Vanish

Maura slipped past him and ran into the building, dreading what she would find inside. Just as she turned into the hallway leading to Diagnostic Imaging, a stretcher came barreling toward her, wheeled by two EMTs, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She saw the pregnant belly, the dark hair, and thought: No. Oh god, no.

Jane Rizzoli was covered in blood.

At that instant, all of Maura’s medical training seemed to abandon her. Panic made her focus on the blood, and only the blood. So much of it. Then, as the stretcher rolled past her, she saw the chest rise and fall. Saw the hand moving.

“Jane?” called out Maura.

The EMTs were already hurrying the stretcher through the lobby. Maura had to run to catch up.

“Wait! What’s her condition?”

One of the men glanced back over his shoulder. “This one’s in labor. We’re moving her to Brigham.”

“But all the blood-”

“It’s not hers.”

“Then whose?”

“The gal back there.” He cocked a thumb down the hallway. “She’s not going anywhere.”

She stared after the stretcher as it rattled out the door. Then she turned and ran up the hallway, moving past EMTs and Boston PD officers, toward the heart of the crisis.

“Maura?” a voice called, oddly distant and muffled.

She spotted Gabriel struggling to sit up on a stretcher. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, and an IV line tethered his arm to a bag of saline.

“Are you all right?”

Groaning, he lowered his head. “Just… dizzy.”

The EMT said: “It’s the aftereffects of the gas. I just gave him some IV Narcan. He needs to take it easy for a while. It’s like coming out of anesthesia.”

Gabriel lifted the mask. “Jane-”

“I just saw her,” said Maura. “She’s fine. They’re moving her to Brigham Hospital.”

“I can’t sit here any longer.”

“What happened in there? We heard gunshots.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Your mask,” said the EMT. “You need that oxygen right now.”

“They didn’t have to do it this way,” said Gabriel. “I could have talked them out of there. I could have convinced them to surrender.”

“Sir, you need to put your mask back on.”

“No,” snapped Gabriel. “I need to be with my wife. That’s what I need to do.”

“You’re not ready to go.”

“Gabriel, he’s right,” said Maura. “Look at you, you can barely sit up. Lie down for a while longer. I’ll drive you to Brigham Hospital myself, but not until you’ve had a chance to recover.”

“Just a little while,” said Gabriel, weakly settling back onto the stretcher. “I’ll be better in a while…”

“I’ll be right back.”

She spotted the doorway to Diagnostic Imaging. As she stepped through, the first thing her eyes fixed on was the blood. It was always the blood that demanded your attention, those shocking splashes of red that shout out: Something terrible, truly terrible, has happened here. Though half a dozen men were standing around the room, and debris from the ambulance crews still lay scattered across the floor, she remained fixated on the bright evidence of death that was spattered across the walls. Then her gaze swung to the woman’s body, slumped against the couch, black hair wicking blood onto the floor. Never before had she felt faint at the sight of gore, but she suddenly found herself swaying sideways, and had to catch herself on the door frame. It’s the remnants of whatever gas they used in this room, she thought. It has not yet been fully ventilated.

She heard the whish of plastic, and through a fog of lightheadedness, she saw a white sheet being laid out on the floor. Saw Agent Barsanti and Captain Hayder standing by as two men wearing latex gloves rolled the bloodied corpse of Joseph Roke onto the plastic.

“What are you doing?” she said.

No one acknowledged her presence.

“Why are you moving the bodies?”

The two men who were now squatting over the corpse paused, and glanced up in Barsanti’s direction.

“They’re being flown to Washington,” said Barsanti.

“You don’t move a thing until someone from our office examines the scene.” She looked at the two men, poised to zip up the body bag. “Who are you? You don’t work for us.”

“They’re FBI,” said Barsanti.

Her head was now perfectly clear, all dizziness swept away by anger. “Why are you taking them?”

“Our pathologists will do the autopsy.”

“I haven’t released these bodies.”

“It’s only a matter of paperwork, Dr. Isles.”

“Which I’m not about to sign.”

The others in the room were all watching them now. Most of the men standing around were, like Hayder, Boston PD officers.

“Dr. Isles,” said Barsanti, sighing, “why fight this turf battle?”

She looked at Hayder. “This death occurred in our jurisdiction. You know we have custody of these remains.”

“You sound as if you don’t trust the FBI,” said Barsanti.

It’s you I don’t trust.

She stepped toward him. “I never did hear a good explanation for why you’re here, Agent Barsanti. What’s your involvement in this?”

“These two people are suspects in a New Haven shooting. I believe you already know that. They crossed state lines.”

“It doesn’t explain why you want the bodies.”

“You’ll get the final autopsy reports.”

“What are you afraid I’ll find?”

“You know, Dr. Isles, you’re starting to sound as paranoid as these two people.” He turned to the two men standing over Roke’s corpse. “Let’s pack them up.”

“You’re not going to touch them,” Maura said. She pulled out her cell phone and called Abe Bristol. “We have a death scene here, Abe.”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching TV. How many?”

“Two. Both of the hostage takers were killed in the takedown. The FBI’s about to fly the bodies to Washington.”

“Wait a minute. First the feds shoot them, and now they want to do the autopsy? What the hell?”

“I thought you’d say that. Thanks for backing me up.” She disco

Barsanti seemed about to argue, but she merely gave him a cold stare that told him this was not a battle she would cede.

“Captain Hayder,” she said. “Do I need to call the governor’s office on this?”

Hayder sighed. “No, it’s your jurisdiction.” He looked at Barsanti. “It looks like the medical examiner is assuming control.”

Without another word, Barsanti and his men walked out of the room.

She followed them and stood watching as they retreated down the hallway. This death scene, she thought, will be dealt with like any other. Not by the FBI, but by Boston PD’s homicide unit. She was about to make her next call, this one to Detective Moore, when she suddenly noticed the empty stretcher in the hallway. The EMT was just packing up his kit.

“Where is Agent Dean?” Maura asked. “The man who was lying there?”

“Refused to stay. Got up and walked out.”

“You couldn’t stop him from leaving?”

“Ma’am, nothing could stop that guy. He said he had to be with his wife.”

“How’s he getting there?”

“Some bald guy’s giving him a ride. A cop, I think.”

Vince Korsak, she thought.

“They’re headed over to Brigham now.”

Jane could not remember how she’d arrived at this place with its bright lights and shiny surfaces and masked faces. She recalled only a fragment of a memory here and there. Men’s shouts, the squeaking of gurney wheels. The flash of blue cruiser lights. And then a white ceiling scrolling above her as she was moved down a corridor into this room. Again and again she had asked about Gabriel, but no one could tell her where he was.

Or they were afraid to tell her.

“Mom, you’re doing just fine,” the doctor said.