Body Double

Amalthea seemed to be holding her breath, waiting.

“Look at you, sitting here in prison.” Maura laughed. “What a loser you are. Why should you be in here when Elijah’s free?”

Amalthea blinked. In an instant, all rigidity seemed to melt from her muscles.

“Talk to me,” pressed Maura. “There’s no one else in this room. Just you and me.”

The other woman’s gaze lifted to one of the video cameras mounted in the corner.

“Yes, they can see us,” said Maura. “But they can’t hear us.”

“Everyone can hear us,” whispered Amalthea. She focused on Maura. The fathomless gaze had turned cold, collected. And frighteningly sane, as though some new creature had suddenly emerged, staring out through those eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I want to know. Did Elijah kill my sister?”

A long pause. And, strangely, a gleam of amusement in those eyes. “Why would he?”

“You know why A

“Why don’t you ask me a question I know the answer to? The question you really came to ask me.” Amalthea’s voice was low, intimate. “This is about you, Maura, isn’t it? What is it you want to know?”

Maura stared at her, heart pounding. A single question swelled like an ache in her throat. “I want you to tell me…”

“Yes?” Just a murmur, soft as a voice in Maura’s head.

“Who was really my mother?”

A smile twitched on Amalthea’s lips. “You mean you don’t see the resemblance?”

“Just tell me the truth.”

“Look at me. And look in the mirror. There’s your truth.”

“I don’t recognize any part of you in me.”

“But I recognize myself in you.”

Maura gave a laugh, surprising herself that she could even manage it. “I don’t know why I came. This visit is a waste of my time.” She shoved back her chair and started to rise.

“Do you like working with the dead, Maura?”

Startled by the question, Maura paused, half out of her chair.

“It’s what you do, isn’t it?” said Amalthea. “You cut them open. Take out their organs. Slice their hearts. Why do you do it?”

“My job requires it.”

“Why did you choose that job?”

“I’m not here to talk about myself.”

“Yes you are. This is all about you. About who you really are.”

Slowly Maura sat back down. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

“You slit open bellies. Dip your hands in their blood. Why do you think we’re any different?” The woman had been moving forward so imperceptibly that Maura was startled to suddenly realize how close Amalthea was to her. “Look in the mirror. You’ll see me.”

“We’re not even the same species.”

“If that’s what you want to believe, who am I to change your mind?” Amalthea stared, unflinching, at Maura. “There’s always DNA.”

The breath went out of Maura. A bluff, she thought. Amalthea’s waiting to see if I’ll call her on it. If I really want to know the truth. DNA doesn’t lie. With a swab of her mouth, I could have my answer. I could have my worst fears confirmed.

“You know where to find me,” said Amalthea. “Come back when you’re ready for the truth.” She stood, her ankle cuff clanking against the table leg, and stared up at the video camera. A signal to the guard that she wanted to leave.

“If you’re my mother,” said Maura, “then tell me who my father is.”

Amalthea glanced back at her, the smile once again on her lips. “Haven’t you guessed?”

The door opened, and the guard poked her head in. “Everything okay in here?”

The transformation was stu

“Yes, honey, of course we’ll go.” The guard looked at Maura. “I guess you’re all done with her?”

“For now,” said Maura.

Rizzoli had not expected a visit from Charles Cassell, so she was surprised when the desk sergeant called to inform her that Dr. Cassell was waiting for her in the lobby. When she stepped out of the elevator and saw him, she was shocked by the change in his appearance. In just a week, he seemed to have aged ten years. Clearly he had lost weight, and his face was now gaunt and colorless. His suit jacket, though no doubt expensively tailored, seemed to hang, shapeless, on his drooping shoulders.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “I need to know what’s going on.”

She nodded to the desk officer. “I’ll take him upstairs.”

As she and Cassell stepped inside the elevator, he said: “No one is telling me anything.”

“You realize, of course, that that’s standard during an active investigation.”

“Are you going to charge me? Detective Ballard says it’s just a matter of time.”

She looked at him. “When did he tell you that?”

“Every goddamn time I hear from him. Is that the strategy, Detective? Scare me, bully me into cutting a deal?”

She said nothing. She had not known about Ballard’s continuing phone calls to Cassell.

They stepped off the elevator and she brought him to the interview room, where they sat at a corner of the table, facing each other.

“Did you have something new to tell me?” she asked. “Because if not, there’s really no reason for this meeting.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I don’t think you heard me the first time.”

“Is there something else you want to tell me?”

“You checked my airline travel, didn’t you? I gave you that info.”

“Northwest Airlines confirms you were on that flight. But that still leaves you without an alibi for the night of A

“And that incident with the dead bird in her mailbox-did you even bother to confirm where I was when that happened? I know I wasn’t in town. My secretary can tell you that.”

“Still, you understand it doesn’t prove your i

“I’ll freely admit the things I did do. Yes, I followed her. I drove by her house maybe half a dozen times. And yes, I did hit her that night-I’m not proud of that. But I never sent any death threats. I never killed any bird.”

“Is that all you came to say? Because if that’s it-” She started to rise.

To her shock, he reached out and grasped her arm, his grip so hard she instantly reacted in self-defense. She grabbed his hand and twisted it away.

He gave a grunt of pain and sat back, looking stu

“You want me to break your arm?” she said. “Just try that little trick again.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring at her with stricken eyes. Whatever anger he’d managed to summon up during this exchange suddenly seemed to drain right out of him. “God, I’m sorry…”

She watched him huddle in his chair and she thought: This grief is real.

“I just need to know what’s going on,” he said. “I need to know you’re doing something.”

“I’m doing my job, Dr. Cassell.”

“All you’re doing is investigating me.”

“That’s not true. This is a broad-based investigation.”

“Ballard said-”

“Detective Ballard is not in charge-I am. And trust me, I’m looking at every possible angle.”

He nodded. Took a deep breath and straightened. “That’s really what I wanted to hear, that everything’s being done. That you’re not overlooking anything. No matter what you think of me, the honest-to-god truth is, I did love her.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s terrible, when people leave you.”

“Yes, it is.”

“When you love someone, it’s only natural to want to hold on to them. You do crazy things, desperate things-”

“Even murder?”

“I didn’t kill her.” He met Rizzoli’s gaze. “But yes. I would have killed for her.”

Her cell phone rang. She rose from the chair. “Excuse me,” she said and left the room. It was Frost on the phone. “Surveillance just spotted a white van at the Van Gates residence,” he said. “It cruised by the house about fifteen minutes ago, but didn’t stop. There’s a chance the driver spotted our boys, so they’ve moved down the street a ways.”