Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

her, that’s all. I missed her. I still . . .” He paused and cleared his throat. “I still miss her.”
    Now he’s going to say that he loved her.
    “I loved her,” he said. “Why would I hurt her?”
    As if they’d never heard a man say that before.
    “Besides, how could I? I didn’t know where she was. After she moved, that last time, I couldn’t find her.”
    “But you tried?”
    “Yes, I tried.”
    “Did you know she was living in Maine?” asked Frost.
    A pause. He looked up, frowning. “Where in Maine?”
    “A little town called Fox Harbor.”
    “No, I didn’t know that. I assumed she was somewhere in Boston.”
    “Dr. Cassell,” said Rizzoli, “where were you last Thursday night?”
    “I was here, at home.”
    “All night?”
    “From five P.M. on. I was packing for my trip.”
    “Can anyone verify that you were here?”
    “No. Paul had the night off. I freely admit I have no alibi. It was just me here, alone with my piano.” He banged the keyboard, playing a dissonant chord. “I flew out the next morning. Northwest Airlines, if you want to check.”
    “We will.”
    “The reservations were made six weeks ago. I had meetings already planned.”
    “That’s what your assistant told us.”
    “Did he? Well, it’s true.”
    “Do you keep a gun?” asked Rizzoli.
    Cassell went very still, his dark eyes searching hers. “Do you honestly think I did it?”
    “Could you answer the question?”
    “No, I do not have a gun. Not a pistol or a rifle or a pop-gun. And I didn’t kill her. I didn’t do
half
the things she accused me of.”
    “Are you saying she lied to the police?”
    “I’m saying she exaggerated.”
    “We’ve seen the photo of her taken in the ER, the night you gave her a black eye. Did she exaggerate that charge as well?”
    His gaze dropped, as though he could not bear her accusatory look. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t deny hitting her. I regret it. But I don’t deny it.”
    “What about repeatedly driving past her house? Hiring a private detective to follow her? Showing up on her doorstep, demanding to speak to her?”
    “She wouldn’t answer any of my calls. What was I supposed to do?”
    “Take a hint, maybe?”
    “I don’t sit back and just let things
happen
to me, Detective. I never have. That’s why I own this house, with that view out there. If I really want something, I work hard for it. And then I hold on to it. I wasn’t going to just let her walk out of my life.”
    “What was Anna to you, exactly? Just another possession?”
    “Not a possession.” He met her gaze, his eyes naked with loss. “Anna Leoni was the love of my life.”
    His answer took Rizzoli aback. That simple statement, said so quietly, had the honest ring of truth to it.
    “I understand you were together for three years,” she said.
    He nodded. “She was a microbiologist, working in my research division. That’s how we met. One day she walked into a board meeting to give us an update on antibiotic trials. I took one look at her, and I thought:
She’s the one.
Do you know what it’s like, to love someone so much, and then watch them walk away from you?”
    “Why did she?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You must have an idea.”
    “I don’t. Look at what she had here! This house, anything she wanted. I don’t think I’m ugly. Any woman would’ve been thrilled to be with me.”
    “Until you started hitting her.”
    A silence.
    “How often did that happen, Dr. Cassell?”
    He sighed. “I have a stressful job . . .”
    “Is that your explanation? You slapped your girlfriend because you had a hard day at the office?”
    He did not answer. Instead he reached for his glass. And that, no doubt, was part of the problem, she thought. Mix a hard-driving executive with too much booze, and you get a girlfriend with black eyes.
    He set the glass down again. “I just wanted her to come home.”
    “And your way of convincing her was to cram death threats in her door?”
    “I didn’t do that.”
    “She filed multiple complaints with the police.”
    “Never happened.”
    “Detective Ballard says it did.”
    Cassell gave a snort. “That moron believed everything she told him. He likes playing Sir Galahad, it makes him feel important. Did you know he showed up here once, and told me that if I ever touched her again, he’d beat the shit out of me. I think that’s pretty pitiful.”
    “She claimed you slashed her window screens.”
    “I didn’t.”
    “Are you