She couldn't go home. Somehow the media had found out her carefully kept secret address, and now the camera crews were camped out on her street to intercept her at her front door. By now it was 10:30 p.m., and Maura was trying to find a hotel room from the office for a couple of nights, until the press people got bored, packed up their directional microphones again, and broke down the tents in her driveway. She hadn't even noticed the shadow in the doorway when she suddenly called her name softly.
"Maura?"
At this hour, the lawyer would have expected at most the attorney general to still be here, but instead, Jane stood in the doorway. "Hello," was all she could get out. The detective had also been in the courtroom when the verdict was announced.
"What are you doing?"
"Well, honestly, I'm just looking for a place to stay for the next few days. Mrs. Cromsby, the old lady at the end of my street who always looks after Lucy and Tibby when I'm working, advised me to slip away for a while. Apparently, all hell is going on there." Maura avoided Jane's gaze.
Jane entered, came around to her side of the desk, and sat on the edge of it. She had a feeling the detective was trying to look inside her. Couldn't the Italian please just leave?
"You told me it was a car accident. But that's not where the scars came from at all, right?"
Maura's chin trembled, and she bit her lip. "No, they're not from an accident."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to know. I don't want anyone to know. And now ... oh, irony of ironies ... Now it's going around the world as a headline. Being translated into twenty-four languages." Maura ran her hand through her hair and propped her head in her hands. "I didn't want you to hear about it, that's all."
"Did you think anything would change between us if I knew about it? Was that why?"
"I don't need your pity, Jane. Please don't."
"I don't feel sorry for you, Maura. I thought it was much more than that. Do you think I'm that shallow?"
"You know, this whole thing has nothing to do with you at all. It belongs in the past. My past. And I'm still trying to deal with it every day as best I can. And today wasn't exactly one of those days when that's easy."
"Don't just shut me out."
"Jane, I can't have children because of this. There, now it's out. Maybe it matters to you, maybe it doesn't. But now you know. Now you know!"
There was a long silence. The cheap wall clock ticked loudly. Finally, Jane broke the silence, whispering, "Was it him? Was it Bantling?" Within a few hours, the media had found out all the spectacular details of Maura's rape and fed them in morsels to a sensationalist public. Jane had remembered how Korsak had described to her over the radio that he had found a clown mask in Bantling's closet. And Maura's startled reaction when the Italian had surprised her with the evidence. It was all there. You just had to know where to look.
Maura thought about her answer for several seconds. Tears stood in her eyes, then she couldn't hold them back any longer, and they ran hot down her face. Maura looked at Jane, straight into those questioning brown eyes, and at last, she said resignedly, her voice a barely audible whisper, "No. No. He didn't do it."
Jane looked at the lawyer for a long moment. Her beautiful face framed by her honey-blond hair. Her hazel eyes and the worrying dark circles underneath. The detective thought for a moment about what Bantling must have done to leave such scars. She imagined that face, the face she had come to love so much, weeping, contorted, and tortured under the weight of a brutal abuser. She knew Maura was lying to her. But somehow it didn't matter. "Put it down."
"What?"
"Your phone. Put it down."
"Why?"
"Because you're coming with me, that's why. I'm taking you home." Jane grabbed Maura's hand and pulled her up out of the chair. Then she took the blonde in her arms and kissed her on the crown of her head. Jane hugged her tightly, listening to Maura's sobs and stroking her hair. Jane would never let her go again.
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After a few days, the Boogeyman story only made it to page two, and a week later it wasn't mentioned at all. The media had long since moved on to the next tragic murder, fire, or flood disaster. Initially, the front page had featured painful details of the rape and speculation about possible retaliation on the part of the prosecutor. But then the editorial boards themselves were caught in the crossfire of criticism. A fierce debate erupted over rape victims' right to privacy, in which the press became the bogeyman.
Maura took some time off to recover and let the dust settle. Bantling's indictment for the other ten murders came quietly and without much fanfare, and surprisingly, journalists didn't rehash the rape allegations. It no longer mattered much anyway. Rose Harris represented the prosecution this time. Maura just had to get through one last hearing, one last confrontation with the devil, one more encounter with the hungry scandal reporters, and then the case would be over for her.
She went with Jane to Cap Code to wait for the turmoil in Boston to die down. They were quiet and relaxed days, the two women spent talking and drinking wine while watching spectacularly beautiful sunsets. The overwhelming relief that spread through her was wonderful. It was a whole new sense of life that she could finally share her lonely, isolated side with someone, the side she had kept under wraps for twelve years. Even if she didn't talk to Jane about the rape itself: just the feeling that the detective knew everything and that it didn't matter, that the detective simply loved her, was a fundamental experience for her. It fired her up, and she only loved Jane all the more for it.
Six weeks later, the sentencing hearing began. By order of Judge Chaskel, Bantling attended it cuffed and shackled. The judge, of course, had heard Bantling beforehand to determine whether the defendant would behave without them, and Bantling had told him plainly in the first four minutes that he could kiss his ass and so could the prosecutor. So Chaskel had felt compelled to order the shackles. He wanted to avoid the jury being swayed by another outburst of violence in court now that the actual trial had already run its course. He had given the defendant an opportunity to respond, and his own attorney had denied the grotesque accusation. Let the appeals court listen to his tantrums and make sense of them. After all, once the jury determined the sentence, it would be their problem, not his.
In a capital case, sentencing was a sort of mini-trial where both sides could call witnesses. Only this time, it was no longer about guilt or innocence. It was solely about whether he should remain behind bars for the rest of his life without a chance of parole. Within three days, Maura laid out the prosecution's position. The jury now learned all about the other pieces of evidence that had been seized from Viola Traun's trailer. They saw the pictures of the other ten hearts stored in the freezer with Anna Prado's and lots of other gruesome photos. The other ten abductions were now brought up, the other ten victims who had been found with the same black cross and the deep hole in their chest. Evidence that hadn't been admissible during the trial could now be brought in to determine the sentence. And all the while, a raging Bantling sat next to Rubio.
On the fourth day, before the defense had its turn, Judge Chaskel had the jury led out of the courtroom.
"Ms. Rubio, will you call witnesses who will testify on behalf of your client?"
"Only one, Your Honor. Mr. Bantling wishes to call only one witness. He wishes to take the stand himself."
Judge Chaskel took an audible breath. "Very well. That's his right. We'll see if he's able to play by the rules."
Maura's heart began to beat faster. Calmly. It would only be the words of a madman. He had no proof. She had made sure of that. She looked around, Jane nodding at her from the last row in the courtroom. The detective reassured her. Everything would be all right.
The judge looked at Bantling over the rim of his glasses, his gaze stern. "Mr. Bantling, your attorney has informed me that you wish to take the stand. That's your right.
However, only as long as you don't violate the court order with your testimony. You lose the right to testify if you don't get your act together," he said seriously. "Now, can you assure the court that there will be no more inappropriate outbursts? If not, you must be removed from the courtroom again. What is your opinion of this, Mr. Bantling?"
"Inappropriate outbursts?" yelled Bantling. "Fucking bullshit. You and the fucking monkey court here, you can all kiss my ass. That dirty bitch set me up!"
And so he was removed from the courtroom again.
It took the jury less than twenty-five minutes to unanimously decide on a sentencing recommendation. A life sentence without the prospect of parole.
Thus, there was no need to extend the trial even one more day. Judge Chaskel sentenced to life imprisonment. He then gave orders to remove Bantling again, clearing the courtroom, and hurriedly left the bench. Bantling was dragged outside by three prison guards. He was yelling like he was out of his mind.
Reporters raced out to call their newsrooms and interview jurors on their way out. Jane, Korsak, Chris Masterson, and Eddie Bowman were hogged by various news outlets to give live opinions on the verdict. The only ones who stayed behind in court were the clerk, Maura, and Rubio. They packed up the piles of files, all that remained for now of the case of The State of Massachusetts vs. William Rupert Bantling.
On her way out, Rubio passed the prosecution table with her little cart balancing two large boxes. It was the first time Rubio had looked her in the face since their conversation outside the jail. Maura held out her hand. A peace offering. "It was good working with you, Sarah."
But Rubio passed over both the hand and Maura's words. "Are you going to lead the prosecution in the other ten murder cases?"
"No. No, I don't think so."
"That's probably for the best."
Maura ignored the point, turned her back on Rubio, and closed her briefcase.
"There are countless aspects to this case that leave questions, Maura. Some of them with my involvement, and I bear responsibility for that, too. Do the ends justify the means? I don't know. I just don't know." Rubio looked around the empty room as if taking in the image one last time. "But there's one thing that I just can't get out of my head. And I thought maybe you felt the same way."
Maura stared at her files, wishing Rubio would finally pack up her conscience and leave.
"4. 55 p.m., just as closing arguments are about to be made, Rizzoli all of a sudden finds the trailer of Bantling's dead great-aunt. And this after Rizzoli had turned over every leaf of the defendant's past one by one for months in vain. What a happy coincidence, Maura, to track down this relative just when she has only a few hours left. What a hero. And how ingenious to check Bantling's police file so late in the game. Brilliant criminalistic work? Or another strange coincidence? Maybe another anonymous birdie was chirping. But we'll probably never know."
Maura looked up, their eyes meeting. Now you know I've known. All along. And with that, Rubio turned and walked past the abandoned jury box down the aisle between the rows of benches. When she got to the door, she paused again. "They say Justice is blind, Maura, but I think in some cases she just chooses not to look. Remember that."
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"I want to apologize to you," Maura began. "I'd probably have to to a lot of people, but I wanted to come to you first." She stood in the blue and yellow waiting room, on the sick side. Greg Chambers was on the other side behind the window at the registration desk, the square bulletproof glass between them. Maura had to speak into the intercom, which gave it an air of absurdity. "Besides," she then added with an uncertain smile, "I do have a standing appointment on Wednesday nights."
He seemed surprised to see her. Surprised, but not shocked. He nodded and pressed the buzzer to let her in. When she pushed the door open, he was waiting for her on the other side.
"Dr. Chambers," she began again. "I got myself into something there. Now I know I was wrong. After all, you've been there for me for the last ten years not only as a doctor, but as a friend, and -"
"Please, Maura, you don't have to apologize. Although, of course, I'm happy about the decision. Come in, come in. You caught me just in time." He walked ahead into his office and flicked on the light. "Sit down, please. I'm sorry, too. After all, we haven't seen each other since that conversation in your office. I'm afraid we've given your regular appointment to a depressed housewife from Newton. She just sped off in her Mercedes to dinner at the Forge," he said with a smile.
"Glad to see you're still tirelessly involved in the community," she said flippantly, smiling back. The conversation wasn't as tense as she had expected.
"I heard about the verdict today. Now you're done with it, aren't you? Or do you want to do the rest too?"
"No, I've done my duty. Rose Harris is taking on the other ten murders. I'm not too keen on continuing to be prom queen. No thanks."
"Well, I guess I should congratulate you then. I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge for special occasions. For patients whose therapy has been successfully completed. I chilled a bottle for you a long time ago in hopes that we could finish it together someday. I think the time is right. You've made it. You're reconciled." He looked at her urgently. Maura had always found him to have kind eyes. He sounded quite serious. "But let me open the bottle as your friend, please, not as your doctor."
Maura nodded with a smile. It was clear what he meant by that. After what had been said last time, she couldn't go back to him as a psychiatrist. It wouldn't be good for either of them.
Chambers smiled. "I've got some cheese and crackers there, too. Eat some before I get you drunk."
"Don't bother."
"Don't worry." He stood up and walked to the small kitchen counter behind her. "How did you do with all that press, Maura?"
"Honestly, I ran away and hid. With Jane. It wasn't until I was no longer the star of the day that I went back home. But apparently, the public means well for me. They think Bantling is a villain who wants to make me a scapegoat." It was still weird to say Bantling's name in front of Chambers, and she took it upon herself to be more gentle. True, he was speaking to her as a friend now, not a doctor. But he still couldn't wipe away the relationship he'd had with the man. Even if they both would have preferred that. "Small gave me a raise and three weeks' vacation. It was wonderful not to have to go into the office for a while." A cork popped behind her.
"Rizzoli and you, is that still going on?"
"Yes. We had some time off in between, but now we're back together. I think she's good for me."
"No false admiration," he remarked as he placed the tray with the champagne, two glasses, and a plate of canapés on the small table between the two armchairs. "These are the leftovers from Estelle's birthday party this weekend." Then he sat down with her. "She made the breakthrough just before the end, didn't she? Turned the tide, so to speak?"
"Yeah, she's a great detective. She discovered the trophies. And those photos. Terrible. That was the worst thing I've ever seen."
"I can imagine."
"I still get chills now thinking about how it might have turned out if she hadn't found them."
"Or if she hadn't known where to look. It's lucky I talked to her again after the conference. Otherwise, I don't think she ever would have figured it out."
"Come up with what?" Suddenly an inexplicable uneasiness assailed her.
"Well, where the detective should look. I got her to run Bantling's name through the police computer again. You never know what else might turn up. Champagne?"
Suddenly, the questions popped into Maura's head again. Questions she might not have wanted answers to. And she thought of Rubio's last words in the courtroom. "I'm sorry about that night," she said slowly. She wanted to change the subject. She needed time to rein back her imagination, to get her thoughts in order. "I was in shock. The case slipped through my fingers. I probably said things I should never have said."
"You were under a lot of pressure."
"Yes, I was."
He pointed to the champagne and asked her to pour. She couldn't shake the discomfort. Her instincts told her that something wasn't right here. "I hope you understand the difficult position I was in then, Maura, Bill being my patient and all," he said. "And the even more difficult position you're putting me in right now."
She shook her head questioningly as she took the bottle of ice-cold Moët Rosé from the beautiful old lead crystal champagne bucket. The ice at the bottom was dark red.
"The fact that I want to fuck you, for example," he said.
A scream broke through the quiet atmosphere of the consulting room and was bounced off the walls, again and again, and again. He sat in the chair in front of her, watching her, legs crossed loosely, an amused smile on his lips.
It took a few seconds before she became aware of the horror before her brain comprehended the incomprehensible and threatened to collapse in horror. Before she finally understood that the dark red frozen thing staring at her from the ice bucket was a human heart and that the scream she heard, again and again, was her own.
Maura was still holding the champagne bottle when she jumped up, pushing back the armchair. It fell over with a thump. The door! Get out of here! As fast as she could, she ran. His hand grabbed her by the back of the jacket, he yanked her back, but she turned, lunged, and was about to slam the bottle full force into his face.
But he was faster. With his right arm he fended off the blow, she heard him groan as the heavy glass crashed down on his forearm. The bottle shattered and champagne splashed across the room, she was soaking wet. Again she turned toward the door, but he still held her by the collar. She squirmed under his grip and managed to slip out of the jacket. Then she reached the door, yanked it open, and ran down the hall to Estelle's empty dark place at the registration desk. When she had almost reached the waiting room, he was suddenly above her, she felt his heavy breath on her ear, he tugged her back by the shoulders. Her hand slipped off the doorknob, and she fell backward, landing hard on the Mexican tiles.
A sharp, sharp pain exploded in her leg, and she slammed the back of her head on the floor. For a moment it went black around her, then she felt her twisted leg pulsing under her body. At first, she thought she had broken it in the fall.
Chambers, still quite out of breath, crouched beside her and watched as she writhed on the ground. She noticed that he was smiling. Why was he smiling?
She glanced at her leg, thinking maybe he had caught her with the knife. She half expected to see her blood pouring onto the tile floor. But then she spotted the needle in her thigh, the syringe almost empty. The room began to spin, and her thoughts became disjointed. She tried to pull the syringe out, but her arms were completely powerless. She lay with her back on the cold floor, her body growing tired and heavy. He crouched next to her against the wall, watching her intently, his smile blurring in front of her eyes again and again. The ceiling light above her blinked so strangely when she blinked. She tried to say something, but couldn't; her tongue was too thick. The last thing she heard was a Bach concert playing from the speakers. The music that was supposed to calm the crazies.
And then everything went black.