Chapter 1
Just from glancing at the house, Jane Rizzoli could tell that something bad had occurred in there. A building which harboured a murder victim invariably had the same look, regardless of the actual appearance of the place. A factory could end up looking the same as a house on Beacon Hill; it didn't matter. It wasn't the yellow tape or the swarming crime scene techs or even the way the blue lights of the squad cars flickered from the brickwork. It was just something she couldn't put her finger on. Maybe I can just smell it, Jane mused. Or perhaps she was a little like the kid from The Sixth Sense.
Whatever, she thought to herself dismissively as she strolled up the front lawn and flashed her badge to the uniformed officer on duty outside. She reeled off her serial number and he nodded and moved aside to let her pass without a word. Clearly not much of a talker.
The victim was upstairs in the bedroom. He was face-down in a pool of steadily congealing blood. There was a hole punched through the back of his skull. Jane really wasn't looking forward to seeing the mess the exit wound would have made of his face. Even though it didn't look to be a particularly large calibre bullet, she knew there would still be a significant amount of damage. She was damned if she was going to look until she absolutely had to. She had a strong stomach, but there were some sights that really didn't need to be hastened. It could wait until Maura got here.
Jane appraised the room. The window was open, and below it was a flat roof, which looked to be the route the killer had entered via. Judging by the position of the body and the spray of blood on the far wall, the man had been shot from this side of the room. Then, probably intending to exit through the front door, the murderer had stepped over the body – Jane could see a heel print from a trainer in the red sticky pool that haloed the corpse's head – and left a faint trail of half footprints that led into the hallway.
The drawers of the victim's bedside table had been ripped out and the wardrobe was open. It looked like the killer had been looking for something.
The rhythmic clatter of high heels on the parquet wood floor signalled Dr Isles' arrival. The medical examiner was dressed in slightly more casual attire than she usually favoured – a flowing green, cowl-necked top, beige leather jacket, and black jeans so tight they looked like they could have been painted on Maura's lithe form. Nude sling-back shoes with a modest – for Maura – four inch heel finished her outfit. Jane often wondered how the woman always looked like she was about to do a photo shoot; nobody had the right to look this good a hundred percent of the time, but Maura certainly seemed to. She'd once complained that the ME's clothes were less than practical for her job, but the doctor had shot her down quite successfully. Jane hadn't the heart to argue with someone so oblivious to how very attractive they were.
And she had to be honest, when it came to Maura Isles, there was precious little to complain about. She caught one of the crime scene photographers ogling her friends form and cocked an eyebrow at him. He blushed and quickly retreated. Jane guessed she couldn't really blame him. Those jeans... She shook her head.
"Great way to spend a Saturday night," Jane quipped by way of a hello.
Maura rolled her eyes. "Very inconsiderate of him to get shot like this."
"Absolutely."
"Do we know anything?"
"Neighbours heard shots fired and called 911 straight away. From the way this room's been ransacked, I think it's safe to assume the killer was looking for something."
"You know how I feel about assumptions."
"Yeah, I know – they make an ass out of you and... umption," Jane joked.
Maura smiled. "That isn't a word, Jane."
She grinned, "Thanks for that. So. What can you tell me?"
The doctor carefully rolled the body over, partly out of respect for the dead, partly out of a desire not to get blood on her clothes. Jane tried not to look at the ruin of the victim's face. It was even less pretty than she had imagined.
Maura looked up sharply, "He's still warm, Jane."
"Patrol car was in the area; first on scene were here about five minutes after the call came in." She shrugged.
"The house has been thoroughly secured?"
Jane nodded. She knew the officers who'd got here first. This wasn't their first rodeo – they knew exactly what to do and what protocols they had to follow.
Suddenly paranoid, the detective eyed the bloody footprints. "Stay here a sec," she told Maura, "It's probably nothing – I just want to make sure there's nobody lurking anywhere."
Jane slowly followed the prints out of the room and along the hall. She flicked the light switch to the next bedroom. The prints led to a closet in the far corner and stopped in front of the door.
Without a sound, Jane drew her gun and thumbed off the safety catch. She slid her index finger onto the trigger and felt the weight of it against her skin.
With her pistol trained expertly at the closet door, she reached with her left hand to open it. Time slowed. As her fingers brushed the handle, she took an imperceptible deep breath and mentally braced herself for violence.
She wrenched open the door.
Nobody jumped out at her. Nobody yelled, nobody screamed. There was nothing there. Nothing, that is, but a pair of trainers. One with a blood-soaked heel.
It was the precise moment Jane disappeared that Maura felt the first shiver run down her spine. She felt that awful feeling a person only gets when they're being watched by something distinctly unfriendly. A tingle ran through the skin of her scalp, and she felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Heart in her mouth, she froze.
No, she tried to rationalise, this is nothing. No more than a silly reaction to Jane's investigative mistrust. If Jane hadn't had the reaction she had, then Maura was certain she herself would not be feeling this irrational fear bubble away in her stomach.
It occurred to her then that she was completely alone. Jane may have been in the next room, but the rest of her team had retreated downstairs in order to give her some space with the body seeing as the room was so cramped. Maura abruptly realised that if something were to happen to her, it would be too late for anyone to reach her. Desperately, she tried to quash this perfectly unfounded suspicion and focus on the job at hand, but at the same time, she was certain she was missing something truly important.
It was the creak of a floorboard that told her she wasn't being as irrational as she thought. I'm not alone, Maura thought as her dread mounted. The touch of cold metal to her temple a moment later brought her fears crashing down about her and confirmed her worst anxieties. The barrel of a gun. Hard and unforgiving.
Maura brought her hands gingerly out in a pacifying gesture, holding them out in the way she'd seen so many cornered criminals do. She kept her gaze downcast, unsure of what might happen if she actually made eye contact with the gunman.
"You're in my way, Dr Isles," a voice said too softly. To Maura the words sounded like a crypt door closing.
She stood up as slowly and non-threateningly as she could and took a step back. When the gunman gave her no instruction, she took another two steps backwards.
"I'm not looking for any trouble," Maura managed to say. Her voice was so very quiet. She'd always thought that she had the ability to stay calm in the face of danger, but now that someone had in reality put a gun to her head, she was panicking. She could almost feel herself going to pieces right there and then.
"I'm afraid trouble found you." The voice was so cold. A killer's voice.
"You're making a very big mistake." Maura had never been good at threats, but now, with her pulse racing so fast, and dread freezing her synapses, she could tell her words would do her no good.
"And you're still in my way."
Maura realised she stood directly between the gunman and the window. That was the only route he could possibly take if he didn't want to be seen. With the amount of Boston PD that were gathered in and around the house, it was still a risk, but it was considerably safer for him than the front entrance.
What would Jane do? Maura was no hero, and she freely admitted this to herself. It wasn't her job to be in harm's way – she wasn't used to this kind of danger. She wasn't sure she even knew how to think like Jane; she only knew that her friend was brave enough to take care of a situation like this without batting an eyelid.
"Running out of patience here, doctor."
With her eyes fixed firmly on the barrel of his gun, Maura took a step to the left. The gunman mirrored her and they circled around to trade places. He paused at the window, indecision written across his features. As her body shook with fear, Maura knew that whatever he was thinking could well lead him to kill her right there and then.
"You've seen my face," he told her. "I can't let you live."
Maura swallowed. "Please," she whispered. It was the only word she could choke out.
He shook his head and raised his gun.
"Stop right there, asshole." Jane's voice sounded behind her from the doorway.
Startled, the man flinched. Maura saw anger flash in his eyes. She saw movement in his gun arm and knew exactly what was about to happen. She yelled out and dove backwards, smashing straight into Jane and knocking her aside.
Maura heard the shots fired.
But it wasn't until she saw the edges of her vision begin to grey that she understood what had happened. Icy agony burned a searing chasm through her abdomen. She could feel warm liquid running down her ribs and hip.
Pressure, she thought sluggishly, trying to move her hands over the wound, I have to put pressure on it. I have t―
Crumpled up on the hard floor, Maura's eyes slid shut.
