Five days to go. Maura had only five days left before the biggest trial of her career began. She had lived, breathed, slept for this case for over a year, and she knew she couldn't be more prepared as an attorney. She knew the witnesses, she knew the evidence, she knew the victims. Inside and out. Backward and forwards. Almost every day since she had been assisting the task force, she had been tinkering in her head with her closing argument, adding new facts whenever new leads, new bodies had turned up, and finally, since September, she had been able to insert the name of a perpetrator. The one she could point her finger at in the courtroom, the one she could pillory in front of a horrified, vengeful jury.
But now the defendant was threatening to become the accuser. The courtroom incident was six weeks ago when Bantling had tried to point the finger at her, to tie her to the pillory in front of her colleagues, in front of the jury of public opinion. Judge Chaskel had unwittingly stopped him, defense counsel had placated him, the situation had been dicey but not fatal. It had been quiet for six weeks since then, and Maura wondered almost daily when the next motion would hit the house when it would scream off the front page: Prosecutor raped by Boogeyman! Revenge plot foiled! How long would Bantling let himself be slowed down? Until jury questioning? The opening statements? Chavez' or Jane's testimony? The pathologist's expert testimony? The closing arguments? Or would the big explosion perhaps come when he decided to testify in his own defense. Not to deny his guilt, but to impeach the prosecutors. Every single day of this trial would seem like an eternity, the pressure in her head and chest growing as he penetrated her daily with glances and licked his lips with that long pink tongue until she probably collapsed at some point.
It was perfectly clear to Maura what he wanted. Behind his charming advertising smile, he dangled the secret over the black abyss that she was desperately trying to wrest from him. He was in complete control of her, and he was enjoying it. It was a game he could play even from his cell, behind all the bars and armored doors, where she could neither hear nor see him.
Maura had to win this case. If she didn't, he'd go free. Maybe not right away, the Federals would hold him for a while, but there was as little evidence for robbery as there was for the murders. Then he would be released, and she wouldn't know where he was. Until maybe he showed up as a neighbor in Beacon Hill, or in the elevator at the courthouse, or at a restaurant where she ate regularly. Just like back in New York, when she had always felt threatened everywhere she went. Only this time it would be different because even if she discovered him, there was nothing she could do about him. No matter how loudly she screamed when he passed her on the street, sat next to her on the bus, held the door open for her in the restaurant, she would be powerless until he struck again. But Maura knew then it was all too late.
The gray glow of the laptop screen in the dim room forced her to blink as she finished the first draft of the jury questioning, the questions she would ask at jury selection. On the table were the first three drafts of her opening statement. Each was different, depending on whether and how the volcano erupted and sprayed its molten lava. And whether Jane and the task force came up with the missing pieces of evidence she needed. The answer was out there somewhere, she knew, and she wouldn't stop looking until ...
What if Bantling wasn't the killer at all?
Maura didn't believe it, but what if he was? What if they couldn't find the hearts or other clues because they didn't exist? What if it was someone else? Someone who, while she was fully engaged in keeping that devil over there in jail at bay, was sharpening his best knife and waiting for the opportunity to come out of the shadows? What if he had struck again, and they didn't know because they weren't looking? Everything in her resisted thinking any further in that direction, to venture into such uncertain territory. Every piece of evidence they had found pointed clearly to Bantling, with only one exception.
Maura spun the DVD around in her hand before sliding it into her laptop.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"There's a car. It's a new black Jaguar XJ8, heading south on Main Street. He's got twenty-two pounds of cocaine in the trunk and he's on his way to the airport."
"What's your name, sir, where are you calling from?"
But he had hung up again.
Maura had listened to the record at least thirty times since she requested the copy from BPD. The voice was muffled as if the caller had held a cloth over his mouth. Yet it was clearly a man. He sounded calm, neither nervous nor rushed. There was soft music in the background, perhaps an opera.
Why would anyone give a false indication? Who would have cared that the Jaguar was stopped and the trunk searched? An angry motorist who wanted revenge for having been cut off? The deep, calm voice didn't seem angry, not even annoyed. Nor did it sound like a call from a car. No evidence had ever been found to confirm the suspicion that Bantling was even using drugs, let alone dealing them.
Who cared that the trunk had been searched?
The only possible answer made Maura's blood run cold.
Someone who knew exactly what the police would find inside.
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The smell of lemon bell pepper chicken and buttermilk cookies fresh from the oven met her as she opened the door. Lucy tried to push her way through Maura's legs, looking for the source of the fragrance. Maura was just able to hold her down. Tibby II made it to the human with the treats in the hallway and rubbed against her leg, purring loudly, as if he hadn't been fed in weeks.
"You brought us some food," Maura noted.
"No war council without that," Jane said, coming in. "Don't get too excited, it's from take-away. But the cookies are fresh from the bakery." Then she pulled a brown paper bag from behind her back and handed it to Maura. "And what would dinner be without a bottle of good Chardonnay?" Jane leaned down and petted the dog. "Hello, Lucy, old girl. Haven't you had anything to eat yet, poor, poor animal? I've got a surprise for you!" Tibby mewed loudly. "For you too, Tibby, of course." From a second bag, she whipped out a plastic bowl of cooked chicken livers. Lucy howled excitedly. Tibby nearly jumped on the detective's head. "I'll just get you another bowl."
Maura watched the performance as she set the table in the kitchen. "She probably needs to go out again tonight now."
„That's okay. I'll go with her later." Jane stood behind the lawyer and reached for the wine. "Let me do that."
Maura turned to the detective. She pressed Maura's weight against the table, kissed the blonde tenderly on the mouth, and reached for her hand. "Who needs dinner?" she whispered.
Maura laughed. "Come on, show me your muscles, and open the wine."
"No problem." But the detective didn't move. Jane pressed closer to Maura, behind her back she found the corkscrew. Jane kissed her again, more passionately this time.
Maura ran her hands over Jane's T-shirt, stroking her strong shoulders, then wrapped her arms around the detective's neck. Through her thin blouse, she felt the cold wine bottle in the small of her back, the silk clinging damply to her skin. The cork popped out of the bottle, but the kiss didn't stop.
Jane set the bottle aside and pulled Maura's blouse from her pants. She placed a warm hand on the clammy spot in the small of her back. Then she unfastened the clasp of Maura's bra, stroked her ribs, and found what she wanted. She pushed away the troublesome lingerie and played tenderly with her breasts, feeling Maura's breathing quicken under her hands.
Now the detective let one hand slide down over her belly. She ignored the ugly scars and began to fiddle with the button of Maura's pants.
Maura didn't want to break away from the kiss, and a moment later the button was open, the zipper down, and Jane's hand slid lower, into her panties, meeting her moist warmth there. The pants fell to the kitchen floor. With a strong jerk, Jane lifted the lawyer onto the kitchen table, never stopping to stroke her between her legs. Through Jane's jeans, she felt the hard penis pressing against her inner thigh.
Maura guessed what Jane was about to do. She broke away from the kiss. She opened her eyes and blinked in the glare of the kitchen lamp. "Jane, let's go to the bedroom," she whispered. Jane's hand moved faster and the first shivers of arousal seized her.
"Let's make love here, Maura. I want to see you. You're so beautiful," the detective breathed into her ear, her tongue playing at Maura's earlobe. With her other hand, Jane began to unbutton her blouse.
"No, no. In the bedroom. Please, Jane." Arousal had now seized Maura's whole body, and she began to quiver on the table.
But at the same time, the whole situation prevented her from really letting herself fall.
"Let me see you. I want to see what I'm doing to you. I love your body." Jane pulled off her panties. Only the thin white silk blouse covered her now, and the buttons were already undone.
"No." Maura shook her head. "Please."
Jane pulled back a little and looked Maura in the eye. Without another word, she gently took the lawyer in her arms and carried her down the hall to the dark bedroom, out of the telltale kitchen light.
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They lay in the dark, one behind the other, like two spoons in a silverware drawer. Jane watched Maura doze in the dim glow of the alarm and played with the hair on the back of her neck. After they made love, Maura had quickly pulled on a T-shirt, as she always did, before crawling back into bed with Jane. Underneath, the detective caressed her warm back, her slender body, the bulges of muscle, the soft skin. Jane watched as Maura slept, her body rising and falling under her hand with each breath.
As she often did, Jane couldn't help but think of Natalie, and in the deceptive light, she almost thought she saw her long dark hair spilling down her back as she slept. Natalie. Jane's fiancée from years ago, the only woman the detective had ever felt so much for, who had needed her just as much. Alone near her, watching her sleep. And Jane remembered how intense the pain had been as she slowly slipped away from the detective when she was finally gone. Jane's grief had been overwhelming. Natalie had completely shattered the Italian woman, and Jane had felt like a part of her had died with Natalie; like someone had ripped her heart out. Since Natalie's death, the detective understood what the victims' relatives meant in her cases when they spoke of the unbearable pain of losing a loved one. A pain so boundless that it included everything, every relationship, that ate away at their souls. They were all members of a macabre club and guarded a terrible, brutal secret: time didn't heal all wounds.
Jane couldn't bear that pain again. She thought of the agony of waking up in the morning and everything in the apartment reminded her of Natalie, every photograph, every piece of furniture they had bought together, her favorite coffee mug. Jane had suffered until it finally numbed her and she vowed never to let a woman get that close to her again. Jane had repressed the memories, but sometimes a familiar situation would suddenly reopen the wounds. Then she saw Natalie's happy face and her enchanting smile before it turned into the cold, rigid death mask.
Jane lay next to Maura, their bodies touching, the detective sucking in the scent of her hair. Against all her reason, she sensed that she wanted more from the lawyer, wanted to know everything there was to know. Who was she, this beautiful, enigmatic, grief-stricken woman?
The detective kissed the back of her neck, and Maura moved, sliding closer to the detective. "What time is it?" asked Maura sleepily.
"Twelve. You've been asleep for a whole hour."
"I hope I didn't snore."
"Not tonight."
Maura turned over and put her head on Jane's chest. "I'm starving," she said, looking at the strip of light under the closed bedroom door. The silence outside was eerie. "I wonder if the chicken's still there," she said.
"I didn't even put the liver down for them. I guess they got bitter revenge."
"It's like a bad horror movie. Where the sexy coed asks her girlfriend to get a beer after they make out. But she falls victim to the hungry pets' attack in the process and never returns."
"Thank God I closed the door, or that fat cat might have come in with my gun and demanded more. He's the leader, you know."
"I should have some frozen pizza. Maybe some canned soup, too."
They lay in silence in the darkness for a moment before Jane spoke again. "Why don't we ever have the lights on, anyway?"
"Because that's just the way it is."
"But why?"
"I don't want to talk about it. I can't." Maura rolled away from the Italian.
Jane waited a moment, then sighed and asked, "Why do you keep so many secrets? Why don't you confide in me?"
"It's because of another time. Something I don't want to talk about."
"But it's a part of you." Quietly, Jane added, "And I want to be a part of you, too."
"The past is what I was; not what I am. And what I am is all I can give you, Jane." Maura sat up.
Jane stood up and slipped into her jeans. "It's okay. It's okay." She sounded resigned. "Do you want me to make us an omelet? Do you have eggs in the house?"
Maura hesitated a moment, then said, "Listen, Jane. We need to talk. Please, don't get me wrong." She sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, her back to the detective. "But the trial starts in a few days, and I think we rather don't see each other during that time. The press will be scrutinizing both of us, and so will our bosses. My feelings for you are written all over my face when we're together. I think a little distance would be good."
Her words hit Jane like a club. "Maura, what's so bad about people guessing we're together? It doesn't really matter."
"It matters a lot to me. I can't jeopardize this case, Jane. I just can't. Bantling has to go away for what he did."
"We agree on that, Maura, and he will be convicted. We have an airtight case. You're a great prosecutor. He's going to pay." Jane walked over to the attorney, looked her in the eye, and pulled her face closer. "Why does this case get under your skin so much? What else has he done, Maura? Please, talk to me."
For a moment, Maura seemed close to telling Jane everything. Her lips trembled, and silent tears ran down her cheeks. But then she pulled herself together. "No." Defiantly, she wiped away the tears. "Jane, you mean a lot to me. More than you can know. But during this trial, we need distance from each other. I need that distance, and I need your understanding. Please."
Jane reached for her shirt and silently dressed, while Maura remained seated on the edge of the bed without turning around. The bedroom door opened, light spilling into the room. Jane's words were distant and cool. "Don't ask me to understand, because I don't."
Then she picked up her gun and keys from the kitchen table and walked out of the house.
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The door to the bench flew open, and Judge Chaskel hurried in. The black robe billowed behind him as he sat down.
"All rise! This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Leopold Chaskel III presiding," Hank, the bailiff, called out in surprise.
The courtroom fell silent as the judge put on his glasses and looked with furrowed brows at the list of potential jurors that Janine, his assistant, had placed on his desk. The jury box was empty, as was the right side of the auditorium, which was cordoned off. That's where the jury would sit during voir dire. The spectators and, of course, the press occupied the rows of benches on the left side. It was 9:10 a.m. on Monday, December 18th.
"Good morning everyone. I apologize for my tardiness. I had to attend the official Christmas breakfast of the judiciary -" Over the rim of his glasses, he looked down from the bench to Janine's table, which was directly in front of his podium. "Speaking of which, Janine, please no head coverings during the hearing." He was referring to the Santa hat his assistant was wearing on her head. She sheepishly took it off and put it in the desk drawer. He cleared his throat. "We're here today to discuss the case Massachusetts vs. -" Then he paused and looked around the courtroom. "Where is the defendant?" he asked, frowning.
"He's being brought over from the cell right now," Hank said.
"Why isn't he here yet? I said nine o'clock, Hank, not nine-fifteen. The judge is the only one here who can be late."
"Yes, sir, but apparently there was trouble across the street this morning," Hank explained. "He refused to cooperate."
Judge Chaskel shook his head in irritation. "I don't want the defendant brought in before the jury. That might influence them. Let them wait until he gets there. How many potential jurors do we have, Hank?"
"Two hundred."
"Two hundred? This close to the vacations? Not bad. Let's start with the first fifty and see how far we get. And I'd like to talk to Mr. Bantling before we assemble the jury." He looked at Sarah Rubio over the rim of his glasses. "Ms. Rubio, your client is making a reputation for himself as a troublemaker, both in and out of the courtroom."
Rubio looked embarrassed as if her client's behavior was her fault. At the last week's status hearing, Maura had seen her for the first time since Halloween, and again she had noticed Rubio avoiding her gaze. "I'm sorry, Your Honor -" she began but was interrupted when the door to the jury box opened. Three brawny prison officers led William Bantling in, handcuffed and shackled. He wore a dark Italian designer suit, a white shirt, and a light gray silk tie, also an expensive name brand. Although he had lost nearly twenty pounds, he looked dazzling, except for the red puffy left side of his face. The guards shoved him rudely into the seat next to Rubio, who, Maura registered, moved her chair away from him, barely noticeably.
"Don't take the cuffs off him yet, officer. I have a word with Mr. Bantling," the judge said sternly. "Why is he only being brought in now?"
"He had a fit of rage, sir," the guard replied. "He was swearing and yelling that he wouldn't go to court without having his jewelry returned to him. Thieves, he called us. We had to tie him up before we could get him out of the cell."
"Why doesn't he get the stuff?"
"Security risk."
"Surely a watch is not a security risk! Don't be ridiculous, officer. With my permission, he can wear his jewelry here in court."
Judge Chaskel looked sharply at Bantling. "Listen, Mr. Bantling. I've seen your outbursts in court, and I know about your rampages outside, too. I want to warn you, I'm neither a tolerant nor a patient judge. Three times and you're out, and twice you're already past it. I'll have you bound and gagged and dragged here in your orange jumpsuit every day if you don't behave yourself. Do I make myself clear?"
Bantling nodded, his cold eyes not avoiding the judge's challenging gaze. "Yes, your honor."
"All right, does anyone else have anything to present before we select the jury?"
Bantling shifted his gaze to Maura. Mystery dangled dangerously over the precipice.
Judge Chaskel waited a moment, then continued. "All right, apparently not. Let's get down to business. Officer, uncuff Mr. Bantling, and Hank, bring in the first fifty, please. I want a jury before the end of the week. Let's not drag this out until after Christmas break."
Though the room began to spin and her breath caught, Maura bravely held Bantling's gaze. Barely visible to the rest of the room, he let the pink tip of his tongue slide across his lips, and a knowing smile twisted his face. His mouth gleamed in the light of the hall's illumination.
She knew he wouldn't break his silence today. He would make her squirm. He would wield the secret like a deadly weapon, pulling it out only when he needed it, and then he would strike fast and hard, aiming right for the artery.
And she wouldn't see it coming in time.