The Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Bundle

by Tess Gerritsen

  “What?”

  “It’s in this house.” She stopped before the porch and stared up at black windows that reflected no starlight, no moonlight, as if the darkness within could swallow up even the faintest glimmer of light. She walked up the steps and pushed open the door. The lamp cast a feeble pool of light around them as they crossed the living room. Beyond that pool, in the shadowy circumference, lurked the dark silhouettes of furniture and the reflected glint off the picture frame. The dark-haired man stared back from the portrait, his eyes almost alive in the shadows.

  “That’s what I noticed first,” she said, pointing to the birdcage in the corner.

  Doug moved closer and peered into the cage at the canary lying on the bottom. “Another dead pet.”

  “Like the dog.”

  “Who leaves a pet canary behind to starve?”

  “This bird didn’t starve,” said Maura.

  “What?”

  “Look, there’s plenty of seed.” She brought the lamp up to the cage to show him that the feeder was filled with birdseed, and ice had frozen in the water dispenser. “The windows were left open in this house, too,” she said.

  “It froze to death.”

  “There’s more.” She moved up the hallway and pointed at the streak across the pine floorboards, as though someone had swiped a paintbrush. In the dim candlelight, the stain looked more black than brown.

  Doug stared at the drag mark, and he didn’t try to explain it. He didn’t say anything at all. In silence he followed the smear as it grew broader, until it led him to the staircase. There he stopped, staring down at the dried pool of blood at his feet.

  Maura raised the lamp and the light revealed dark spatters on the steps. “The splash marks start about halfway up,” she said. “Someone fell down those stairs, hitting the steps on the way down. And landed here.” She lowered the lamp, illuminating the dried pool at the bottom of the stairs. Something gleamed in that blood, a silvery thread that she had missed earlier that afternoon. She crouched down and saw that it was a long blond hair, partially trapped in dried blood. A woman. A woman who had lain here while her heart continued to pump, at least for a few minutes. Long enough for a lake of blood to pour from her body.

  “An accident?” said Doug.

  “Or a homicide.”

  In the dim light, she saw his mouth twitch in a half smile. “That’s a medical examiner talking. What I see here isn’t necessarily a crime scene. Just blood.”

  “A lot of it.”

  “But no body. Nothing to tell us one way or another how it happened.”

  “The missing body is what bothers me.”

  “I’d be a lot more bothered if it was still here.”

  “Where is it? Who took it?”

  “The family? Maybe they brought her to the hospital. That would explain why the canary was forgotten.”

  “They would carry an injured woman, Doug. They wouldn’t drag her across the floor like a carcass. But if they were trying to get rid of a body …”

  His gaze followed the drag marks until they vanished into the shadows of the hallway. “They never came back to clean up the blood.”

  “Maybe they were planning to,” she said. “Maybe they couldn’t get back into the valley.”

  He looked at her. “The snowstorm kept them away.”

  She nodded. The flame in the lamp shuddered, as though buffeted by a ghostly breath. “Arlo was right. Something terrible happened in this village, Doug. Something that left bloodstains and dead pets and empty houses.” She looked at the floor. “And evidence. Evidence that tells a story. We keep hoping that someone will come back here and find us.” She looked at him. “But what if they’re not here to save us?”

  Doug gave himself a shake, as though trying to snap out of the dark spell she’d spun around him. “We’re talking about a whole community that’s missing, Maura,” he said. “Twelve houses, twelve families. If something happened to this many people, there’d be no way to hide it.”

  “In this valley, you could. You could hide a lot of things.” She looked at the shadows surrounding them, thought of what might be hidden beyond the glow of the lantern, and drew her jacket tighter. “We can’t stay in this place.”

  “You’re the one who thought we should wait to be rescued. You said it this morning.”

  “Since this morning, things have gone from bad to worse.”

  “I’m trying to get us out of here. I’m doing my best.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

  “But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? That everything’s my fault. That’s what you’re all thinking.” He gave a loud sigh and turned. “I promise, I’ll find a way to get us out of here.”

  “I’m not blaming you.”

  He shook his head in the darkness. “You should.”

  “Everything’s just gone wrong, things that no one could predict.”

  “And now we’re trapped, and Arlo’s probably going to lose his leg. If not worse.” His back was still turned to her, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry I ever talked you into this. It sure as hell isn’t the trip I was hoping for, not with you along. Especially not with you along.” He turned to look at her, and the lamplight deepened every hollow of his face. This wasn’t the same man whose eyes had twinkled at her in the restaurant, not the same man who’d spoken so breezily about trusting in the universe.

  “I needed you today, Maura,” he said. “It may be selfish of me, but for my sake, and Arlo’s, I’m glad you’re here.”

  She managed a smile. “I can’t say I share the sentiment.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure you’d rather be just about anywhere else right now. Like on that plane headed for home.”

  To Daniel. By now her flight would have landed, and he’d know she wasn’t on it. Was he frantic? Or did he think this was her way of punishing him for all the heartache he’d caused her? You know me better than that. If you love me, you’ll know I’m in trouble.

  They left the bloodstained hallway, walked back through the shadowy front room, and stepped outside, into a landscape lit by the moon and stars. They could see firelight glowing in the house where the others now slept.

  “I’m tired of being in charge,” he said, gazing at that window. “Tired of always having to lead the way. But they expect it. When things don’t go right, Arlo whines about it, yet he never steps up to take the lead. He’d rather just stay on the sidelines and complain.”

  “And Elaine?”

  “You’ve seen how she is. It’s always: You decide, Doug.”

  “That’s because she’s in love with you.”

  He shook his head. “I never saw it. We’ve been friends, that’s all.”

  “It’s never been more than that?”

  “Not on my part.”

  “She feels differently. And Arlo knows it.”

  “I never encouraged her, Maura. I’d never do that to him.” He turned to her, his features sharper, starker, in the lantern light. “You’re the one I wanted.” He reached out to touch her arm. It was no more than a brush of his glove across her sleeve, a silent invitation that told her the next move was hers.

  She pulled away, pointedly moving out of his reach. “We should get back to Arlo.”

  “Then there’s nothing between us, is there?”

  “There never was.”

  “Why did you accept my invitation? Why did you come with us?”

  “You caught me at a moment in time, Doug. A moment when I needed to do something wild, something impulsive.” She blinked away tears that blurred the lantern light into a golden haze. “It was a mistake.”

  “So it wasn’t about me at all.”

  “It was about someone else.”

  “The man you spoke of at dinner. The man you can’t have.”

  “Yes.”

  “That situation hasn’t changed, Maura.”

  “But I have,” she said, and walked away.

  When she stepped i
nside, she found that everyone was still asleep and the fire had calmed to glowing embers. She added a log and stood before the hearth as flames sprang to life, hissing and snapping. She heard Doug walk in behind her and close the door, and the sudden whoosh of fresh air made the flames shudder.

  Arlo opened his eyes and whispered, “Water. Please, water.”

  “Sure thing, buddy,” said Doug. He knelt down and held Arlo’s head as he pressed the cup to his lips. Arlo took greedy gulps, spilling half the water down his chin. Satisfied, he slumped back onto his pillow.

  “What else can I get you? Are you hungry?” asked Doug.

  “Cold. It’s so cold.”

  Doug took a blanket from the couch and gently draped it over him. “We’ll build up that fire. You’ll feel better.”

  “Been having dreams,” Arlo murmured. “Such weird dreams. All these people were in here, looking at me. Standing around, watching. Waiting for something.”

  “Narcotics will give you bad dreams.”

  “They’re not bad, really. Just strange. Maybe they’re angels. Angels in funny clothes, like the man in that picture.” He turned his sunken eyes to Maura, but he did not seem to be looking at her. He was focused past her shoulder, as if a presence lurked right behind her. “Or maybe they’re ghosts,” he whispered.

  Who is he looking at? She swung around and stared at empty air. Saw the portrait of the man with the coal-dark eyes staring back at her. The same portrait that hung in every house in Kingdom Come. His face glowed with reflected firelight, as though sacred flames burned within him.

  “And he shall gather the righteous,” Arlo said, quoting from the plaque on the portrait’s frame. “What if it’s true?”

  “What’s true?” asked Doug.

  “Maybe that’s where they all went. He gathered them up and led the way.”

  “Out of the valley, you mean?”

  “No. To heaven.”

  Wood snapped in the hearth, startling as a gunshot. Maura thought of the cross-stitched sampler she had seen hanging in one of the bedrooms. PREPARE FOR ETERNITY.

  “It’s strange, don’t you think?” said Arlo. “How none of the car radios work here. All we get is static. No stations at all. And we can’t get a cell phone signal. Nothing.”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere,” said Doug. “And we’re in a valley. There’s no reception.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  “What else would it be?”

  “What if something really bad happened out in the world? Being stuck here, we wouldn’t hear about it.”

  “Like what? A nuclear war?”

  “Doug, no one’s come looking for us. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “They haven’t noticed we’re missing yet.”

  “Or maybe it’s because there’s no one left out there. They’re all gone.” Arlo’s sunken eyes slowly took in the room where shadows flickered. “I think I know who these people were, Doug. The people who lived here. I think I’m seeing their ghosts. They were waiting for the end of the world. For the Rapture. Maybe it came, and we just don’t know it yet.”

  Doug laughed. “Trust me, Arlo. The Rapture is not what happened to these people.”

  “Dad?” Grace asked softly from the corner. She sat up, pulling the blanket close around her. “What’s he talking about?”

  “The pills are confusing him, that’s all.”

  “What’s the Rapture?”

  Doug and Maura looked at each other, and he sighed. “It’s just a superstition, honey. A crazy belief that the world as we know it is doomed to end with Armageddon. And when it does, God’s chosen people will be sucked straight up to heaven.”

  “What happens to everyone else?”

  “Everyone else is trapped on earth.”

  “And slaughtered,” whispered Arlo. “All the sinners left behind will be slaughtered.”

  “What?” Grace looked at her father with frightened eyes.

  “Honey, it’s nonsense. Forget it.”

  “But some people really believe it? They believe the end of the world is coming?”

  “Some people also believe in alien abductions. Use your noggin, Grace! Do you really think people are going to be magically transported to heaven?”

  The window rattled, as though something were clawing at the glass, trying to get in. A draft of air moaned down the chimney, scattering flames and sending a gust of smoke into the room.

  Grace hugged her knees to her chest. Staring up at the wavering shadows, she whispered: “Then where did all these people go?”

  THE GIRL WAS TWENTY-THREE POUNDS OF NO! NO, BED! NO, SLEEP! No, no, no!

  Jane and Gabriel slumped bleary-eyed on the sofa and watched their daughter, Regina, spin around and around like a pygmy dervish.

  “How long can she possibly stay awake?” asked Jane.

  “Longer than we can.”

  “You’d think she’d get sick and throw up.”

  “You would think,” said Gabriel.

  “Someone has to take control here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Someone has to be the parent.”

  “I absolutely agree.” He looked at Jane.

  “What?”

  “It’s your turn to play bad cop.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re so good at it. Besides, I put her to bed the last three times. She just doesn’t listen to me.”

  “Because she figured out that Mr. FBI is a total marshmallow.”

  He looked at his watch. “Jane, it’s midnight.”

  Their daughter only whirled faster. When I was her age, was I just as exhausting? Jane wondered. This must be what the term poetic justice meant. Someday, you’ll have a daughter just like you, her mother used to complain.

  And here she is.

  Groaning, Jane shoved herself off the sofa, the bad cop at last springing into action. “Time for bed, Regina,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No!” The imp scampered away, black curls bouncing. Jane corralled her in the kitchen and scooped her up. It was like trying to hold on to a flopping fish, every muscle and sinew fighting her.

  “No go! No go!”

  “Yes, go,” said Jane, carrying her daughter toward the nursery as little arms and legs flailed at her. She set Regina in the crib, turned off the light, and shut the door. That only made her cries more piercing. Not wails of distress but of sheer fury.

  The phone rang. Oh hell, it’s the neighbors, calling to complain again.

  “Tell them that giving her Valium is not an option!” Jane said as Gabriel went into the kitchen to answer the phone.

  “We’re the ones who need the Valium,” he told her, then picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  Too weary to stand straight, she slumped in the kitchen doorway, imagining the diatribe now pouring from that receiver. It had to be those Windsor-Millers, the thirty-somethings who’d moved into the building only a month ago. Already they’d called to complain at least a dozen times. Your child keeps us awake all night. We both have demanding jobs, you know. Can’t you control her? The Windsor-Millers had no kids of their own, so it wouldn’t occur to them that an eighteen-month-old couldn’t be turned on and off like a TV set. Jane had once caught a glimpse inside their apartment, and it was spotless. White sofa, white carpet, white walls. The apartment of a couple who’d freak out at the thought of sticky little hands getting anywhere near their precious furniture.

  “It’s for you,” said Gabriel, holding out the receiver.

  “The neighbors?”

  “Daniel Brophy.”

  She glanced at the kitchen clock. Calling at midnight? Something had to be wrong. She took the phone. “Daniel?”

  “She wasn’t on the plane.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve just left the airport. Maura wasn’t on the flight she booked. And she never called me. I don’t know what—” He paused, and Jane heard the so
und of a car horn blaring.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m driving into the Sumner Tunnel right now. I’m going to lose you any second.”

  “Why don’t you come over to our place?” said Jane.

  “You mean right now?”

  “Gabriel and I are both awake. We should talk about this. Hello? Hello?”

  The tunnel had cut off their connection. She hung up and looked at her husband. “It sounds like we’ve got a problem.”

  Half an hour later, Father Daniel Brophy arrived. By then Regina had finally cried herself to sleep; the apartment was quiet when he walked in. Jane had seen this man at work under the most trying of circumstances, at crime scenes where wailing relatives reached out to him for comfort. He had always radiated quiet strength, and just by his touch or a few soft words, he could soothe even the most distraught. Tonight it was Brophy himself who looked distraught. He removed his black winter coat, and Jane saw that he was not wearing his clerical collar but a blue sweater and oxford shirt. Civilian clothes that made him appear more vulnerable.

  “She never showed up at the airport,” he said. “I waited around for nearly two hours. I know her flight landed, and all the baggage was claimed. But she wasn’t there.”

  “Maybe you missed each other,” said Jane. “Maybe she got off the plane and couldn’t find you.”

  “She would have called me.”

  “You tried calling her?”

  “Repeatedly. No answer. I haven’t been able to reach her all weekend. Not since I spoke to you.”

  And I brushed off his concerns, she thought, feeling a twinge of guilt.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” she said. “I think we’re going to need it.”

  They sat in the living room, Jane and Gabriel on the sofa, Brophy in the armchair. The warmth of the apartment had not brought any color to Brophy’s cheeks; he was still sallow, and both his hands were curled into fists on his knees.

  “So your last conversation with Maura wasn’t exactly a happy one,” said Jane.

  “No. I … I had to cut it off abruptly,” Brophy admitted.

  “Why?”

  His face snapped even tighter. “We need to talk about Maura, not me.”

  “We are talking about her. I’m trying to understand her state of mind. Do you think she felt snubbed when you cut the call short?”