“What about the neighbors?”
“Never saw her. They called her ‘the ghost.’”
“There must be some prior address. Another bank account-”
“We’ve looked. We can’t find
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” said Rizzoli, “that until six months ago, Anna Jessop didn’t exist.”
FOUR
WHEN RIZZOLI WALKED INTO J. P. DOYLE’S, she found the usual suspects gathered around the bar. Cops, most of them, trading the day’s war stories over beer and peanuts. Located right down the street from Boston PD’s Jamaica Plain substation, Doyle’s was probably the safest watering hole in the city. Make one false move, and a dozen cops would be on you like a New England Patriots’ pile-on. She knew this crowd, and they all knew her. They parted to let the pregnant lady through, and she saw a few grins as she waddled in among them, her belly leading the way like a ship’s prow.
“Geez, Rizzoli,” someone called out. “You putting on weight or what?”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “But unlike you, I’ll be skinny by August.”
She made her way toward Detectives Vann and Dunleavy, who were waving at her from the bar. Sam and Frodo-that’s what everyone called the pair. The fat Hobbit and the skinny one, partners so long they acted like an old married couple, and probably spent more time with each other than they did with their wives. Rizzoli seldom saw the two apart, and she figured it was only a matter of time before they started dressing in matching outfits.
They grinned and saluted her with identical pints of Guinness.
“Hey, Rizzoli,” said Vann.
“-you’re late,” said Dunleavy.
“Already on our second round-”
“-You want one?”
Jesus, they even finished each other’s sentences. “It’s too noisy in here,” she said. “Let’s go in the other room.”
They headed into the dining area, toward her usual booth beneath the Irish flag. Dunleavy and Vann slid in opposite her, sitting cozily side by side. She thought of her own partner, Barry Frost, a nice guy, even a swell guy, but with whom she had absolutely nothing in common. At the end of the day, she went her way, Frost went his. They liked each other well enough, but she didn’t think she could stand much more togetherness than that. Certainly not as much as these two guys.
“So you’ve got yourself a Black Talon vic,” said Dunleavy.
“Last night, out in Brookline,” she said. “First Talon since your case. That was what, two years ago?”
“Yeah, about.”
“Closed?”
Dunleavy gave a laugh. “Nailed tight as a coffin.”
“Who was the shooter?”
“Guy named Antonin Leonov. Ukrainian immigrant, two-bit player, trying to go big league. Russian mob would’ve taken him out eventually, if we hadn’t arrested him first.”
“What a moron,” snorted Vann. “He had no idea we were watching him.”
“Why were you?” she asked.
“We got a tip he was expecting a delivery from Tajikistan,” said Dunleavy. “Heroin. Big one. We were on his tail for almost a week, and he never spotted us. So we follow him to his partner’s house. Vassily Titov. Titov must’ve pissed off Leonov or something. We watch as Leonov goes into Titov’s house. Then we hear gunshots, and Leonov comes back out.”
“And we’re waiting for him,” said Vann. “Like I said, a moron.”
Dunleavy raised his Guinness in a toast. “Open and shut. Perp’s caught with the weapon. We’re there to witness it. Don’t know why he even bothered to plead innocent. Took the jury less than an hour to come back with the verdict.”
“Did he ever tell you how he got hold of those Black Talons?” she asked.
“You kidding?” said Vann. “He wouldn’t tell us anything. Hardly spoke any English, but he sure as hell knew the word
“We brought a team in to search his house and business,” said Dunleavy. “Found, like, eight boxes of Black Talons stored in his warehouse, can you believe it? Don’t know how he got his hands on so many, but he had quite a stash.” Dunleavy shrugged. “So that’s the scoop on Leonov. I don’t see how he connects with your shooting.”
“There’ve been only two Black Talon shootings here in five years,” she said. “Your case and mine.”
“Yeah, well, there’s probably a few bullets still floating around out there on the black market. Hell, check eBay. All I know is, we nailed Leonov, and good.” Dunleavy downed his pint. “You’ve got yourself a different shooter.”
Something she had already concluded. A feud between small-time Russian mobsters two years ago did not seem relevant to the murder of Anna Jessop. That Black Talon bullet was a dead link.
“You’ll lend me that file on Leonov?” she asked. “I still want to look it over.”
“On your desk tomorrow.”
“Thanks, guys.” She slid out of the booth and hauled herself to her feet.
“So when’re you popping?” asked Vann, nodding at her belly.
“Not soon enough.”
“The guys, they have a bet going, you know. On the baby’s sex.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I think we’re up to seventy bucks it’s a girl, forty bucks it’s a boy.”
Vann giggled. “And twenty bucks,” he said, “is on
Rizzoli felt the baby give a kick as she let herself into her apartment. Settle down in there, Junior, she thought. It’s bad enough you treated me like a punching bag all day; now you’re going to keep it up all night as well? She didn’t know if she was carrying a boy, girl, or other; all she knew was that this kid was eager to be born.
She threw her purse and keys on the kitchen counter, kicked off her shoes by the door, and tossed her blazer over a dining room chair. Two days ago her husband, Gabriel, had left for Montana as part of an FBI team investigating a paramilitary weapons cache. Now the apartment was sliding back into the same comfortable anarchy that had reigned here before their marriage. Before Gabriel had moved in and instilled some semblance of discipline. Leave it to an ex-Marine to rearrange your pots and pans in order of size.
In the bedroom, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She scarcely recognized herself, apple- cheeked and sway-backed, her belly bulging beneath maternity stretch pants. When did I disappear? she thought. Am I still there, hidden somewhere in that distorted body? She confronted that stranger’s reflection, remembering how flat her belly had once been. She did not like the way her face had plumped up, the way her cheeks had turned as rosy as a child’s. The glow of pregnancy, Gabriel had called it, trying to reassure his wife that she did not, in fact, look like a shiny-nosed whale. That woman there is not really me, she thought. That’s not the cop who can kick down doors and blow away perps.
She flopped on her back onto the bed and spread both arms across the mattress like a bird taking flight. She could smell Gabriel’s scent in the sheets. I miss you tonight, she thought. This was not the way marriage was supposed to be. Two careers, two work-obsessed people. Gabriel on the road, her alone in this apartment. But she’d known, going into it, that it would not be easy. That there’d be too many nights like this one, when his job, or hers, would keep them apart. She thought of calling him again, but they had already talked twice that morning, and Verizon was stealing enough of her paycheck as it was.
Oh, what the hell.
