men standing over Roke’s corpse. “Let’s pack them up.”

“You’re not going to touch them,” Maura said. She pulled out her cell phone and called Abe Bristol. “We have a death scene here, Abe.”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching TV. How many?”

“Two. Both of the hostage takers were killed in the takedown. The FBI’s about to fly the bodies to Washington.”

“Wait a minute. First the feds shoot them, and now they want to do the autopsy? What the hell?”

“I thought you’d say that. Thanks for backing me up.” She disconnected and looked at Barsanti. “The medical examiner’s office refuses to release these two bodies. Please leave the room. After CSU finishes up here, our staff will move the remains to the morgue.”

Barsanti seemed about to argue, but she merely gave him a cold stare that told him this was not a battle she would cede.

“Captain Hayder,” she said. “Do I need to call the governor’s office on this?”

Hayder sighed. “No, it’s your jurisdiction.” He looked at Barsanti. “It looks like the medical examiner is assuming control.”

Without another word, Barsanti and his men walked out of the room.

She followed them and stood watching as they retreated down the hallway. This death scene, she thought, will be dealt with like any other. Not by the FBI, but by Boston PD’s homicide unit. She was about to make her next call, this one to Detective Moore, when she suddenly noticed the empty stretcher in the hallway. The EMT was just packing up his kit.

“Where is Agent Dean?” Maura asked. “The man who was lying there?”

“Refused to stay. Got up and walked out.”

“You couldn’t stop him from leaving?”

“Ma’am, nothing could stop that guy. He said he had to be with his wife.”

“How’s he getting there?”

“Some bald guy’s giving him a ride. A cop, I think.”

Vince Korsak, she thought.

“They’re headed over to Brigham now.”

Jane could not remember how she’d arrived at this place with its bright lights and shiny surfaces and masked faces. She recalled only a fragment of a memory here and there. Men’s shouts, the squeaking of gurney wheels. The flash of blue cruiser lights. And then a white ceiling scrolling above her as she was moved down a corridor into this room. Again and again she had asked about Gabriel, but no one could tell her where he was.

Or they were afraid to tell her.

“Mom, you’re doing just fine,” the doctor said.

Jane blinked at the pair of blue eyes smiling down at her over a surgical mask. Everything is not fine, she thought. My husband should be here. I need him.

And stop calling me Mom.

“When you feel the next contraction,” the doctor said, “I want you to push, okay? And keep pushing.”

“Someone has to call,” said Jane. “I need to know about Gabriel.”

“We have to get your baby born first.”

“No, you need to do what I want, first! You need to-you need to-” She sucked in a breath as a fresh contraction came on. As her pain built to a peak, so did her rage. Why weren’t these people listening to her?

“Push, Mom! You’re almost there!”

“God-damn it-”

“Come on. Push.”

She gave a gasp as pain brutally clamped its jaws. But it was fury that made her bear down, that kept her pushing with such fierce determination that her vision began to darken. She did not hear the door whoosh open, nor did she see the man dressed in blue scrubs slip into the room. With a cry, she collapsed back against the table and lay gulping in deep breaths. Only then did she see him looking down at her, his head silhouetted against the bright lights.

“Gabriel,” she whispered.

He took her hand and stroked back her hair. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember what happened-”

“It’s not important now.”

“Yes, it is. I need to know.”

Another contraction began to build. She took a breath and gripped his hand.