Last to Die r-10 Read online

  Now, at every crime scene, Maura was forced to walk a gauntlet of chilly silence and hostile stares, and the strain was apparent in her face. In the firelight, her eyes seemed hollow, her cheeks thinner.

  “Graff was guilty.” Maura’s fingers tightened around the teacup. “I would testify to that again.”

  “Of course you would. That’s what you do, you tell the truth.”

  “You make it sound like a bad habit. A tic.”

  “No, it takes courage to tell the truth. I should have been a better friend.”

  “I wasn’t sure if we were friends anymore. Or if I’m capable of holding on to any friends.” Maura stared at the fire, as if all the answers could be found in those flames. “Maybe I should just stay here. Become a hermit and live in the woods. It’s so beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life in Maine.”

  “Your life’s in Boston.”

  “It’s not as if Boston ever embraced me.”

  “Cities don’t embrace you. People do.”

  “And it’s people who let you down.” Maura blinked at the firelight.

  “That could happen anywhere, Maura.”

  “There’s a hardness to Boston. A coldness. Before I moved there, I’d heard about chilly New Englanders, but I didn’t really believe it. Then I got to Boston, and I felt like I had to chip through ice just to know people.”

  “Even me?”

  Maura looked at her. “Even you.”

  “I had no idea we gave off those vibes. I guess it ain’t sunny California.”

  Once again, Maura’s gaze was on the flames. “I should never have left San Francisco.”

  “You have friends in Boston now. You have me.”

  A smile twitched up the corner of Maura’s mouth. “You, I would miss.”

  “Is Boston really the problem? Or is it one Bostonian in particular?”

  They didn’t need to say his name; they were both thinking of Father Daniel Brophy, the man who’d brought both joy and sorrow into Maura’s life. The man who had probably suffered just as deeply from their ill-considered affair.

  “Just when I think I’m over him,” said Maura, “when I think I’ve finally crawled out of the hole and back into the sunlight, I’ll see him at a crime scene. And the wound rips right open again.”

  “It’s hard to avoid him when death scenes are what you both do.”

  Maura gave a rueful laugh. “A healthy way to build a relationship! On tragedy.”

  “It is over between you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Maura paused. “And no.”

  “But you’re not together.”

  “And I can see how much he’s suffering because of it. It’s written all over his face.”

  And on your face, too.

  “Which is why I should leave Boston. Go back to California, or … anywhere.”

  “And that will solve everything?”

  “It could.”

  “You’d be two thousand miles away from him, but you’d also be two thousand miles from every tie you’ve built over the last few years. Your home, your colleagues. Your friends.”

  “Friend. As in singular.”

  “You didn’t see the memorial service we held for you when we thought you were dead. When we thought the body in that coffin was yours. The room was packed, Maura, with people who respect you. Who care about you. Yeah, maybe we’re no good at showing our feelings. Maybe these long winters make us all crabby. But we do have feelings. Even in Boston.”

  Maura kept staring at the fireplace, where the flames were slowly dying, leaving only the glow of ashes.

  “Well, I know someone who’ll be really sorry if you go back to California,” said Jane. “Does he know you’re thinking about this?”

  “He?”

  “Oh geez, don’t play dumb. I’ve seen how he looks at you. It’s the one reason Sansone and Brophy dislike each other so much. Because of you.”

  Surprise flickered in Maura’s eyes as she looked at Jane. “Anthony Sansone was never on your list of favorite people.”

  “Talk about oddballs. And he’s part of this weird Mephisto group.”

  “Yet now you’re telling me he’s a reason for me to stay in Boston.”

  “He’s worth considering, isn’t he?”

  “Wow. He’s come a long way in your estimation.”

  “At least he’s available.” Unlike Daniel Brophy was what Jane didn’t have to add. “And he has a thing for you.”

  “No, Jane.” Maura slumped back into the armchair. “He doesn’t.”

  Jane frowned. “How do you know?”

  “A woman knows.” Her gaze drifted off again, pulled like a moth back to the moribund flames. “The night I got here, Anthony showed up, too.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Nothing. The next morning we had a meeting with the faculty. And then he was gone again, off to London. Just a phantom who flits in and out of my life.”

  “Sansone’s been known to do that kind of thing. It doesn’t mean he’s not interested.”

  “Jane, please. Don’t try to talk me into another bad affair.”

  “I’m trying to talk you into not leaving Boston.”

  “Because Anthony’s such a good catch?”

  “No, because Boston needs you. Because you’re the smartest ME I’ve ever worked with. And because …” Jane sighed. “I’d friggin’ miss you, Maura.”

  The last remnants of the birch log collapsed, sending up a puff of glowing ashes. That, and the steady patter of rain, were the only sounds in the room. Maura sat very still, so still that Jane wondered whether Maura had registered what she’d just said. Whether it made any difference at all to her. Then Maura looked at her, eyes bright with tears, and Jane knew that her words might make all the difference in the world.

  “I’ll take that under consideration,” Maura said.

  “Yeah, you do that.” Jane glanced again at her watch. “I should get going.”

  “Do you really need to leave today?”

  “I want to dig deeper into the Ward and Yablonski cases, which means dealing with multiple jurisdictions, multiple agencies. And I’ll be doing it mostly on my own, since Crowe doesn’t want to waste any manpower on it.”

  “Detective Crowe has a pathetic lack of imagination.”

  “You noticed that, too?” Jane stood. “I’ll be checking in every day, to make sure Teddy’s okay. You call me if there are any problems.”

  “Relax, Jane. This is the safest place he could be.”

  Jane thought about the gated road, the isolation. The thirty thousand acres of wooded wilderness. And she thought of the ever-alert guardians who watched over it all, the Mephisto Society. What safer place to hide a threatened child than with people who knew how dangerous the world could be?

  “I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen,” she said. “I’ll see you back in Boston.”

  On her way out of the castle, Jane stopped to check on Teddy one last time. He was sitting in class, and she didn’t disturb him, just watched from the doorway as Lily Saul, with swoops and slashes, demonstrated the advantages of the Spanish sword used by the Roman legions. Teddy looked enthralled, body angled forward as though to spring out of his chair and join the battle. Lily caught sight of Jane and gave a nod, a look that said: He’ll be fine. Everything is under control.

  That was all Jane needed to see.

  Outside, she scurried through the rain to her car, tossed her overnight bag into the backseat, and slid in behind the wheel. Swiping water from her face, she reached in her pocket for the four-digit security code she’d need to exit the gate.

  Everything is under control.

  But as she pulled out of the courtyard and drove under the archway, something in the distance caught her eye, something in the woods. A man standing among the trees. He was so far away that she could not make out his face, only his shape. His clothes were the same mottled gray-brown as the tree trunks around him.

  The road brought her in that directi
on, and as she drew closer she kept her eye on the man, wondering why he stood so still. Then a curve in the road briefly cut off her view, and when the clump of trees came back into sight, she saw no one standing there. It was just the stump of a dead oak, its bark mottled with lichen and pocked with woodpecker holes.

  She stopped at the side of the road and rolled down her window. Saw leaves dripping with rain, branches bobbing in the wind. But there was no watcher in the woods, just that lifeless tree stump, masquerading as a menace.

  Everything is under control.

  Yet her uneasiness remained as she passed through the gate and drove south through forest and then farmland. Perhaps it was the unrelenting rain and the dark clouds hanging low on the horizon. Perhaps it was the lonely road, with its abandoned houses with sagging porches and boarded-over windows. This place felt like the end of the world, and she might be the last human alive.

  Her ringing cell phone shattered that illusion. I’m back in civilization again, she thought as she rooted around in her purse for the phone. Reception was weak, barely enough to carry on a conversation, but she could make out Frost’s fragmented voice.

  “Your last email … spoke to Hillsborough PD …”

  “Hillsborough? Is this about Will Yablonski’s aunt and uncle?”

  “… says it’s weird … wants to discuss …”

  “Frost? Frost?”

  Suddenly his voice popped out loud and clear. The miracle of a good cell signal at last. “He has no idea what it all means.”

  “You spoke to the Hillsborough cop?”

  “Yeah. A Detective David G. Wyman. He said the case struck him as weird from the beginning. I told him about Claire Ward, and his attention really perked up. He didn’t know there were other kids. You need to talk to him.”

  “Can you meet me in New Hampshire?” asked Jane.

  There was a pause; then his voice dropped. “No way. Crowe wants us focused on finding Andres Zapata. I’m on stakeout tonight. The housekeeper’s apartment.”

  “Crowe’s still going with robbery as the motive?”

  “On paper Zapata looks good. Burglary priors in Colombia. He had access, opportunity. And his fingerprints are on the kitchen door.”

  “But this is bugging me, Frost. These three kids.”

  “Look, we’re not expecting you here till tomorrow. You’ve got time to make a little detour.”

  She’d planned to be home tonight for dinner with Gabriel, and a good-night kiss for Regina. Now it seemed she was headed to New Hampshire. “Don’t say a word to Crowe.”

  “Wasn’t planning to.”

  “One more thing. Run a VICAP search on unsolved family massacres. Specifically the same year the Wards, the Yablonskis, and the Clocks were killed.”

  “What do you think we’re dealing with?”

  “I don’t know.” She stared ahead at the rain-slicked road. “But whatever it is, it’s starting to scare me.”

  SIXTEEN

  BY THE TIME JANE PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY, THE RAIN HAD STOPPED, but clouds hung on, gray and oppressive, and the trees continued to drip moisture. No other vehicles were in sight. She stepped out of her car and approached the remains of what had once been the farmhouse of Will’s aunt and uncle, Lynn and Brian Temple. A dozen yards away the barn stood untouched, but the residence was now nothing more than a pile of charred timbers. Standing alone by the ruins, the sound of water dripping all around her, she could almost smell the stench of smoke still rising from the ashes.

  Tires crunched across gravel, and she turned to see a dark blue SUV pull to a stop behind her Subaru. The man who stepped out was wearing a yellow rain slicker, which hung like a four-man tent on his hefty frame. Everything about him seemed large, from his bald head to his meaty hands, and although she was not afraid of him, in this isolated spot she was acutely aware of his physical advantage over her.

  “Detective Wyman?” she called out.

  He strode toward her, boots splashing through puddles. “And you must be Detective Rizzoli. How was your drive down from Maine?”

  “Wet. Thanks for meeting me.” She looked at the ruins. “This is what you wanted me to see?”

  “I thought we should meet here first, while there’s still daylight. So you could take a look around.”

  For a moment they stood together, regarding the destroyed house in silence. In the field beyond it, a deer wandered into view and stared at them, unafraid. It was not yet acquainted with the crack of a rifle, the punch of a bullet.

  “They seemed like decent citizens,” Detective Wyman said. “Quiet. Kept the property in good order. Never came to our attention.” He paused and gave an ironic shake of the head. “That’s one definition of decent citizen, I guess.”

  “So you didn’t personally know the Temples.”

  “I heard there was a new couple who were renting the old McMurray place, but I never met them. They didn’t appear to have regular jobs, so not many folks in town got to know them, except for their rental agent. They told her they were looking for a quiet life in the country, someplace where their nephew could enjoy the outdoors, breathe fresh air. Gas station, grocery store clerks saw them around town, but to everyone else the Temples were pretty much invisible.”

  “What about their nephew, Will? He must have had friends around here.”

  “Homeschooled. Never got a chance to mix in with any local kids. Besides which, I got the feeling he was sort of different.”

  “How so?”

  “Kind of big and clumsy. A real nerd, if you know what I mean. The night it happened, he told me he was standing out in that field there.” Wyman pointed to the pasture, where the lone deer was leisurely grazing. “He had this fancy telescope set up, and he was looking at the stars or something. Oh, I remember now. He was searching for comets.” Wyman laughed. “Now, I got two teenage boys of my own. And on a Saturday night, the last thing they’d want to do is stand out in a field with no TV and no Facebook.”

  “So Will’s just standing out here by himself in this field, looking at the sky. And the house blows up.”

  “That’s about it. I assumed it was just an accident. Furnace, propane tank, something like that. Then the fire chief checks it out, and finds what look like incendiary devices. That’s when we called in the State Police Major Crime Unit. It’s all in my report. I’ve brought a copy for you. It’s in the truck.”

  “Their nephew, Will. What did you think of him? I mean, beyond the fact he’s a nerd.”

  “I took a long look at the kid, of course. Wondered if maybe he had issues with his aunt and uncle, maybe wanted to get out from under their thumbs. But we’re pretty sure he couldn’t have done it.”

  “You just told me he’s a smart kid. He could probably figure out how to build a bomb.”

  “Not like this one.”

  “What’s special about it?”

  “Semtex, to start with.”

  That startled her. “Plastic explosives?”

  “Highly sophisticated design. According to the FBI, the components were French. That’s not what a fourteen-year-old kid would use to murder his aunt and uncle.”

  Jane frowned at the blackened timbers. Came to the only possible conclusion. A professional did this. “Tell me about the Temples,” she said.

  “They were the boy’s only surviving relatives. Lynn Temple was his mother’s sister. She worked as a librarian near Baltimore. Brian Temple was a physicist, worked at NASA-Goddard in Greenbelt, Maryland, where Will’s father Neil Yablonski also worked. The two men were friends and colleagues, and the couples were pretty close. After the boy’s parents were killed in the plane crash, Lynn and Brian got custody of Will. What happened after that is kind of a puzzle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Days after the boy’s parents died in the crash both Brian and Lynn quit their jobs. Just like that, Brian leaves a twenty-year career with NASA. They pack up, put their furniture in storage, and leave Baltimore. Few months later, they settled he
re.”

  “Without jobs? How did they support themselves?”

  “Another good question. The Temples died with five hundred thousand dollars in their bank account. Now, I don’t know how well NASA pays, but that’s quite a nice nest egg, even for a physicist.”

  Daylight was fading. From the woods, two more deer emerged, a doe and her fawn, but they were cautious, eyeing the two humans as they ventured out, step by step, into the field. Come hunting season, that caution might be the extra margin of safety that would keep them alive. But nothing will save you once you catch the hunter’s eye.

  “What were the Temples running from?” she said.

  “I don’t know, but it’s pretty obvious they were running. Maybe they knew something about that plane crash.”

  “Then why not go to the police?”

  “I have no idea. The Maryland detective I spoke to, the one who investigated the Yablonskis’ deaths, sounded as baffled as I am.”

  “Did Will know why his aunt and uncle moved him here?”

  “They told him Baltimore was a dangerous town, and they wanted to live someplace safer. That’s it.”

  “And this is where they end up,” she said, thinking of collapsing timbers, searing flames. A hellish death at the edge of a quiet wood.

  “The thing is, this is a safe town,” said Wyman. “We get our OUIs, our stupid teens doing stupid stuff. Maybe a burglary, or some family hauling off at each other. That’s our police blotter. But this?” He shook his head. “I’ve never dealt with anything like it. And I hope I never will again.”