your office.”
“Is this about the case?”
Rizzoli nodded. Neither one of them had to specify which case they were talking about; they both knew. Though she and Rizzoli respected each other as professionals, they had not yet crossed that line into a comfortable friendship, and tonight, they regarded each other with a measure of uneasiness. Something has happened, Maura thought. Something that has made her wary of me.
“Please come in.”
Rizzoli stepped into the house and paused, sniffing the scent of food. “Am I interrupting your dinner?”
“No, we just finished.”
The
“Evening, Detective!” he called.
Rizzoli blinked in surprise. “Father Brophy.”
He continued into the kitchen, and Rizzoli turned back to Maura. Though she didn’t say anything, it was clear what she was thinking. The same thing that woman parishioner had been thinking.
“Well,” said Rizzoli. A lot of meaning was crammed into that one word. They heard the sound of clattering china and silverware. Daniel was loading the dishwasher. A priest at home in her kitchen.
“I’d like to talk to you in private, if I could,” said Rizzoli.
“Is that really necessary? Father Brophy is my friend.”
“This is going to be tough enough to talk about as it is, Doc.”
“I can’t just tell him to leave.” She stopped at the sound of Daniel’s footsteps emerging from the kitchen.
“But I really should go,” he said. He glanced at Rizzoli’s briefcase. “Since you obviously have business to discuss.”
“Actually, we do,” said Rizzoli.
He smiled at Maura. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Wait,” said Maura. “Daniel.” She stepped outside with him, onto the front porch, and closed the door behind her. “You don’t have to leave,” she said.
“She needs to talk to you in private.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why? It was a wonderful evening.”
“I feel as if you’re being chased out of my house.”
He reached out and grasped her arm in a warm and reassuring squeeze. “Call me whenever you need to talk again,” he said. “No matter what the hour.”
She watched him walk toward his car, his black clothes blending into the summer night. When he turned to wave good-bye, she caught a glimpse of his collar, one last glimmer of white in the darkness.
She stepped back into the house and found Rizzoli still standing in the hallway, watching her. Wondering about Daniel, of course. She wasn’t blind; she could see that something more than friendship was growing between them.
“So can I offer you a drink?” asked Maura.
“That’d be great. Nothing alcoholic.” Rizzoli patted her belly. “Junior’s too young for booze yet.”
“Of course.”
Maura led the way down the hall, forcing herself to play the proper hostess. In the kitchen she dropped ice cubes into two glasses and poured orange juice. Added a splash of vodka to hers. Turning to set the drinks on the kitchen table, she saw Rizzoli take a file folder from her briefcase and set it on the kitchen table.
“What’s that?” asked Maura.
“Why don’t we both sit down first, Doc? Because what I’m gonna tell you may be kind of upsetting.”
Maura sank into a chair at the kitchen table; so did Rizzoli. They sat facing each other, the folder lying between them. A Pandora’s box of secrets, thought Maura, staring at the file. Maybe I don’t really want to know what’s inside.
“Do you remember what I told you last week, about Anna Jessop? That we could find almost no records on her that went back more than six months? And the only residence we had for her was an empty apartment?”
“You called her a phantom.”
“In a sense, that’s true. Anna Jessop didn’t really exist.”
“How is that possible?”
“Because there was no Anna Jessop. It was an alias. Her real name was Anna Leoni. About six months ago, she took on an entirely new identity. Started closing her accounts, and finally moved out of her house. Under the new name, she rented an apartment in Brighton that she never intended to move into. It was just a blind alley, in case anyone managed to learn her new name. Then she packed up and moved to Maine. A small town, halfway up the coast. That’s where she’s been living for the last two months.”
“How did you learn all this?”
“I spoke to the cop who helped her do it.”
“A cop?”
“A Detective Ballard, out in Newton.”
“So the alias-it wasn’t because she was running from the law?”
“No. You can probably guess what she was running from. It’s an old story.”
“A man?”
“Unfortunately, a very wealthy man. Dr. Charles Cassell.”
“I don’t know the name.”
“Castle Pharmaceuticals. He founded it. Anna was a researcher in his company. They became involved, but three years later, she tried to leave him.”
“And he wouldn’t let her.”
“Dr. Cassell sounds like the kind of guy you don’t just walk out on. She ended up in a Newton ER one night with a black eye. From there, it got seriously scary. Stalking. Death threats. Even a dead canary in her mailbox.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, that’s true love for you. Sometimes, the only way you can stop a man from hurting you is to shoot him-or to hide. Maybe she’d still be alive if she’d chosen the first option.”
“He found her.”
“All we have to do is prove it.”
“Can you?”
“We haven’t been able to talk to Dr. Cassell yet. Quite conveniently, he left Boston the morning after the shooting. He’s been traveling on business for the past week, and isn’t expected home till tomorrow.” Rizzoli lifted the glass of orange juice to her lips, and the clatter of ice cubes jarred Maura’s nerves. Rizzoli set the drink back down and was silent for a moment. She seemed to be buying time, but for what? Maura wondered.
“There’s something else about Anna Leoni you need to know,” Rizzoli said. She pointed to the file on the table. “I brought that for you.”
Maura opened the folder and felt a jolt of recognition. It was a color photocopy of a wallet-sized photo. A young girl with black hair and a serious gaze was standing between an older couple whose arms enfolded her in a protective embrace. She said, softly: “That girl could be me.”
“She was carrying that in her wallet. We believe that’s Anna at around ten years old, with her parents, Ruth and William Leoni. They’re both dead now.”
“These are her parents?”
“Yes.”
“But… they’re so old.”
“Yes, they were. The mother, Ruth, was sixty-two years old when that photo was taken.” Rizzoli paused. “Anna was their only child.”
An only child. Older parents. I know where this is going, thought Maura, and I’m afraid of what she’s about to
