Body Double

“I’ve cleared one edge here,” said Yates, breathing hard, his shovel scraping across wood. “Looks like some kind of crate. I’ve already dinged it with the shovel. I don’t want to damage the wood.”

“I’ve got the trowels and brushes,” said Maura.

Yates straightened, panting, and clambered out of the hole. “Okay. Maybe you can clear off that dirt on top. We’ll get some photos before we pry it open.”

Maura and Gary dropped into the trench, and she felt the panel shudder under their weight. She wondered what horrors lay beneath the stained planks, and had a terrible vision of the wood suddenly giving way, of plunging into decayed flesh. Ignoring her pounding heart, she knelt down and began to sweep dirt away from the panel.

“Hand me one of those brushes, too,” said Rizzoli, about to jump into the trench as well.

“Not you,” said Yates. “Why don’t you just take it easy?”

“I’m not handicapped. I hate standing around doing nothing.”

Yates gave an anxious laugh. “Yeah, well, we’d hate seeing you go into labor down there. And I wouldn’t want to have to explain it to your husband, either.”

Maura said, “There’s not much maneuvering room down here, Jane.”

“Well, let me reposition these lamps for you. So you can see what you’re doing.”

Rizzoli moved a flood lamp, and suddenly light beamed down on the corner where Maura was working. Crouched on her knees, Maura used the brush to clear soil from the planks, uncovering pinpoints of rust. “I’m seeing old nail heads here,” she said.

“I’ve got a crowbar in the car,” said Corso. “I’ll get it.”

Maura kept brushing away dirt, uncovering the rusted heads of more nails. The space was cramped, and her neck and shoulders began to ache. She straightened her back. Heard a clank behind her.

“Hey,” said Gary. “Look at this.”

Maura turned and saw that Gary’s trowel had scraped up against an inch of broken pipe.

“Seems to come straight up through the edge of this panel,” said Gary. With bare fingers, he gingerly probed the rusted protrusion and broke through a clot of dirt crusting the top. “Why would you stick a pipe into a…” He stopped. Looked at Maura.

“It’s an air hole,” she said.

Gary stared down at the planks under his knees. Said, softly: “What the hell’s inside this thing?”

“Come out of the hole, you two,” said Pete. “We’re going to take photos.”

Yates reached down to help Maura out and she stepped back from the trench, feeling suddenly light-headed from rising too quickly to her feet. She blinked, dazed by the flashes of the camera. By the surreal glare of floodlights and the shadows dancing on the walls. She went to the cellar steps and sat down. Only then remembered that the step she was now resting on was impregnated with ghostly traces of blood.

“Okay,” said Pete. “Let’s open it.”

Corso knelt beside the trench and worked the tip of the crowbar under one corner of the lid. He strained to pry up the panel, eliciting a squeal of rusty nail heads.

“It’s not budging,” said Rizzoli.

Corso paused and wiped his sleeve across his face, leaving a streak of dirt on his forehead. “Man, my back’s go

The nails screeched free.

Corso tossed aside the crowbar. He and Yates both reached into the trench, grasped the edge of the lid, and lifted. For a moment, no one said a word. They all stared into the hole, now fully revealed under the glare of flood lamps.

“I don’t get it,” said Yates.

The crate was empty.

They drove home that night, down a highway glistening with rain. Maura’s windshield wipers swept a slow, hypnotic beat across misted glass.

“All that blood in the kitchen,” said Rizzoli. “You know what it means. Amalthea’s killed before. Nikki and Theresa Wells weren’t her first victims.”

“She wasn’t alone in that house, Jane. Her cousin Elijah lived there, too. It could have been him.”

“She was nineteen years old when the Sadlers vanished. She had to know what was happening in her own kitchen.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s the one who did it.”

Rizzoli looked at her. “You believe O’Do

“Amalthea is schizophrenic. Tell me how someone with a mind that disordered manages to kill two women, and then goes through the very logical step of burning their bodies, destroying the evidence?”

“She didn’t do that good a job of covering her tracks. She got caught, remember?”

“The police in Virginia got lucky. Catching her on a routine traffic stop wasn’t an example of brilliant detective work.” Maura stared ahead at fingers of mist curling across the empty highway. “She didn’t kill those women all by herself. There had to be someone else helping her, someone who left fingerprints in her car. Someone who’s been with her from the very begi

“Her cousin?”

“Elijah was only fourteen when he buried that girl alive. What kind of boy would do something like that? What kind of man does he grow into?”

“I hate to imagine.”

“I think we both know,” said Maura. “We both saw the blood in that kitchen.”

The Lexus hummed down the road. The rain had ceased, but the air still steamed, misting over the windshield.

“If they did kill the Sadlers,” said Rizzoli, “then you’ve got to wonder…” She looked at Maura. “What did they do with Karen Sadler’s baby?”

Maura said nothing. She kept her gaze on the highway, driving straight down that road. No detours, no side trips. Just keep driving.

“You know what I’m getting at?” said Rizzoli. “Forty-five years ago, the Lank cousins killed a pregnant woman. The baby’s remains are missing. Five years later, Amalthea Lank shows up in Van Gates’s office in Boston, with two newborn daughters to sell.”

Maura’s fingers had gone numb on the steering wheel.

“What if those babies weren’t hers?” Rizzoli said. “What if Amalthea isn’t really your mother?”

TWENTY-THREE

MATTIE PURVIS SAT in the dark, wondering how long it took a person to starve to death. She was going through her food too fast. Only six Hershey bars, half a packet of saltines, and a few strips of beef jerky were left in the grocery sack. I have to ration it, she thought. I have to make it last long enough to…

To what? Die of thirst instead?

She bit off a precious chunk of chocolate, and was sorely tempted to take a second bite, but managed to hold on to her willpower. Carefully, she rewrapped the rest of the bar for later. If I get truly desperate, there’s always the paper to eat, she thought. Paper was edible, wasn’t it? It’s made of wood, and hungry deer eat the bark off trees, so there must be some nutritional value to it. Yes, save the paper. Keep it clean. Reluctantly, she returned the partially eaten chocolate bar to the sack. Closing her eyes, she thought of hamburgers and fried chicken and all the forbidden foods she had denied herself ever since Dwayne had said that pregnant women reminded him of cows. Meaning she reminded him of a cow. For two weeks afterwards, she’d eaten nothing but salads, until one day she’d felt dizzy and had sat right down on the floor in the middle of Macy’s. Dwayne had turned red-faced as worried ladies gathered around them, asking again and again if his wife was all right. He kept waving them away while he’d hissed at Mattie to get up. Image was everything, he always liked to say, and there was Mr. BMW with his cow of a wife in her maternity stretch pants, wallowing on the floor. Yes, I am a cow, Dwayne. A big, beautiful cow carrying your baby. Now come and save us, goddamn it. Save us, save us.

A footstep creaked overhead.