Body Double

“Something you want to talk about?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? Victor was brilliant, incredibly charismatic-”

“Gee, I’m already jealous.”

“But you can’t stay married to someone like that. It’s too intense. It burns out so fast you end up exhausted. And he…” She stopped.

“What?”

She reached for the beer. Took her time sipping it before she set it down. “He wasn’t exactly honest with me,” she said. “That’s all.”

She knew he wanted to know more, but he had picked up on that note of finality in her voice. This far, no further. He stood up and went to the refrigerator for two more beers. Popped off the caps and handed a bottle to her.

“If we’re go

“Let’s not, then. If it hurts.”

“Maybe it hurts because you don’t talk about it.”

“No one wants to hear about my divorce.”

He sat down and met her gaze across the table. “I do.”

No man, she thought, had ever focused on her so completely, and she could not look away. She found herself breathing deeply, inhaling the smell of rain and the rich animal scent of melted butter. She saw things in his face she had not noticed before. The streaks of blond in his hair. The scar on his chin, just a faint white line below his lip. The chipped front tooth. I’ve just met this man, she thought, but he looks at me as though he’s known me forever. Faintly she heard her cell phone ringing in the bedroom, but did not want to answer it. She let it keep ringing until it fell silent. It was unlike her not to answer her phone, but tonight, everything felt different. She felt different. Reckless. A woman who ignored her phone and ate with her bare hands.

A woman who just might sleep with a man she scarcely knew.

The phone started ringing again.

This time, the urgency of that sound finally drew her attention. She could no longer ignore it. Reluctantly she stood up. “I guess I should answer that.”

By the time she got to the bedroom, the phone had once again stopped ringing. She dialed up her voice mail and heard two different messages, both from Rizzoli.

“Doc, I need to talk to you. Call me back.”

The second message, recorded in a more querulous voice: “It’s me again. Why aren’t you answering?”

Maura sat down on the bed. Couldn’t help thinking, as she gazed at the mattress, that it was just big enough for two. She shook the thought from her head, took a deep breath, and dialed Rizzoli’s number.

“Where are you?” Rizzoli demanded.

“I’m still in Fox Harbor. I’m sorry, I didn’t get to the phone in time to answer it.”

“Have you seen Ballard up there yet?”

“Yes, we just finished di

“Because he called me yesterday, asking where you’d gone. He sounded like he might head up that way.”

“He’s right in the other room. Do you want me to get him?”

“No, I want to talk to you.” Rizzoli paused. “I went to see Terence Van Gates today.”

Rizzoli’s abrupt change in subject gave Maura a case of mental whiplash. “What?” she asked, bewildered.

“Van Gates. You told me he was the attorney who-”

“Yes, I know who he is. What did he tell you?”

“Something interesting. About the adoption.”

“He actually talked to you about it?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing how some people open up when you flash a badge. He told me your sister went to see him months ago. Just like you, she was trying to find her birth mother. He gave her the same runaround he gave you. Records were sealed, the mother wanted confidentiality, blah, blah, blah. So she returned with a friend, who finally convinced Van Gates it was in his best interests to give up the mother’s name.”

“And did he?”

“Yes, he did.”

Maura had the phone pressed so hard to her ear that she could hear her own pulse thumping in the receiver. She said, softly: “You know who my mother is.”

“Yes. But there’s something else-”

“Tell me her name, Jane.”

A pause. “Lank. Her name is Amalthea Lank.”

Amalthea. My mother’s name is Amalthea.

Maura’s breath whooshed out on a tide of gratitude. “Thank you! God, I can’t believe I finally know-”

“Wait. I haven’t finished.”

The tone of Rizzoli’s voice held a warning. Something bad was coming. Something that Maura would not like.

“What is it?”

“That friend of A

“Yes?”

“It was Rick Ballard.”

Maura went very still. From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes, the hiss of ru

“Doc?”

“Then why didn’t he tell me?”

“I know why he didn’t.”

“Why?”

“You’d better ask him. Ask him to tell you the rest of it.”

When she returned to the kitchen, she saw that he had cleared the table and thrown the lobster shells in a trash bag. He was standing at the sink washing his hands and did not realize she was in the doorway, watching him.

“What do you know about Amalthea Lank?” Maura said.

He went rigid, his back still turned. A long silence passed. Then he reached for a dish towel and took his time drying his hands. Buying time before he answers me, she thought. But there was no excuse that she would accept, nothing he could say that could reverse the sense of distrust she now felt.

At last he turned to face her. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out. Amalthea Lank is not a woman you want to know, Maura.”

“Is she my mother? Goddamn it, tell me that much.”

A reluctant nod. “Yes. She is.”

There, he’d said it. He’d confirmed it. Another moment passed while she absorbed the fact he had kept such important information from her. The whole time he was watching her with a look of concern.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“I was thinking only of you, Maura. What’s in your best interests-”

“The truth isn’t in my best interests?”

“In this case, no. It isn’t.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I made a mistake with your sister-a serious one. She wanted so badly to find her mother, and I thought I could do her that favor. I had no idea it would turn out the way it did.” He took a step toward her. “I was trying to protect you, Maura. I saw what it did to A

“I’m not A

“But you’re just like her. You’re so much like her, it scares me. Not just the way you look, but the way you think.”

She gave a sarcastic laugh. “So now you can read my mind?”

“Not your mind. Your personality. A

“Who was my mother, Rick?”

“A woman you don’t want to meet.”

It took a moment for Maura to fully register the significance of that answer. Present tense. “My mother is alive.”

Reluctantly he nodded.

“And you know where to find her.”

He didn’t answer.

“Goddamn it, Rick!” she exploded. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

He went to the table and sat down, as though suddenly too tired to continue the battle. “Because I know you’re going to find it painful, hearing the facts. Especially because of who you are. What you do for a living.”

“What does my job have to do with it?”

“You work with law enforcement. You help bring killers to justice.”

“I don’t bring anyone to justice. I just provide the facts. Sometimes the facts aren’t what you cops want to hear.”