Body Double

“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 di

“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 go

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 A

“You called her a phantom.”

“In a sense, that’s true. A

“How is that possible?”

“Because there was no A

“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 ru

“No. You can probably guess what she was ru

“A man?”

“Unfortunately, a very wealthy man. Dr. Charles Cassell.”

“I don’t know the name.”

“Castle Pharmaceuticals. He founded it. A

“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 A

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 A

“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. “A

An only child. Older parents. I know where this is going, thought Maura, and I’m afraid of what she’s about to tell me. This is why she really came tonight. It’s not just about A

Maura looked up at Rizzoli. “She was adopted?”

Rizzoli nodded. “Mrs. Leoni was fifty-two the year A

“Too old for most agencies.”

“Which is why they probably had to arrange a private adoption, through an attorney.”

Maura thought of her own parents, now both dead. They too had been older, in their forties.

“What do you know about your own adoption, Doc?”

Maura took a deep breath. “After my father died, I found my adoption papers. It was all done through an attorney here in Boston. I called him a few years ago, to see if he would tell me my birth mother’s name.”

“Did he?”

“He said my records were sealed. He refused to release any information.”

“And you didn’t pursue it?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Was the attorney’s name Terence Van Gates?”

Maura went dead silent. She didn’t have to answer the question; she knew Rizzoli could read it in her stu

“Two days before her death, A

Now the revelation is coming, thought Maura. The real reason she’s here tonight, in my kitchen.

“We know A