Last to Die r-10

by Tess Gerritsen

  She found the bottle of Adam’s ale, probably months old, and uncapped it. Went back to the living room.

  The violin music was still playing, but with the volume turned down. They sat on the sofa. Maura sipped wine and Jane took a swig of beer, careful not to spill a drop on Maura’s spotless upholstery or the pricey Persian rug.

  “You must feel thoroughly vindicated after this,” said Maura.

  “Yeah. I look like a real genius. The best part was taking Crowe down ten notches.” She took another sip of beer. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Closing a case. Knowing we got it right. It doesn’t change the fact that Nicholas Clock is probably never going to wake up.”

  “But the children are safe,” said Maura. “That’s what matters. I spoke to Julian this morning, and he says Claire and Will are doing fine.”

  “But not Teddy. I’m not sure he’ll ever be fine,” said Jane, looking down at her beer. “I saw him at his foster home last night. We brought him back to the Inigos, the family who looked after him before. He wouldn’t say a word to me, not one word. I think he blames me.” She looked at Maura. “He blames all of us. You, me. Sansone.”

  “Nevertheless, Teddy’s always welcome back at Evensong.”

  “You’ve spoken to Sansone about it?”

  “This afternoon.” Maura reached for the glass of wine, as though needing to fortify herself for this subject. “He made me an interesting offer, Jane.”

  “What kind of offer?”

  “To work for the Mephisto Society as a forensic consultant. And to be part of Evensong, where I could ‘shape young minds,’ as he put it.”

  Jane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think he’s really offering you something more personal?”

  “No, that’s exactly what he said. I have to judge him by his words. Not by my interpretation of those words.”

  “Jesus.” Jane sighed. “The two of you are dancing around each other like you’re both blind.”

  “If I weren’t blind, what exactly would I be seeing?”

  “That Sansone’s a much better choice for you than Daniel ever was.”

  Maura shook her head. “I don’t think I should be choosing any man right now. But I am considering his offer.”

  “You mean, leave the ME’s office? Leave Boston?”

  “Yes. That’s what it would mean.”

  The violin music soared to a high, sad note. A note that seemed to pierce straight to Jane’s chest. “You’re seriously thinking about it?”

  Maura reached for the CD remote and abruptly shut off the music. Silence hung, heavy as a velvet drape, between them. She looked around the living room at the white leather sofa, at the polished mahogany. “I don’t know what’s next for me, Jane.”

  Lights flared through the window, and Jane rose to peek through the curtains. “Unfortunately, I do know what’s next for you.”

  “What?”

  “TV van just pulled up. Damn hyenas can’t even wait for the press conference. They gotta show up on your doorstep.”

  “I’ve been told not to talk to them.”

  Jane turned with a frown. “Who told you that?”

  “I received a call half an hour ago. The governor’s office. They’re getting pressure from Washington to keep this under wraps.”

  “Too late. It’s already on CNN.”

  “That’s what I said to him.”

  “So you’re not gonna talk to the press at all?”

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “We always have a choice,” said Jane. “What do you want to do?”

  Maura rose from the sofa and went to stand beside Jane at the window. They both watched as a cameraman began to haul out equipment from the van, preparing for the invasion of Maura’s front lawn.

  “The easy choice,” said Maura, “is to simply tell them no comment.”

  “No one can force us to talk.”

  Maura mulled this over as they watched a second TV van arrive. “But isn’t that how all of this happened?” she asked. “Too many secrets. Too many people not telling the truth. When you shine a bright light, a secret loses all its power.”

  The way Nicholas Clock did with his video, thought Jane. Shining the light of truth had cost him his life. But it had saved his son.

  “You know, Maura, that’s exactly what you’re so good at. You shine a light, and you make the dead give up their secrets.”

  “The trouble is, the dead are the only relationships I seem to have. I need someone whose body temperature is a little warmer than ambient. I don’t think I’m going to find him in this city.”

  “I’d hate it if you left Boston.”

  “You have a family here, Jane. I don’t.”

  “If you want a family, I’ll give you my parents. Let them drive you crazy. And I’ll even throw in Frankie, so you can share the joy.”

  Maura laughed. “That particular joy is yours, and yours alone.”

  “The point is, a family doesn’t automatically make us happy. Doesn’t your work matter, too? And …” She paused. Added quietly: “And your friends?”

  On the street outside, yet another TV van pulled up, and they heard the sound of slamming vehicle doors.

  “Maura,” said Jane, “I haven’t been a good enough friend. I know that. I swear, I’ll do better next time.” She went to the coffee table for Maura’s wineglass, for her own bottle of beer. “So let’s drink to friends being friends.”

  Smiling, they clinked glass against bottle and sipped.

  Jane’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and saw a Maine area code on the display. “Rizzoli,” she answered.

  “Detective, this is Dr. Stein, Eastern Maine Medical Center. I’m the neurologist taking care of Mr. Clock.”

  “Yes, we spoke the other day.”

  “I’m, uh, not exactly sure how to tell you this, but …”

  “He’s dead,” Jane said, already guessing the purpose of this call.

  “No! I mean … I don’t think so.”

  “How can you not know?”

  There was a sheepish sigh on the other end. “We really can’t explain how it happened. But when the nurse went into his room this afternoon to check his vital signs, his bed was empty, and the IV line was disconnected. We’ve spent the last four hours searching the hospital grounds, but we can’t find him.”

  “Four hours? He’s been missing that long?”

  “Maybe longer. We don’t know exactly when he left the room.”

  “Doctor, I’ll call you right back,” she cut in, and hung up. Immediately she dialed the Inigos’ residence. It rang once. Twice.

  “What’s going on, Jane?” Maura asked.

  “Nicholas Clock’s gone missing.”

  “What?” Maura stared at her. “I thought he was comatose.”

  On the phone, Nancy Inigo answered: “Hello?”

  “Is Teddy there?” Jane said.

  “Detective Rizzoli, is that you?”

  “Yes. And I’m concerned about Teddy. Where is he?”

  “He’s in his room. He came home after school and went straight upstairs. I was about to call him down for dinner.”

  “Please check on him for me. Right now.”

  Nancy Inigo’s footsteps creaked up the stairs as she asked Jane over the phone: “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Not yet.”

  Jane heard Nancy knock on the door and call out: “Teddy, can I come in? Teddy?” A pause. Then an alarmed: “He’s not here!”

  “Search the house,” ordered Jane.

  “Wait. Wait, there’s a note here, on the bed. It’s Teddy’s handwriting.”

  “What does it say?”

  Over the phone, Jane heard the rustle of paper. “It’s addressed to you, Detective,” said Nancy. “It says, Thank you. We’ll be fine now. That’s all there is.”

  Thank you. We’ll be fine now.

  Jane imagined Nicholas Cl
ock, miraculously rising from his coma, untethering his own IV line, and walking out of the hospital. She pictured Teddy, placing the note on his bed before he slipped out of the Inigos’ house and disappeared into the night. Both of them knew exactly where they were going, because they were bound for the same destination: a future together, as father and son.

  “Do you have any idea what this note means?” asked Nancy.

  “Yes. I think I know exactly what it means,” Jane said softly, and hung up.

  “So Nicholas Clock is alive,” said Maura.

  “Not just alive. He finally has his son.” Jane gazed out the window at the TV news vans and the growing pack of reporters and cameramen.

  And even though she was smiling, the lights of all those vehicles suddenly blurred through her tears. She tipped her beer bottle in a toast to the night and whispered: “Here’s to you, Nicholas Clock.”

  Game over.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  BLOOD IS MORE EASILY WASHED AWAY THAN MEMORIES, THOUGHT Claire. She stood in Dr. Welliver’s office, surveying the brand-new rugs and furniture. Sunlight gleamed on spotless surfaces, and the room smelled of fresh air and lemons. Through the open window she heard the laughter of students rowing on the lake. Saturday sounds. Looking around the room, it was hard to believe that anything terrible had ever happened here, so thoroughly had the school transformed it. But no amount of scrubbing could erase the images seared in Claire’s mind. She looked down at the pale green carpet, and superimposed on that pattern of vines and berries, she saw a dead man staring up at her. She turned toward the wall, and there was Nicholas Clock’s blood splattered across it. She looked at the desk and could still picture Justine’s body lying nearby, brought down by Detective Rizzoli’s gunshots. Everywhere she looked in this room, she saw bodies. The ghost of Dr. Welliver still lingered here as well, smiling across her desk, sipping her endless cups of tea.

  So many ghosts. Would she ever stop seeing them?

  “Claire, are you coming?”

  She turned to Will, who stood in the doorway. No longer did she see the pudgy, spotty Will; now she saw her Will, the boy whose last impulse when he thought they were going to die was to protect her. She wasn’t sure whether that was love, exactly; she wasn’t even sure what she felt about him. All she knew was that he’d done something no other boy had ever done for her, and that meant something. Maybe it meant everything.

  And he had beautiful eyes.

  She cast a final look around the room, said a silent goodbye to the ghosts, and nodded. “I’m coming.”

  Together they walked down the stairs and stepped outside, where their classmates were enjoying that bright Saturday, splashing in the lake, lolling on the grass. Shooting arrows at the targets that Mr. Roman had set up that morning. Claire and Will headed up the path they both knew well now, a path that brought them up the hillside, winding through the trees across lichen-covered boulders, past scrubby juniper bushes. They came to the stone steps and climbed to the terrace, and the circle of thirteen boulders.

  The others were waiting. She saw the usual faces: Julian and Bruno, Arthur and Lester. On that fair morning, a chorus of birds sang in the trees, and Bear the dog dozed on a sun-warmed rock. She went to the edge of the terrace and looked down at the castle’s jagged rooftop. It seemed to rise from the valley below like an ancient mountain range. Evensong. Home.

  Julian said. “I now call to order this meeting of the Jackals.”

  Claire turned and joined the circle.

  In memory of my mother,

  Ruby Jui Chiung Tom

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  After more than two decades as a writer, what I’ve come to value most are the enduring friendships I’ve made in this business, and a writer could have no better friends than my terrific literary agent, Meg Ruley, and my superb editor, Linda Marrow. Through thick and thin, you’ve been there for me, and I tip my martini glass to you both! Thanks also to Gina Centrello, Libby McGuire, and Larry Finlay for believing in me through the years, to Sharon Propson for making book tours such a pleasure, to Jane Berkey and Peggy Gordijn for infallibly spot-on guidance, and to Angie Horejsi for her wit and wisdom.

  In researching Last to Die, I relied on trusted sources for my information. Thanks to my son Adam for his expertise on firearms, to Peggy Maher, Enidia Santiago-Arce, and their wonderful colleagues at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center for patiently answering this old Trekkie’s questions, and to Bob Gleason and Tom Doherty for so generously including me on that spectacularly fun field trip.

  Most of all, I thank my husband, Jacob. After all these years, you’re still the one.

  BY TESS GERRITSEN

  RIZZOLI & ISLES NOVELS

  The Surgeon

  The Apprentice

  The Sinner

  Body Double

  Vanish

  The Mephisto Club

  The Keepsake

  Ice Cold

  The Silent Girl

  Last to Die

  OTHER NOVELS

  Harvest

  Life Support

  Bloodstream

  Gravity

  The Bone Garden

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  TESS GERRITSEN is a physician and an internationally bestselling author. She gained nationwide acclaim for her first novel of suspense, the New York Times bestseller Harvest. She is also the author of the bestsellers The Silent Girl, Ice Cold, The Keepsake, The Bone Garden, The Mephisto Club, Vanish, Body Double, The Sinner, The Apprentice, The Surgeon, Life Support, Bloodstream, and Gravity. Tess Gerritsen lives in Maine.

  “Melt My Heart to Stone”

  Episode 310

  #2M5910

  Story By

  Russell J. Grant & Janet Tamaro

  Teleplay By

  Janet Tamaro

  Directed By

  Michael Katleman

  PRODUCTION DRAFT

  June 20, 2012

  BLUE FULL REVISED DRAFT

  June 24, 2012

  PINK FULL REVISED DRAFT

  June 26, 2012

  YELLOW REVISED PAGE

  June 26, 2012

  GREEN REVISED PAGES

  June 28, 2012

  GOLDENROD REVISED PAGES

  July 9, 2012

  P. 8, 8A, 16, 16A, 17, 32, 36, 37, 42, 43, 43A

  All rights reserved. © 2012 Warner Horizon Television Inc. This script is the property of Horizon Scripted Television Inc. No portion of this script may be performed, reproduced or used by any means, or disclosed to, quoted or published in any medium without the prior written consent of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  EXT. ART MUSEUM - DAY 2

  Full-on crime scene in the f.g. as Jane and Maura head toward it. CSRU TECHS, Korsak, Uniforms, ND Detectives.

  Korsak is directing three CSRU TECHS as they prepare to lift a massive statue that resembles the Venus di Milo from the center of a fountain. Jane and Maura walk toward them.

  JANE

  Frankie has a right to be upset. But Riley did earn it: She’s been a detective in the Drug Unit for five years.

  An ND POLICE OFFICER lifts CRIME SCENE TAPE for them to DUCK under.

  MAURA

  Disappointment is a dangerous emotion if it isn’t processed. I’d hate for him to set himself up for a life of misery.

  JANE

  That’s ridiculous.

  MAURA

  Read the research. I’m worried about your mother, too. She’s knitting.

  JANE

  Hmmm … that is worrisome.

  MAURA

  I think it’s a baby blanket. The yarn is 50-50 cotton-acrylic blend.

  JANE

  Okay, now we have a problem –

  (talks into a pretend

  shoulder 2-way)

  All units: We have a woman who’s so desperate to be a grandmother, she’s knitting a baby blanket for the baby of Lydia, the slut who slept with her ex-husband and youngest son —

  As Maura pulls Jane’s hand away from the pretend
2-way –

  MAURA

  She’s worried about what kind of future that baby is going to have.

  JANE

  You think I’m not? Lydia can barely tie her shoes.

  Suddenly Maura pulls up short.

  MAURA

  Oh.

  JANE

  You pull something?

  MAURA

  I smell something … decomposition.

  Jane follows Maura as she sniffs her way to the edge of the pool just as Korsak and the techs start moving the statue.

  KORSAK

  Let’s tilt her sideways first –

  JANE

  I can’t believe you can smell decomp through bronze.

  MAURA

  It’s a a heavy particulate odor detectable to some animals for miles.

  JANE

  (re: statue)

  Looks like the Venus di Milo.

  (off Maura’s look)

  I’ve been to the Louvre, Dr. Snob.

  Suddenly, one of the Techs LOSES his footing. Korsak moves to help him but it’s too late.

  JANE MAURA

  Oh no. Oh no.

  CRASH. The statue DROPS onto the concrete around the pool. The HEAD cracks open. REVEALS the face of a DEAD WOMAN.