Vanish

Moore ’s cell phone rang and he snapped it up. Just by his expression, Jane could tell that the news was not good. He hung up and shook his head.

“She wasn’t there?” said Jane.

“They’ve called in CSU to dust the pay phone for prints.” He saw the bitter disappointment in her face. “Look, at least we now know she’s real. She’s alive.”

“For the moment,” said Jane.

Even cops needed to shop for milk and diapers.

Jane stood in the grocery store aisle, Regina snug against her chest in a baby sling, and wearily surveyed the cans of infant formula on the shelves, studying the nutritional contents of every brand. They all offered one hundred percent of a baby’s daily needs from A to zinc. Any one of these would be perfectly adequate, she thought, so why am I feeling guilty? Regina likes formula. And I need to clip on my beeper and get back to work. I need to get off the couch and stop watching those reruns of Cops.

I need to get out of this grocery store.

She grabbed two six-packs of Similac, moved down another aisle for the Pampers, and headed to the cashier.

Outside, the parking lot was so hot she broke into a sweat just loading the groceries into her trunk. The seats could sear flesh; before strapping Regina into her infant seat, Jane paused with the doors open to air out the car. Grocery carts rattled by, pushed by perspiring shoppers. A horn honked, and a man yelled: “Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!” None of these people wanted to be in the city right now. They all wanted to be at the beach holding ice cream cones, not trapped elbow to elbow with other cranky Bostonians.

Regina began to cry, her dark curls sweaty against her pink face. Yet another cranky Bostonian. She kept screaming as Jane leaned into the backseat and buckled her in, was still screaming blocks later as Jane inched through traffic, the AC going full blast. She hit another red light and thought: Lord, get me through this afternoon.

Her cell phone rang.

She could have just let it continue ringing, but she ended up fishing it out of her purse and saw on the display a local number that she did not recognize.

“Hello?” she answered.

Through Regina ’s angry wails, she could barely hear the question: “Who are you?” The voice was soft and instantly familiar.

Jane’s muscles all snapped taut. “Mila? Don’t hang up! Please don’t hang up. Talk to me!”

“You are police.”

The traffic light turned green, and behind her, a car honked. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’m a policewoman. I’m only trying to help you.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I was with Olena when…”

“When the police killed her?”

The car behind Jane’s blasted its horn again, an unrelenting demand that she get the hell out of its way. Asshole. She goosed the accelerator and drove through the intersection, the cell phone still pressed to her ear.

“Mila,” she said. “Olena told me about you. It was the last thing she said-that I should find you.”

“Last night, you sent policemen to catch me.”

“I didn’t send-”

“Two men. I saw them.”

“They’re my friends, Mila. We’re all trying to protect you. It’s dangerous for you to be out there on your own.”

“You do not know how dangerous.”

“Yes I do!” She paused. “I know why you’re ru

“I’m the only one left.”

“You could testify in court.”

“They will kill me first.”

“Who?”

There was silence. Please don’t hang up again, she thought. Stay on the line. She spotted an open space at the curb and abruptly pulled over. Sat with the phone pressed to her ear, waiting for the woman to speak. In the backseat Regina kept crying and crying, angrier by the minute that her mother dared ignore her.

“Mila?”

“What baby is crying?”

“It’s my baby. She’s in the car with me.”

“But you said you are police.”

“Yes, I am. I told you I am. My name is Jane Rizzoli. I’m a detective. You can confirm that, Mila. Call the Boston Police Department and ask them about me. I was with Olena when she died. I was trapped in that building with her.” She paused. “I couldn’t save her.”

Another silence passed. The AC was still going full blast, and Regina was still crying, determined to make gray hairs pop out on her mother’s brow.

“Public gardens,” said Mila.

“What?”

“Tonight. Nine o’clock. You wait by the pond.”

“Will you be there? Hello?”

No one was on the line.

THIRTY-THREE

The weapon felt heavy and strangely unfamiliar on Jane’s hip. Once an old friend, it had sat locked up and ignored in a drawer these past few weeks. Only reluctantly had she loaded it and snapped it into her holster. Though she’d always regarded her weapon with the healthy respect due any object that could blast a hole in a man’s chest, never before had she hesitated to reach for it. This must be what motherhood does to you, she thought. I look at a gun now, and all I can think of is Regina. How one twitch of a finger, one wayward bullet, could take her from me.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” said Gabriel.

They were sitting in Gabriel’s parked Volvo on Newbury Street, where fashionable shops were preparing to close for the night. The Saturday restaurant crowd still lingered in the neighborhood, well-dressed couples strolling past, happily sated with di

“They can send in another female cop,” said Gabriel. “You can just sit this one out.”

“Mila knows my voice. She knows my name. I have to do it.”

“You’ve been out of the game for a month.”

“And it’s time for me to get back in.” She looked at her watch. “Four minutes,” she said into her comm unit. “Is everyone ready?”

Over the earpiece, she heard Moore say: “We’re in place. Frost is at Beacon and Huntington. I’m in front of the Four Seasons.”

“And I’ll be behind you,” said Gabriel.

“Okay.” She stepped out of the car and tugged down the light jacket she was wearing, so it would cover the bulge of her weapon. Walking up Newbury Street, heading west, she brushed past Saturday night tourists. People who did not need guns on their belts. At Arlington Street she paused to wait for traffic. Across the street were the public gardens, and to her left was Beacon Street, where Frost was posted, but she did not glance his way. Nor did she hazard a look over her shoulder, to confirm that Gabriel was behind her. She knew he was.

She crossed Arlington and strolled into the public gardens.

Newbury Street had been bustling, but here there were few tourists. A couple sat on a bench by the pond, arms wrapped around each other, heedless of anyone outside their own fevered universe. A man was hunched over a trash bin, picking out aluminum cans and dropping them into his clanking sack. Sprawled on the lawn, shadowed by trees from the glow of streetlights, a circle of kids took turns strumming a guitar. Jane paused at the pond’s edge and sca

No one approached her.

She made a slow circuit around the pond. During the day there would be swan boats gliding in the water, and families eating ice cream, and musicians pounding on bongo drums. But tonight the water was still, a black hole reflecting not even a shimmer of city lights. She continued to the north end of the pond and paused, listening to traffic along Beacon Street. Through the bushes she saw the silhouette of a man loitering beneath a tree. Barry Frost. She turned and continued her circle around the pond, and finally came to a halt beneath a streetlamp.