Body Double

Did you know Dwayne was having an affair?

She looked at Frost. “He’ll need a broker.”

“What?”

“When he gets his hands on a new baby, what does he do with it? He must bring it to a go-between. Someone who seals the adoption, draws up the papers. And pays him the cash.”

“Van Gates.”

“We know he did it for her at least once before.”

“That was forty years ago.”

“How many other adoptions has he arranged since then? How many other babies has he placed with paying families? There’s got to be money in it.” Money to keep the trophy wife in pink spandex.

“Van Gates is not going to cooperate.”

“Not a chance in hell. But we know what to watch for, now.”

“The white van.”

Frost drove for a moment in silence. “You know,” he said, “if that van does show up at his house, it probably means…” His voice trailed off.

That Mattie Purvis is already dead, thought Rizzoli.

TWENTY-SIX

MATTIE BRACED HER BACK against one wall, placed her feet against the other wall, and pushed. Counted the seconds until her legs were quivering and sweat beaded her face. Come on, five more seconds. Ten. She went limp, panting, her calves and thighs tingling with a pleasant burn. She had scarcely used them in this box, had spent too many hours curled up and wallowing in self-pity as her muscles degenerated to mush. She remembered the time she’d caught the flu, a bad flu that had laid her flat on her back, feverish and shaking. A few days later she had climbed out of bed and felt so weak she had to crawl to the bathroom. That’s what lying around too long did to you: It robbed you of your strength. Soon she’d need those muscles; she had to be ready when he came back.

Because he would come back.

That’s enough rest. Feet against the wall again. Push!

She grunted, sweat blooming on her forehead. She thought of the movie GI Jane, and how sleek and toned Demi Moore had looked as she’d lifted weights. Mattie held that image in her head as she pushed against her prison walls. Visualize muscles. And fighting back. And beating the bastard.

With a gasp, she once again relaxed against the wall and rested there, breathing deep as the ache in her legs subsided. She was about to repeat the exercise when she felt the tightening in her belly.

Another contraction.

She waited, holding her breath, hoping it would pass quickly. Already it was easing off. Just the womb trying out its muscles, as she was trying out hers. It wasn’t painful, but it was a sign that her time was coming.

Wait, baby. You have to wait a little longer.

TWENTY-SEVEN

ONCE AGAIN, MAURA WAS SHEDDING all the proof of her own identity. She placed her purse in the locker, added to it her watch, her belt, and her car keys. But even with my credit card and driver’s license and Social Security number, she thought, I still don’t know who I really am. The only person who knows that answer is waiting for me on the other side of the barrier.

She entered the visitor trap, took off her shoes and placed them on the counter for inspection, then passed through the metal detector.

A female guard was waiting for her. “Dr. Isles?”

“Yes.”

“You requested an interview room?”

“I need to speak to the prisoner alone.”

“You’ll still be monitored visually. You understand that?”

“As long as our conversation is private.”

“It’s the same room where prisoners meet with their attorneys. So you’ll have privacy.” The guard led Maura through the public day room and down a corridor. There she unlocked a door and waved her through. “We’ll bring her to the room. Have a seat.”

Maura stepped into the interview room and confronted a table and two chairs. She sat down in the chair facing the door. A Plexiglas window looked into the hallway, and two surveillance cameras peered from opposite corners of the room. She waited, her hands sweating despite the air-conditioning. Glanced up, startled, to see Amalthea’s dark, flat eyes staring at her through the window.

The guard escorted Amalthea into the room and sat her in a chair. “She’s not talking much today. I don’t know that she’s going to say a thing to you, but here she is.” The guard bent down, fastened a steel cuff around Amalthea’s ankle, and attached it to the table leg.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Maura.

“It’s just regulation, for your safety.” The guard straightened. “When you’re done, press that button there, on the wall intercom. We’ll come get her.” She gave Amalthea’s shoulder a pat. “Now, you talk to the lady, okay, honey? She’s come all this way just to see you.” She gave Maura a silent glance of good luck, and left, locking the door behind her.

A moment passed.

“I was here last week to visit you,” said Maura. “Do you remember?”

Amalthea hunched in her chair, eyes cast down at the table.

“You said something to me as I was about to leave. You said, now you’re going to die, too. What did you mean by that?”

Silence.

“You were warning me off, weren’t you? Telling me to leave you alone. You didn’t want me digging into your past.”

Again, silence.

“No one is listening to us, Amalthea. It’s just you and me in this room.” Maura placed her hands on the table, to show she had no tape recorder, no notepad. “I’m not a policeman. I’m not a prosecutor. You can say whatever you want to me, and we’re the only ones who’ll hear it.” She leaned closer, said quietly: “I know you can understand every word I’m saying. So look at me, goddamn it. I’ve had enough of this game.”

Though Amalthea did not lift her head, there was no missing the sudden tension in her arms, the twitch of her muscles. She’s listening, all right. She’s waiting to hear what I have to say next.

“That was a threat, wasn’t it? When you told me I was going to die, you were telling me to stay away, or I’d end up like A

Slowly, Amalthea’s head lifted. Dark eyes met hers in a gaze so cold, so empty, that Maura drew back, skin prickling.

“We know about him,” said Maura. “We know about you both.”

“What do you know?”

Maura had not expected her to speak. That question was whispered so softly she wondered if she’d actually heard it. She swallowed. Drew in a deep breath, shaken by the black void of those eyes. No insanity there, just emptiness.

“You’re as sane as I am,” said Maura. “But you don’t dare let anyone know that. It’s so much easier to hide behind a schizophrenic’s mask. Easier to play the psychotic, because people always leave the crazy ones alone. They don’t bother to interrogate you. They don’t dig any deeper, because they think it’s all delusion anyway. And now they don’t even medicate you, because you’re so good at faking the side effects.” Maura forced herself to stare deeper into that void. “They don’t know the Beast is real. But you do. And you know where he is.”

Amalthea sat perfectly still, but tautness had crept into her face. The muscles had tightened around her mouth, and stood out in cords down her throat.

“It was your only option, wasn’t it? Pleading insanity. You couldn’t argue away the evidence-the blood on your tire iron, the stolen wallets. But convince them you’re psychotic, and maybe you’d avoid any further scrutiny. Maybe they wouldn’t find out about all your other victims. The women you killed in Florida and Virginia. Texas and Arkansas. States with the death penalty.” Maura leaned even closer. “Why don’t you just give him up, Amalthea? After all, he let you take the blame. And he’s still out there killing. He’s going on without you, visiting all the same places, the same hunting grounds. He’s just abducted another woman, in Natick. You could stop him, Amalthea. You could put an end to it.”