Body Double

“Excuse me, but I’m the one down here, not you! I’m starving. How are you going to get your money if I’m dead?”

“Stay calm, lady. Rest. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Everything is so not right!”

No answer.

“Hello? Hello?” she yelled.

The footsteps were moving away now.

“Wait!” She pounded on the ceiling. “Come back!” She beat on the wood with both fists. Rage suddenly consumed her, a rage like nothing she had ever known before. She screamed, “You can’t do this to me! I’m not an animal!” She collapsed against the wall, hands bruised and throbbing, body wracked with sobs. Sobs of fury, not defeat. “Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you. And fuck Dwayne. And fuck all the other assholes in this world!”

Exhausted, she collapsed onto her back. Drew her arm across her eyes, wiping away tears. What does he want from us? By now, Dwayne must have paid him. So why am I still down here? What is he waiting for?

The baby gave a kick. She pressed her hand against her belly, a calming touch transmitted through the skin that separated them. She felt her womb tighten, the first quiver of a contraction. Poor thing. Poor…

Baby.

She went very still, thinking. Remembering all the conversations through the air grate. Never about Dwayne. Never about money. That made no sense. If the asshole wanted money, Dwayne is the person he has to go to. But he doesn’t ask about my husband. He doesn’t talk about Dwayne. What if he hasn’t even called him? What if he hasn’t asked for any ransom at all?

Then what does he want?

The flashlight dimmed. The second set of batteries was dying. Two more fresh sets to go, and then she’d be in permanent darkness. This time she did not panic as she reached into the grocery sack and tore open a new package. I’ve done this before; I can do it again. She unscrewed the back, calmly slid out the old batteries, and inserted the new. Bright light beamed out, a temporary reprieve from the long good-night she feared was coming.

Everybody dies. But I don’t want to die buried in this box, where no one will ever find my bones.

Save the light, save the light as long as you can. She flicked off the switch and lay in the darkness as fear closed in and wrapped its tentacles tighter. No one knows, she thought. No one knows I’m here.

Stop it, Mattie. Keep it together. You’re the only one who can save yourself.

She turned onto her side and hugged herself. Heard something roll across the floor. One of the spent batteries, useless now.

What if no one knows I’ve been kidnapped? What if no one knows I’m still alive?

She wrapped her arms around her belly and thought about every conversation she’d had with her captor. How are you feeling? That’s what he always asked, how was she feeling? As if he cared. As if anyone who stuck a pregnant woman in a box gave a damn how she was feeling. But he always asked the question, and she always pleaded with him to let her out.

He’s waiting for a different answer.

She drew her knees closer and her foot hit something that went rolling away. She sat up and turned on the flashlight. Began scrambling around for all the loose batteries. She had four old ones, plus two fresh ones still in the package. Plus the two in the flashlight. She flicked off the switch again. Save the light, save the light.

In darkness, she began to untie her shoe.

TWENTY-FOUR

DR. JOYCE P. O’DONNELL WALKED into the homicide unit’s conference room looking as though she owned the place. Her sleek St. John’s suit had probably cost more than Rizzoli’s entire clothing budget for a year. Three-inch heels emphasized her already statuesque height. Although three cops were watching her as she sat down at the table, she revealed not a flicker of discomfort. She knew how to take control of a room, a skill that Rizzoli could not help envying, even though she despised the woman.

The dislike was clearly mutual. O’Donnell cast one icy glance at Rizzoli, then her gaze moved on past Barry Frost, before she finally turned her full attention on Lieutenant Marquette, the homicide unit’s ranking officer. Of course she would focus on Marquette; O’Donnell didn’t waste her time with underlings.

“This is an unexpected invitation, Lieutenant,” she said. “I don’t often get asked to Schroeder Plaza.”

“Detective Rizzoli was the one who suggested it.”

“Even more unexpected, then. Considering.”

Considering we play for opposite teams, thought Rizzoli. I catch the monsters; you defend them.

“But as I told Detective Rizzoli on the phone,” O’Donnell continued, “I can’t help you unless you help me. If you want me to help you find the Beast, you have to share what information you have.”

In answer, Rizzoli slid a folder to O’Donnell. “That’s what we know about Elijah Lank so far.” She saw the eager gleam in the psychiatrist’s eyes as she reached for the folder. This was what O’Donnell lived for: a glimpse of a monster. A chance to get close to the beating heart of evil.

O’Donnell opened the file. “His high school record.”

“From Fox Harbor.”

“An IQ of 136. But only average grades.”

“Your classic underachiever.” Capable of great things if he applies himself, one teacher had written, not realizing where Elijah Lank’s achievements would take him. “After his mother died, he was raised by his father, Hugo. The father never held down a job for long. Apparently spent most of his days with a bottle, and died of pancreatitis when Elijah was eighteen.”

“And this is the same household Amalthea grew up in.”

“Yeah. She came to live with her uncle when she was nine, after her mother died. No one even knows who her father was. So there you have the Lank family of Fox Harbor. A drunk uncle, a sociopathic cousin, and a girl who grows up schizophrenic. Just your nice wholesome American family.”

“You called Elijah sociopathic.”

“What else would you call a boy who buries his classmate alive, just for the fun of it?”

O’Donnell turned to the next page. Anyone else reading that file would wear an expression of horror, but the look on her face was one of fascination.

“The girl he buried was only fourteen,” said Rizzoli. “Alice Rose was the new kid in school. She was also hearing impaired, which is why the other kids tormented her. And probably why Elijah chose her. She was vulnerable, easy prey. He invited her up to his house, then led her through the woods to a pit he’d dug. He threw her inside, covered the hole with boards, and piled rocks on top. When questioned about it later, he said the whole thing was a prank. But I think he honestly meant to kill her.”

“According to this report, the girl came out of it unharmed.”

“Unharmed? Not exactly.”

O’Donnell looked up. “But she did survive it.”

“Alice Rose spent the next five years of her life being treated for severe depression and anxiety attacks. When she was nineteen, she climbed into a bathtub and slit her wrists. As far as I’m concerned, Elijah Lank is responsible for her death. She was his first victim.”

“Can you prove there are others?”

“Forty-five years ago, a married couple named Karen and Robert Sadler vanished from Kennebunkport. Karen Sadler was eight months pregnant at the time. Their remains were found just last week, in that same plot of land where Elijah buried Alice Rose alive. I think the Sadlers were Elijah’s kills. His and Amalthea’s.”

O’Donnell had gone very still, as though she was holding her breath.

“You’re the one who first suggested it, Dr. O’Donnell,” said Lieutenant Marquette. “You said Amalthea had a