"Did you try calling her, Jane?" The glittery party hat hung dangerously askew on Korsak's. He was sitting mightily, as was almost everyone in the room.

"Yeah, but it always goes to voicemail. I'm worried, Vince."

"I can tell by the look on your face. Have another beer. Cara!" he yelled across Eddie Bowman's crowded living room, where cops, profilers, and detectives were enjoying themselves, all with party hats on their heads and plastic champagne glasses in their hands. "Cara, get Jane another beer!"

Cara, standing with six women in the round, looked over. She was in purple sequins from head to toe, with only her waist coquettishly exposed. She gave Korsak a stern look and frowned gruffly.

"Okay, okay. Please bring Jane another beer." Korsak turned to Jane. "Women! Been in the hay once, and now all of a sudden she wants me to have manners. I wish I was single again, Jane. Maybe you should be happy the way things are now."

"Never mind, Korsak, I'm not drinking anymore tonight anyway. I'm going home in a minute."

"Jane, it's almost noon. You can't run away now. Maybe she's not here. Maybe she's out of town for the weekend."

"Maybe. But her car's in front of her house."

"You're not going to turn into a Peeping Tom, are you? Driving by her house and all."

"I'm really worried, Vince. She looks terrible. She's lost weight. She's not eating, and apparently, she's not sleeping. She won't return any of our calls. Not even yours. That Bantling is playing some kind of nasty game with her, and it looks like he's winning. Something's going on. We've known her for years, have you ever seen her like this?"

Korsak took a long look at his partner and sighed. "No. I'm worried about her, too. Maybe she's just burned out. Maybe she'll take a break this weekend." He fell silent, then took another big swig of beer. "Maybe she's got someone else, Jane."

"If it's true, I wouldn't bother Maura anymore. But I don't think so. I think she's got other problems, something she can't handle on her own, but she won't let anyone help her. It's tearing her apart, and yet she doesn't want to confide in anyone, and it's almost breaking her. I see it in her eyes. If she'll ever let me look into her eyes."

"But she's pretty much got it. What's the worst that can happen? A few more days!"

"Just the defense."

"That's a problem, though. No one knows what the psycho will say, or if he'll even take the stand. We haven't had any luck with the auto shop, have we?"

"No. We've checked everywhere. Eddie followed up a lead until this morning. Nothing. We'll just have to wait and see what Bantling does next. And then decide how to proceed."

"His lawyer is full of shit." Korsak disguised his voice: "We prove it's animal blood. We prove he didn't know what was in his fucking trunk. Even if we have no obligation to prove anything at all. Bullshit. You can't use luminol to determine the blood that's splattered all over the shed. You can only see it. She knows that too, and still, she twists everything. Bantling's fairy tale about animal blood is just as impossible for her to prove. How many birds do you know that splash blood up to the ceiling? But Rubio doesn't care. She's totally turning jurors' heads." Korsak shook his massive head in disgust. "Have you heard? Chaskel's assistant told me that the one juror in the front row is making eyes at Bantling. Even after Neilson's gory remarks. Man, must that woman need it?"

As if on cue, Cara appeared with two beers. "Here you go, Vince," she cooed, handing him the beer. "Because you said sweet please."

"All right, Vince, I'm going to go. I want to do some stuff tomorrow. Talk to a few people. Maybe I'll get some answers before Bantling makes his appearance this week."

"On New Year's?"

"Not a quiet minute. But at least this way I don't get to think."

"Call her again tomorrow, Jane. Keep the ball rolling. We're almost through it, aren't we?"

"Call who?" whispered Cara Korsak in her ear.

Jane said a perfunctory goodbye and worked her way through the partygoers to the door.

"Five, four, three, two, one ... Happy New Year!" shouted Dick Clark from the TV, and then the room erupted in cheers and whistles and hoots and hollers. "And next year is going to be a fantastic year!"

Aula Lang Syne began to play from the speakers.

"I doubt it, Dick," Jane muttered as she closed the door from the outside and walked through the front yard to the street. "In fact, I doubt it very much."

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At 9 a.m. Tuesday morning, Sarah Rubio began presenting the defense. First, she called the owner of a North Boston auto paint shop to the stand, then the director of the American Taxidermy Association, then a professor of forensic pathology at the Albert Einstein School of Medicine. In a single day, Maura watched her case shrink to a pile of reasonable doubt.

Bantling's Jaguar was resprayed on Monday and Tuesday, Sept. 18 and 19. Bantling picked it up around 7:15 p.m. Tuesday night. Louie, of Louie's House of Tinting, testified that the Jaguar had been in an unguarded parking lot overnight and that more than ten employees had had access to the car during the day. He also said that no one had looked in the trunk after Bantling delivered the car on the morning of September 18. There had been no reason to do so.

A recognized taxidermist, William Bantling had received several awards for his skills from the local chapter of the American Taxidermists. The five-blade scalpel was frequently used in taxidermy. Usually, the animal was dead before it was stuffed, but there were exceptions where the animal was still alive when it was cut open, such as when it was necessary to achieve a "more realistic expression" in the animal's eyes. This, of course, explained the blood splatter made visible by the luminol.

Too little blood had been found on the five-blade scalpel from Bantling's scales for DNA analysis. Other tests, however, detected animal blood, most likely the blood of a bird. The red blood cells on the blade showed nuclei, which was not the case with human blood. In addition, the traces of blood that originally appeared to be consistent with Anna Prado's blood appeared to be "pruned" after close examination, as did the three drops on the floor of the shed. That's what the Albert Einstein School of Medicine professor of forensic pathology said. Exactly, that one could find experts for all sorts of allegations and have even watertight evidence disproved, if one was willing to pay an appropriate price. There were psychologists who blamed allegedly aggression-promoting physical education in school for a cold-blooded murder among teenagers; doctors who blamed a heart attack for the death of the accident victim in order to exonerate a drunk driver. For enough money, there were witnesses for every defense, for every strategy. And sometimes it even worked. Only to watch with their own eyes as their prosecution was picked apart in every way ... how Bantling's grin grew wider and wider as the jurors nodded involuntarily to the testimony; how juror number five's flirtatious glances piled up in Bantling's direction, the fear that had been evident at first was supplanted by lustful curiosity ... it was all too much.

Maura suspected that her cross-examinations were not particularly convincing, that her voice sounded more and more desperate with each witness. It was obvious that her questions to the witnesses were unprepared. Rubio had caught her cold, Maura had not seen it coming. She could feel the jury losing confidence in the prosecution.

She hadn't slept a wink all weekend. Instead of nightmares of her rape, she now had nightmares of Bantling's acquittal. In the courtroom, she saw the clown's distorted blood-red grin. How he laughed when Hank, the bailiff, unlocked the hand and leg cuffs and released him. Laughing, he came toward them, and they all watched motionlessly. Jane, Korsak, Rubio, her parents, Michael, Judge Chaskel, Greg Chambers, Jerry Small, Tom de la Flors. They all watched as he threw her on the prosecution table, stuffed her panties in her mouth, pulled out the flashing, brand new serrated knife, and one by one cut the buttons off her blouse.

Maura looked terrifying, she realized. The dark circles under her eyes on her pale face could no longer be concealed, her fingernails were chewed down to the point where they weren't even enough for artificial nails. The costume hung off her like a mannequin in a crummy boutique. 'You'll just have to get through today, it's sure to get better after tomorrow,' she told herself again, even though she didn't believe it. She knew all too well that the spiral only went in one direction. If Bantling got free, she was finished. Then it was all over. And at the moment, that seemed only a matter of time.

At 5:45 p.m., Judge Chaskel dismissed the jury for the night.

"Will your client testify?"

"I can't answer that right now, judge. I don't know."

"And just in case he does, remember you'll be done tomorrow night?"

"Yes, Judge. That is, of course, depending on the prosecution's cross-examination." Rubio looked over at Maura.

"Let's take it as it comes, Your Honor. I don't know how long my cross-examination will be. If the defendant testifies, I'll probably need some time to prepare," Maura said, agonized. If he testifies, I'll probably be removed from office, Your Honor. That's when the men in the white suits come in.

"I understand. But we're making pretty good progress. I'd like to hear closing arguments on Thursday unless of course, you need more time, Ms. Isles. Then the jury could deliberate on Friday morning. A quick verdict, and we'll be done by the weekend."

And we'll be done by the weekend. And it's all over. Just like that. By the weekend. Just in time for the New England Patriots' deciding game.

By the weekend, her fate would be sealed.

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Maura sat in her office, with the blinds down, of course, the Channel 7 news barely audible on the TV in the background. A mountain of paperwork piled up on her desk, next to it was a plate of soup that had gone cold and her tenth cup of coffee. Of course, the Boogeyman trial was the top story on the seven o'clock news, after which there would be reports of a fraudulent investment firm that had bilked a couple of Boston seniors out of millions, and of a missing Cambridge student who suffered from epilepsy. Maura couldn't go home. She couldn't stay here, either. There was no shelter, nowhere. And that was the problem. At least until the weekend.

We'll be done by the weekend.

There was a soft knock on the door, and before she could answer, it opened. She would have expected a raging Jerry Small, or maybe a worried Jane or Vince Korsak, whose calls she'd been dodging all week. But she hadn't expected the smiling Gregory Chambers.

"May I come in?" he asked, entering without waiting for an answer. He looked around her office.

She flinched and shook her head, but she couldn't find her voice in time, so he sat down in front of her in the visitor's chair.

"How are you?" he asked, furrowing his brows in concern. "I was just downstairs at a sex offender symposium and thought I'd just drop in. You didn't show up for our last appointment, and that worries me. With all the stress you've been under."

"I'm fine. Fine," she said, still shaking her head. "Please go now," was all she could get out.

"You don't look like you're fine, though, Maura. You look sick. I saw you on TV and I'm very worried about you."

"You're worried about me?" Now Maura could no longer suppress the anger, the hurt, the confusion. "I went to you because I was looking for help, Greg ... Dr. Chambers ... I trusted you as a doctor, as a friend, and you've been betraying me all along!"

Greg Chambers looked hurt and surprised. "What are you even talking about, Maura."

"I was there, in your office!" she cried.

"Yes, Estelle told me you were there last week," he began defensively, still confused. "But you were gone when I was done. And it's precise because of that behavior that I'm worried -"

With tears choking in her voice, Maura cut him off. Tears she could no longer hold back. "I saw it. There, at the front desk, I saw it. In your appointment book."

"You were looking through my appointment book? Maura, how could you -"

"He was in your treatment! Bantling, the fucking bastard. All this time and you didn't tell me. You always knew he had raped me, you made a fool of me."

Greg Chambers was visibly shocked. His expression darkened as he heard her accusations. "I didn't know anything about it. Listen, Maura. He was in treatment with me, Bill Bantling, that much is true -"

"And you didn't tell me? How could you! How could you keep that from me?"

"I don't owe you an apology or an explanation, but considering our long relationship, I'm going to try anyway. For the sake of our friendship." Now he was angry, and his tone was sharp, even though he tried to pull himself together. Suddenly Maura felt small and insecure. Weak.

"As a prosecutor, you know very well that the very fact that someone is my patient is confidential and subject to the duty of confidentiality. I would never share that information. Ever. I took an oath. Never, to anyone, without the patient's consent. Unless there was a sufficiently serious conflict, and that was not the case here. I had no idea there was a connection until you came to me and told me about it. That the man who was arrested for the Boogeyman murders was your rapist. And after that point, logically, there was no more therapy with Bantling, because he had been arrested. Of course, I won't tell you a word of what was said in my sessions with Bill, so don't even try to ask. I would never compromise any of my patients. Ever. At the risk of sounding cold. But, Maura, I want you to know how insulting and impertinent it is of you to question my integrity as a physician and to make such assumptions without having talked to me about it. I was in a difficult position, and I did the most ethical thing I could do. I came here to see how you were doing and if there was anything I could do to help you. But I don't think that was a good idea. As a doctor, I strongly advise you to continue therapy with another therapist, because the signs of an impending breakdown are abundantly clear." He stood up.

Suddenly, she felt ashamed. Maura was completely confused and devastated. "I don't know what to do anymore," she whispered. "I don't know what to believe, who to trust. Everything is unraveling, I've lost control. Nothing is real anymore. I don't know what to believe anymore, Dr. Chambers." Tears ran down her face again, even though she would have thought there were none left. But it was too late. She had blindsided Dr. Chambers, the words were out, and she couldn't take anything back.

"I warned you not to take the case, Maura. Maybe the lack of distance has clouded your view of things, of people. Maybe you got involved with the wrong people, made alliances you can't trust now. You don't make good decisions under stress and confusion."

"Are you talking about Jane?"

"I'm just giving you the same advice I gave you months ago. Distance puts things in perspective, and that's what you seem to be lacking right now. Continue therapy, and you'll see for yourself. Good night."

With a muffled sound, he closed the door behind him, and then she was alone in the office again.

Sobbing, Maura buried her face in her hands. The cracks in the facade deepened. Everything she had been trying to build for ten years was threatening to collapse on her.

And so she didn't see the photo of twenty-one-year-old college student Julie LaTrianca flickering across the screen behind her, nor did she hear the commentary of the insufferably good-humored newscaster who described the disappearance of the dark-haired beauty from a North Boston bar as "mysterious."

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Twenty minutes after Greg Chambers left, the phone rang. At first, she let it ring, but the caller wouldn't let up, and after the tenth ring she wiped the tears from her face and picked up. "Isles, DA's office."

"Maura, it's Jane."

Maura heard lots of police sirens in the background, along with a noisy babble of voices. "Jane, it's not a good time right now. Can I call you back -"

No, you can't call me back. And it's a great time right now, believe me. We found her, you need to get over here right now."

"What, what are you talking about?"

"I'm in a trailer, in a trailer park in Salem. The thing belonged to Bantling's late aunt, someone named Viola Traun. We found the hearts. All of them. They're stored in a freezer in the kitchen. We also found photographs, Maura. Tons of pictures of each victim, against a black background, as they are tortured on this metal table. Some even of them being killed. Snuff Pictures. Could have all taken place in Bantling's shed. He had it all there."

"How did you come up with that?" Maura's heart was beating up to her throat, a wide variety of emotions welled up inside her, relief, excitement, fear, panic. Too many emotions at once that completely overwhelmed her.

"I came across a court order issued by a judge in Salem. It's only a few weeks old, so we couldn't find it in our initial checks either. It's for a civic duty violation. Bantling had custody of his aunt while she was still alive. And when he failed to do any bureaucratic stuff within sixty days of her death, the judge issued this order, apparently not realizing that Bill Bantling was the very William Bantling who was on trial in Boston for murder. When I heard about this place, I went right out, with Korsak. The owner of the trailer park let us in. What a horror! The photos were with the hearts in the freezer. Don't worry, everything is legal because the trailer was going to be foreclosed on because of the outstanding site rent. The guy had all the papers. I was paying close attention. But now we need a court order to proceed. There's no way anything can go wrong."

"Oh my God." Maura took a breath. "Okay. I'm on my way."

"We got him, Maura," Jane whispered excitedly. "Now it's his turn."

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Juror number five stopped smiling and Bill Bantling stopped laughing when Maura announced Wednesday morning that new evidence had surfaced. By noon, Detective Jane Rizzoli was again called as a witness, for two hours, and none of the jurors so much as glanced in Bantling's direction. Cold horror dominated the courtroom. By mid-afternoon, two male jurors had burst into tears and three female jurors had vomited after seeing Anna Prado's heart in the clear evidence bag, followed by the gruesome photos from Violas Traun's freezer. Among them was juror number five, who perhaps imagined that in a few months she herself would have been snapped like this by Bantling. Again Anna Prado's mother had to be taken out of the courtroom screaming and sobbing, and this time Judge Chaskel decided not to continue the trial until after the lunch break. The tide had turned.

During the lunch break, Jane William accused Rupert Bantling of murder in ten more cases and, as a precaution, deposited ten more pink warrants with the Suffolk County Department of Corrections in the unlikely event that the jury acquitted Bantling. Rubio waived the preliminary hearing on behalf of her defendant, and late that afternoon she announced to Judge Chaskel that her client would testify. Bantling's arrogant grin had given way to a nervous twitch, and he was as white as a sheet. Verbal exchanges of painstakingly suppressed volume could be heard between him and his attorney.

Closing arguments were held Friday afternoon, although Rubio's summation lacked the persuasiveness with which she had advocated for Bantling at the opening. After the jury retired, the two alternate jurors were dismissed. Still in the lobby, announcers from rival networks MSNBC, CNN, and Fox News pounced on them to ask for their assessment. Meanwhile, the remaining twelve jurors were instructed on the law. Finally, at 4:27 p.m., the jury went into closed session to decide the fate of the defendant.

Not even an hour after that, at 5:19 p.m., there was a knock on the door of the jury room from inside, and Hank delivered the news to the judge's office. They had reached a verdict.

"Honored jurors, is this the verdict you have come to?" asked Judge Chaskel, looking at the umpire over his reading glasses. The spectators in the courtroom hastily took their seats. No one had expected the verdict to come so quickly in a capital case. Maura, too, was about to return to her office from the coffee machine on the first floor to work while she waited when Eddie Bowman shouted to her from the escalator that the jury was back.

Stone-faced, the judge read through the verdict announcement. There was standing room only in the courtroom, so many prosecutors, defense attorneys, journalists, spectators, and victims' relatives had come. The atmosphere was electrically charged.

"Yes, Your Honor, this is our verdict," the umpire replied nervously. The forty-year-old garbage man from Roxbury made a valiant effort to ignore the cameras and microphones hanging over him, recording his every breath and nervous twitch. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"All right. Please be seated, sir, and the defendant may rise." Judge Chaskel folded up the verdict and handed it to Janine, the clerk.

The umpire was visibly relieved to be out of the spotlight as he sat back down on the jury bench with the other eleven jurors. Everyone was now staring uneasily at the bench. None dared to glance in Bantling's direction.

"Clerk, please read the verdict." Judge Chaskel sat up in his tall leather chair, his hand resting on the wooden gavel on the bench.

"We, the jury of Boston in the state of Massachusetts, have reached a verdict that William Rupert Bantling is guilty as charged."

Guilty. Guilty as charged. A strangled sob was heard; Maura assumed it came from Ms. Prado.

"Please remain in your seats for now, quiet in the courtroom, please," the judge said sternly, his deep voice demanding obedience from the agitated, fidgety crowd. "Ms. Rubio, would you like to question the jurors individually?"

Rubio hesitated, then said simply, "Yes, I would, Your Honor." She held onto the edge of the table with both hands. Bantling stared at the judge as if he hadn't understood what had just been announced.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will now ask each and every one of you if you have reached this verdict independently. Juror number one, what conclusion have you reached?"

"Guilty!" the retired East Boston secretary said tearfully.

"Juror number two?"

"Guilty."

And so it went down the line. Some of the jurors had moist eyes, others seemed relieved, and still, others affirmed the verdict when their turn came, filled with anger and disgust.

After juror number twelve also found the defendant guilty, chaos erupted in the courtroom. Ms. Prado howled loudly, relatives of the other victims screamed and applauded, journalists rushed out of the courtroom to inform their agencies, and Maura bowed her head in a silent prayer of thanks to a God she had already stopped believing existed.

It was over. Finally, it was over.

At that moment, William Rupert Bantling began to scream. It was the same hair-raising, raving shriek that Maura had heard in prison. The noise in the courtroom died down, and all eyes and cameras focused on Bantling.

He yanked his hair with both hands and shook his head violently. His face was crimson, his eyes wide. He turned in Maura's direction, pointed his finger at her, and screamed in rage, "You filthy cunt!" he bellowed. "I should have killed you, you fucking whore! I should have killed you then! You won't get away with this!"

"Quiet! Silence in the courtroom! Now, right now!" barked Judge Chaskel, his face also turning dark red. "Mr. Bantling, do you hear? I want you to be silent!"

Rubio put his hand on Bantling's arm to calm him down, but he shook it off, almost throwing it against the railing. "Don't touch me, you two-faced bitch! You're in cahoots with her, I know it!"

"Mr. Bantling, I will not tolerate that tone in my courtroom. I'll have you gagged if that's what it takes!" He looked around at Hank. "Show the jury out, Hank! Right now!"

Hank hustled the jurors, who watched Bantling's collapse with open mouths, into the soundproof jury room.

Bantling now turned to the bench. "Your Honor, I demand another lawyer. I want another lawyer right now."

"Mr. Bantling, you've just been convicted of murder. If you appeal, you can pick any defense attorney you want and you can pay for. And if you don't, the court will pick one for you. But not now."

"Your Honor, you don't understand! I didn't do it, and they know that perfectly well!"

"You need to calm down first! Get a hold of yourself."

"Years ago, I fucked the DA! Fucked her bad, in her apartment in New York, and now she's getting even! I'm innocent! I want a new trial! I want a new lawyer!"

Judge Chaskel frowned deeply. "Mr. Bantling, this is not the time or place for such absurd accusations. You can discuss these points with your appellate attorney later."

"Why don't you ask her? She can confirm it! She has to admit that she was raped. And she knows I did it! And Sarah Rubio knows that too, but she feels sorry for Ms. Isles. Pity for poor Maura. That's why she didn't defend me like she's supposed to. She should have dismissed the case outright!"

"Ms. Isles? Ms. Rubio? Do you know what the defendant is talking about?" Judge Chaskel was confused.

Now it was here. The moment she had always dreaded. Maura had always known it would come sooner or later. But somehow, for the past few hours, she had thought she would somehow get away with it after all. What would it feel like if everything came crashing down around her?

Maura swallowed a few times, then rose and addressed the judge. "Your Honor," she began slowly, "I was actually the victim of a brutal rape years ago ... in New York, while I was in law school."

The audience gasped. Someone whispered, "Oh my God," another, "Holy shit!" a third, "Did you hear that?" CNN, live from Boston: Shocking courtroom revelation, prosecutor in Boogeyman trial spills the beans.

Maura cleared her throat and continued a little louder. "Obviously, the defendant got the information through old police reports or other publicly available documents. That's how he knows the perpetrator was never caught. In an attempt to deceive the court and obstruct the opening of the trial by filing a motion for bias and obfuscation, Mr. Bantling had made an obscure confession at the last minute, claiming that he was the one who raped me at the time. But I assure this court that this is not true. Mr. Bantling is not the man who assaulted me, and I communicated this to his attorney in an earlier meeting. I believe she, too, believes this allegation by her client to be untrue."

Speechless, Judge Chaskel sat behind the bench. He didn't appreciate being put in such a position. Not after he had just finished what appeared to be a perfect trial. "Why am I hearing about this here and now for the first time? Please?" He looked at Rubio. "Ms. Rubio, do you have anything to say in this matter?"

Rubio looked the judge straight in the eye and didn't even glance in Maura's direction. "Your Honor, I have questioned my client, and I have read the police reports of the assault on Ms. Isles. I have also spoken with Ms. Isles herself." She paused for a moment, then continued. "I believe my client's allegations against Ms. Isles have no basis in fact."

Judge Chaskel silently pondered what to do now. The courtroom was silent as well. Finally, he spoke. He sounded concerned, but even so, he chose his words carefully for the sake of protocol. "Ms. Isles, I'm sorry that you have been forced to disclose such a private matter in court today. I hope the media present will handle the information with the discretion and tact it deserves."

"This is total bullshit!" Bantling slammed both hands into the defense table, causing it to topple over and sending Rubio's files flying through the air. "This is all bullshit! You all want to lock me away because you all feel sorry for the lying bitch!" The prison guards grabbed him from behind and held him by his arms and legs. He kicked desperately. By the time they had cuffed and shackled him, he was growling like an animal at Maura, his eyes spraying hate and foaming at the mouth.

Now Judge Chaskel was getting loud. "Your appellate counsel can address your contentions. But here and now, the verdict is in. Take him out now, Hank."

"You lying whore, Maura! It's not over yet! It's not over!" screamed Bantling as he was escorted out of the courtroom.