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“And I have no idea what any of them mean.”
“The upside-down crosses are common satanic symbols. But what interests me is the chalk circle in Lori-A
There was no point denying the facts; this man already knew the details. “So what does the circle mean?”
“It could be a ring of protection. Another symbol taken from satanic rituals. By drawing that circle, Lori-A
“Wait. You think the victim drew it, to ward off the devil?” Her tone of voice left no doubt what she thought of his theory: utter nonsense.
“If she did draw it, then she had no idea who-or what-she was summoning.”
The fire suddenly fluttered, flames reaching up in a bright claw. Maura turned as the i
“Lucky me. After two hours of questions, Boston’s finest finally decided to let me go home. You throw a hell of a di
“Let’s hope I never do,” said Sansone. “Let me get your coat.” He rose and pushed open a wooden panel, exposing a hidden closet. He held up O’Do
Perhaps very well.
As she buttoned, O’Do
She always goes straight for the jugular. Don’t let her see she’s drawn blood.
“I have no idea,” said Maura.
“You haven’t been back to see her?”
“No. But you probably already know that.”
“Oh, I finished my interviews with Amalthea over a month ago. I haven’t seen her since.” Slowly, O’Do
“I’m not.”
“They have her working in the prison library now. She’s turned into quite the bookworm. Reads every psychology textbook she can get her hands on.” O’Do
Instead, my mother chose a different path. Predator. Butcher. No matter how hard Maura worked to distance herself, no matter how deeply she buried any thoughts of Amalthea, she could not look at her own reflection without seeing her mother’s eyes, her mother’s jaw. The monster peering back from the mirror.
“Her case history will take up a whole chapter in my next book,” said O’Do
“I have absolutely nothing to add.”
O’Do
“Shall I have Jeremy follow you home, just to be sure?”
“Absolutely not.” She flashed him a smile that struck Maura as distinctly flirtatious. “I can take care of myself.”
“These are different circumstances, Joyce.”
“Afraid?”
“We’d be crazy if we weren’t.”
She flung her scarf around her neck, a theatrical flourish to emphasize that she, for one, was not going to let something as trivial as fear slow her down. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He opened the door, letting in a whoosh of frigid air, a flurry of snowflakes that scattered like glitter across the antique carpet. “Stay safe,” he said. He waited in the doorway, watching as O’Do
“So you and your friends think you’re on the side of the angels,” said Maura.
“I believe we are.”
“Whose side is she on?”
“I know there’s no love lost between her and law enforcement. It’s her job as a defense witness to be at odds with the prosecution. But I’ve known Joyce for three years now. I know where she stands.”
“Can you really be sure?” Maura picked up her coat, which she’d left draped over a settee. He did not attempt to help her on with it; perhaps he sensed that she, unlike O’Do
“You say you’ve looked evil in the eye,” she said, turning back to her host.
“We both have.”
“Then you should know by now,” she said, “that it wears a pretty damn good disguise.”
She stepped out of the house and breathed in air that sparkled with frozen mist. The sidewalk stretched before her like a dark river; streetlamps cast pale islands of light. A lone Boston PD cruiser was parked across the street, engine idling, and she saw the silhouette of a patrolman sitting in the driver’s seat. She raised her hand in a wave.
He waved back.
No reason to be nervous, she thought, as she started walking. My car’s just down the street, and a cop’s nearby. So was Sansone. She glanced back and saw that he was still standing on his front steps, watching her. Nevertheless she pulled out her car keys, kept her thumb poised on the panic button. Even as she moved down the sidewalk, she sca
Time to go home. Time for a stiff drink.
When she walked into her house, she found two new messages on her answering machine. She went into the kitchen first, to pour herself a glass of brandy, came back into the living room, sipping her drink, and pressed Play. At the sound of the first caller’s voice, she went very still.
“It’s Daniel. I don’t care how late it is when you hear this. Just call me, please. I hate to think that you and I-” A pause. “We need to talk, Maura. Call me.”
She did not move. Just stood clutching her brandy, her fingers numb around the glass as the second message played.
“Dr. Isles, it’s Anthony Sansone. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Give me a call and let me know, will you?”
The machine went silent. She took a breath, reached for the phone, and dialed.
“Sansone residence. This is Jeremy.”
“It’s Dr. Isles. Could you-”
“Hello, Dr. Isles. Let me get him for you.”
“Just let him know that I’m home.”
“I know that he’d like very much to talk to you himself.”
“There’s no need to disturb him. Good night.”
“Good night, Doctor.”
She hung up and hovered over the receiver, poised to make the second call.
A sharp thump on her porch made her back snap straight. She went to the front door and flipped on the porch light. Outside, the wind swirled snow fine as dust. On the porch, a fallen icicle lay in glistening shards, like a broken dagger. She turned off the light but lingered at the window and watched as a municipal truck rumbled past, scattering sand across the icy road.
She returned to the couch and stared at the phone as she drank the last of her brandy.
We need to talk, Maura. Call me.
She set down the glass, turned off the lamp, and went to bed.