Body Double

“We’re all heartsick about Mattie,” said Dr. Fishman. “She’s just the sweetest person. And she’s so thrilled about the baby.”

“At her last appointment, everything was fine?” asked Rizzoli.

“Oh, yes. Strong fetal heart tones, good position. Everything looked great.” Fishman glanced back at Rizzoli. Asked, grimly: “You think it’s the husband?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, isn’t it usually the husband? He only came in with her once, way at the begi

Larry from Minute Man Security Systems was waiting in the room for them. “I’ve got that video ready to show you,” he said. “I narrowed it down to the time frame you’re interested in. Dr. Fishman, you’ll need to watch the footage. Tell us when you spot your patient on the video.”

Fishman sighed and settled into a chair in front of the monitor. “I’ve never had to look at one of these before.”

“Lucky you,” said Larry. “Most of the time they’re pretty boring.”

Rizzoli and Frost sat down on either side of Fishman. “Okay,” said Rizzoli. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Larry hit PLAY.

On the monitor, a long view of the clinic’s main entrance appeared. A bright day, sunlight glinting off a row of cars parked in front of the building.

“This camera’s mounted on top of a lamppost in the parking lot,” said Larry. “You can see the time there, at the bottom. Two oh five P.M.”

A Saab swung into view and pulled into a stall. The driver’s door opened and a tall brunette climbed out. She strolled toward the clinic and vanished inside.

“Mattie’s appointment was at one thirty,” said Dr. Fishman. “Maybe you should back up the film a little.”

“Just keep watching,” said Larry. “There. Two thirty P.M. Is that her?”

A woman had just stepped out of the building. She paused for a moment in the sunshine, and ran her hand across her eyes, as though she was dazzled by the light.

“That’s her,” said Fishman. “That’s Mattie.”

Mattie started walking away from the building now, moving in that duck waddle so characteristic of heavily pregnant women. She took her time, digging through her purse for her car keys as she walked, distracted, not paying attention. Suddenly she stopped and glanced around with a bewildered look, as though she’d forgotten where she left her car. Yes, this was a woman who might not notice that her tire was flat, thought Rizzoli. Now Mattie turned and walked in a completely different direction, vanishing from the camera’s view.

“Is that all you have?” asked Rizzoli.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” said Larry. “Confirmation of the time she left the building?”

“But where’s her car? We don’t see her getting into her car.”

“Is there some question that she didn’t?”

“I just want to see her leave the parking lot.”

Larry rose and went to the video system. “There’s one other angle I can show you, from a camera that’s way on the other side of the lot,” he said, changing the tape. “But I don’t think it helps much, because it’s so far away.” He picked up the remote and again pressed PLAY.

Another view appeared. This time only one corner of the clinic building was visible; most of the screen was filled with parked cars.

“This parking lot’s shared with the medical-surgery clinic across the way,” said Larry. “That’s why you see so many cars here. Okay, look. Isn’t that her?”

In the distance, Mattie’s head was visible as she moved along a row of cars. Now she ducked out of sight. A moment later, a blue car backed out of its stall and rolled out of the frame.

“That’s all we’ve got,” said Larry. “She comes out of the building, gets in her car, drives away. Whatever happened to her, it didn’t happen in our lot.” He reached for the remote.

“Wait,” said Rizzoli.

“What?”

“Go back.”

“How far?”

“About thirty seconds.”

Larry pressed REWIND and digital pixels briefly scrambled on the monitor, then re-formed into an image of parked cars. There was Mattie, ducking into her car. Rizzoli rose from her chair, crossed to the monitor, and stared as Mattie drove away. As a flash of white appeared, gliding across one corner of the frame, in the same direction as Mattie’s BMW.

“Stop,” said Rizzoli. The image froze, and Rizzoli touched the screen. “There. That white van.”

Frost said, “It’s moving parallel to the vic’s car.” The victim. Already assuming the worst about Mattie’s fate.

“So what?” said Larry.

Rizzoli looked at Fishman. “Do you recognize that vehicle?”

The doctor shrugged. “It’s not as if I pay attention to cars at all. I’m clueless about makes and models.”

“But have you seen this white van before?”

“I don’t know. To me it looks like every other white van.”

“Why are you interested in that van?” said Larry. “I mean, you can see her get safely into her car and drive away.”

“Rewind it,” said Rizzoli.

“You want to play this part again?”

“No. I want to go back further.” She looked at Fishman. “You said her appointment was for one thirty?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to one o’clock.”

Larry pressed the remote. On the monitor, pixels scrambled, then rearranged themselves. The time at the bottom said 1:02.

“Close enough,” said Rizzoli. “Let’s play it.”

As the seconds ticked forward, they watched cars roll in and out of view. Saw a woman pull two toddlers from their car seats and walk across the lot, little hands grasped firmly in hers.

At 1:08, the white van appeared. It cruised slowly down the row of cars, then vanished out of camera range.

At 1:25, Mattie Purvis’s blue BMW drove into the lot. She was partially hidden by the row of cars between her and the camera, and they saw only the top of her head as she emerged from her car, as she walked down the row toward the building.

“Is that enough?” said Larry.

“Keep ru

“What are we looking for?”

Rizzoli felt her pulse quicken. “That,” she said softly.

The white van was back on the screen. It cruised slowly up the row of cars. Stopped between the camera and the blue BMW.

“Shit,” said Rizzoli. “It’s blocking our view! We can’t see what the driver’s doing.”

Seconds later, the van moved on. They had not caught even a glimpse of the driver’s face; nor had they seen the license plate.

“What was that all about?” said Dr. Fishman.

Rizzoli turned and looked at Frost. She didn’t have to say a word; they both understood what had happened in that parking lot. The flat tire. Theresa and Nikki Wells had a flat tire as well.

This is how he finds them, she thought. A clinic parking lot. Pregnant women walking in to visit their doctors. A quick slash of the tire, and then it’s just a waiting game. Follow your prey as she drives out of the lot. When she pulls over, there you are, right behind her.

Ready to offer your assistance.

As Frost drove, Rizzoli sat thinking about the life nestled inside her. About how thin was the wall of skin and muscle that cradled her baby. A blade would not have to cut very deep. A quick incision, straight down the abdomen, from breast bone to pubis, without concern about scars, because there would be no healing, no worries about the mother’s health. She is just a disposable husk, peeled open for the treasure she contains. She pressed her hands to her belly and felt suddenly sickened by the thought of what Mattie Purvis might, at that moment, be enduring. Surely Mattie had not entertained such grotesque images while she’d stared at her own reflection. Perhaps she’d looked at the stretch marks spidering across her abdomen and felt a sense of bereavement about losing her attractiveness. A sense of grief that when her husband looked at her, it was now with disinterest, not lust. Not love.