Body Double

“Do pregnant women ever stop thinking about food?”

“Not this pregnant woman.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Okay, okay.” Rizzoli drove in silence for a moment. “Ballard came in to see me this morning.”

Maura looked at her, but Rizzoli’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead. “Why?”

“He wanted to explain why he never told us about your mother. Look, I know you’re pissed at him, Doc. But I think he really was trying to protect you.”

“Is that what he said?”

“I believe him. Maybe I even agree with him. I thought about keeping that information from you, too.”

“But you didn’t. You called me.”

“The point is, I can see why he wouldn’t want to tell you.”

“He had no excuse for keeping that information from me.”

“It’s just a guy thing, you know? Maybe a cop thing, too. They want to protect the little lady-”

“So they hold back the truth?”

“I’m just saying, I understand where he’s coming from.”

“Wouldn’t you be angry about it?”

“Sure as hell.”

“So why are you defending him?”

“Because he’s hot?”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m just telling you he’s really sorry about it. But I think he tried to tell you that himself.”

“I wasn’t in the mood for an apology.”

“So you’re just go

“Why are we discussing this?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s the way he talked about you. Like something happened between you two up there. Did it?”

Maura felt Rizzoli watching her with those bright cop’s eyes, and knew that if she lied, Rizzoli would see it.

“I don’t need any complicated relationships right now.”

“What’s complicated about it? I mean, besides the fact you’re pissed at him?”

“A daughter. An ex-wife.”

“Men his age, they’re all retreads. They’re all going to have ex-wives.”

Maura stared ahead at the road. “You know, Jane, not every woman is meant to be married.”

“That’s what I used to think, and look what happened to me. One day I can’t stand the guy, the next day I can’t stop thinking about him. I never thought it’d turn out this way.”

“Gabriel’s one of the good ones.”

“Yeah, he’s a straight-up guy. But the point is, he tried to pull the same stunt that Ballard did, that macho protection thing. And I was pissed at him. The point is, you can’t always predict when a guy’s a keeper.”

Maura thought of Victor. Of her disaster of a marriage. “No, you can’t.”

“But you can start off by focusing on what’s possible, on what has a chance. And forget the guys who’ll never work out.” Though they did not mention his name, Maura knew they were both thinking of Daniel Brophy. The impossible, personified. A seductive mirage who could lure her through the years, the decades, into old age. Stranding her there all alone.

“This is the exit,” said Rizzoli, turning off onto Loring Drive.

Maura’s heart started to pound as she saw the sign for MCI- Framingham. It’s time to come face-to-face with who I really am.

“You can still change your mind,” said Rizzoli.

“We’ve already gone through this.”

“Yeah, I just wanted you to know we can turn back.”

“Would you, Jane? After a lifetime of wondering who your mother is, what she looks like, would you leave it at that? When you’re so close to having every question you ever asked finally answered?”

Rizzoli turned to look at her. Rizzoli, who seemed always to be in motion, always at the eye of one storm or another, now regarded Maura with quiet understanding. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”

In the administrative wing of the Betty Cole Smith Building, they both presented their IDs and signed in. A few minutes later, Superintendent Barbara Gurley came down to meet them at the front desk. Maura had expected an imposing prison commandant, but the woman she saw looked like a librarian, her short hair more gray than brown, her slim figure clad in a tan skirt and pink cotton blouse.

“Good to meet you, Detective Rizzoli,” said Gurley. She turned to Maura. “And you’re Dr. Isles?”

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me.” Maura, too, reached out to shake hands. Found the other woman’s grasp cool and reserved. She knows who I am, thought Maura. She knows why I’m here.

“Let’s go up to my office. I’ve pulled her file for you.”

Gurley led the way, moving with crisp efficiency. No wasted motion, no backward glance to see if the visitors were keeping up. They stepped into an elevator.

“This is a level four facility?” asked Rizzoli.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that just medium security?” said Maura.

“We’re developing a level six trial unit. This is the only women’s correctional unit in the state of Massachusetts, so for the moment, we’re it. We have to deal with the whole spectrum of offenders.”

“Even mass murderers?” asked Rizzoli.

“If they’re female, and they’re convicted of a crime, they come here. We don’t have quite the same security issues that the men’s facilities have to deal with. Also, our approach is a little different. We emphasize treatment and rehabilitation. A number of our inmates have mental health and substance abuse problems. Plus, there’s the complicating fact that many of them are mothers, so we have to deal with all the emotional issues of maternal separation as well. There are a lot of children left crying when visiting hours end.”

“What about Amalthea Lank? You have any special issues with her?”

“We have…” Gurley hesitated, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “A few.”

“Like what?”

The elevator door opened and Gurley stepped out. “This is my office.”

They passed through an anteroom. The two secretaries stared at Maura, then quickly dropped their gazes back to their computer screens. Everyone’s trying to avoid meeting my eyes, she thought. What are they afraid I’ll see?

Gurley led the visitors into her office and closed the door. “Please, sit down.”

The room was a surprise. Maura had thought it would reflect Gurley herself, efficient and unadorned. But everywhere, there were photographs of smiling faces. Women holding babies, children posed with neatly parted hair and pressed shirts. A new bride and groom, surrounded by a flock of children. His, hers, ours.

“My girls,” said Gurley, smiling at the wall of photos. “These are the ones who made the transition back to society. The ones who made the right choices and moved on with their lives. Unfortunately,” she said, her smile fading, “Amalthea Lank will never be on this wall.” She sat down behind her desk and focused on Maura. “I’m not sure your visit here is such a good idea, Dr. Isles.”

“I’ve never met my birth mother.”

“That’s what concerns me.” Gurley leaned back in her chair and studied Maura for a moment. “We all want to love our mothers. We want them to be special women because it makes us special, as their daughters.”

“I don’t expect to love her.”

“What do you expect, then?”

That question made Maura pause. She thought of the imaginary mother she’d conjured up as a child, ever since her cousin had cruelly blurted out the truth: that Maura was adopted. That this was the reason why, in a family of blondes and towheads, she alone had black hair. She’d built a fairy-tale mother based on the darkness of her hair. An Italian heiress, forced to give up a daughter conceived in scandal. Or a Spanish beauty abandoned by her lover, tragically dead of a broken heart. Always, as Gurley had said, she’d imagined someone special, even extraordinary. Now she was about to confront not the fantasy but the real woman, and the prospect made her mouth go dry.

Rizzoli said to Gurley: “Why don’t you think she should see her?”

“I’m only asking her to approach this visit with caution.”

“Why? Is the inmate dangerous?”

“Not in the sense that she’ll spring up and physically attack anyone. In fact, she’s quite docile on the surface.”