Vanish

“How did you know they were traveling together?”

“The night of the Ashburn slayings,” said Glasser, “Joseph Roke bought gas at a nearby service station. He used his credit card, then asked the clerk if the station had a tow truck, because he’d picked up two women on the road who needed help with their car.”

There was a silence. Gabriel and Jane looked at each other.

“Two women?” said Jane.

Glasser nodded. “The station’s security camera caught a view of Roke’s car while it was parked at the pump. Through the windshield, you can see there’s a woman sitting in the front seat. It’s Olena. That’s the night their lives intersected, the night Joseph Roke got involved. The minute he invited those women into his car, into his life, he was a marked man. Five hours after that stop at the service station, his house went up in flames. That’s when he surely realized he’d picked up a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”

“And the second woman? You said he picked up two women on the road.”

“We don’t know anything about her. Only that she was still traveling with them as far as New Haven. That was two months ago.”

“You’re talking about the cruiser video. The shooting of that police officer.”

“On the video, you can see a head pop up from Roke’s backseat. Just the back of the head-we’ve never seen her face. Which leaves us with almost no information on her at all. Just a few strands of red hair left on the seat. For all we know, she’s dead.”

“But if she’s alive,” said Barsanti, “then she’s our last witness. The only one left who saw what happened in Ashburn.”

Jane said, softly: “I can tell you her name.”

Glasser frowned at her. “What?”

“That’s the dream.” Jane looked at Gabriel. “That’s what Olena says to me.”

“She’s been having a nightmare,” said Gabriel. “About the takedown.”

“And what happens in the dream?” Glasser asked, her gaze riveted on Jane.

Jane swallowed. “I hear men pounding on the door, breaking into the room. And she leans over me. To tell me something.”

“Olena does?”

“Yes. She says: ‘Mila knows.’ That’s all she tells me. ‘Mila knows.’ ”

Glasser stared at her. “Mila knows? Present tense?” She looked at Barsanti. “Our witness is still alive.”

TWENTY-NINE

“I’m surprised you’re here, Dr. Isles,” said Peter Lukas. “Since I haven’t been able to reach you on the phone.” He gave her a quick handshake, a greeting that was justifiably cool and businesslike; Maura had not been returning his calls. He led her through the Boston Tribune lobby to the security desk, where the guard handed Maura an orange visitor’s badge.

“You’ll have to return that when you leave, ma’am,” the guard said.

“And you’d better,” added Lukas, “or this man will hunt you down like a dog.”

“Warning noted,” said Maura, clipping the badge to her blouse. “You have better security here than the Pentagon.”

“You have any idea how many people a newspaper pisses off every day?” He pressed the elevator call button and glanced at her unsmiling face. “Uh-oh. I think you must be one of them. Is that why you haven’t called me back?”

“A number of people were unhappy with that column you wrote about me.”

“Unhappy with you or with me?”

“With me.”

“Did I misquote you? Misrepresent you?”

She hesitated. Admitted, “No.”

“Then why are you a

She looked at him. “I spoke too frankly with you. I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I enjoyed interviewing a woman who speaks frankly,” he said. “It was a nice change.”

“Do you know how many calls I got? About my theory of Christ’s resurrection?”

“Oh. That.”

“From as far away as Florida. People upset by my blasphemy.”

“You only spoke your mind.”

“When you have a public job like mine, it’s sometimes a dangerous thing to do.”

“It goes with the territory, Dr. Isles. You’re a public figure, and if you say something interesting, it gets into print. At least you had something interesting to say, unlike most people I interview.”

The elevator door opened, and they stepped in. Alone together, she was acutely aware that he was watching her. That he was standing uncomfortably close.

“So why have you been calling me?” she asked. “Are you trying to get me into more trouble?”

“I wanted to know about the autopsies on Joe and Olena. You never released a report.”

“I never completed the postmortem. The bodies were transferred to the FBI labs.”

“But your office did have temporary custody. I can’t believe you’d just let bodies sit in your cold room without performing some kind of examination. It wouldn’t be in your character.”

“What, exactly, is my character?” She looked at him.

“Curious. Exacting.” He smiled. “Tenacious.”

“Like you?”

“Tenacity is getting me absolutely nowhere with you. And here I thought we could be friends. Not that I was expecting any special favors.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“Di

“Are you serious?”

He answered her question with a sheepish shrug. “No harm in trying.”

The elevator opened and they stepped out.

“She died of gunshot wounds to the flank and the head,” said Maura. “I think that’s what you wanted to know.”

“How many wounds? How many different shooters?”

“You want all the gory details?”

“I want to be accurate. That means going directly to the source, even if I have to make a nuisance of myself.”

They walked into the newsroom, past reporters tapping at keyboards, to a desk where every horizontal square inch was covered with files and Post-it notes. Not a single photo of a kid or a woman or even a dog was displayed here. This space was purely for work, although she wondered how much work anyone could actually do, surrounded by such clutter.

He commandeered an extra chair from his neighbor’s desk and rolled it over for Maura to sit in. It gave a noisy squeak as she settled into it.

“So you won’t return my calls,” he said, sitting down as well. “But you do come by to see me at work. Does this qualify as a mixed message?”

“This case has gotten complicated.”

“And now you need something from me.”

“We’re all trying to understand what happened that night. And why it happened.”

“If you had any questions for me, all you had to do was pick up the phone.” He pi

They fell silent. At other desks, phones rang and keyboards clacked, but Maura and Lukas just looked at each other, the air between them spiked with both irritation and something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge. A strong whiff of mutual attraction. Or am I just imagining it?

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’m being a jerk. I mean, you are here. Even if it’s for your own purposes.”

“You have to understand my position, too,” she said. “As a public official, I get calls all the time from reporters. Some of them-many of them-don’t care about victims’ privacy or grieving families or whether investigations are at risk. I’ve learned to be cautious and watch what I say. Because I’ve been burned too many times by reporters who swear that my comments will stay off the record.”

“So that’s what kept you from calling? Professional discretion?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no other reason you didn’t call me back?”

“What other reason would there be?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you didn’t like me.” His gaze was so intent, she had trouble keeping eye contact. He made her that uncomfortable.

“I don’t dislike you, Mr. Lukas.”

“Ouch. Now I fully appreciate what it means to be damned with faint praise.”

“I thought reporters had thicker skin.”