Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

lot of children left crying when visiting hours end.”
    “What about Amalthea Lank? You have any special issues with her?”
    “We have . . .” Gurley hesitated, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “A few.”
    “Like what?”
    The elevator door opened and Gurley stepped out. “This is my office.”
    They passed through an anteroom. The two secretaries stared at Maura, then quickly dropped their gazes back to their computer screens. Everyone’s trying to avoid meeting my eyes, she thought. What are they afraid I’ll see?
    Gurley led the visitors into her office and closed the door. “Please, sit down.”
    The room was a surprise. Maura had thought it would reflect Gurley herself, efficient and unadorned. But everywhere, there were photographs of smiling faces. Women holding babies, children posed with neatly parted hair and pressed shirts. A new bride and groom, surrounded by a flock of children. His, hers, ours.
    “My girls,” said Gurley, smiling at the wall of photos. “These are the ones who made the transition back to society. The ones who made the right choices and moved on with their lives. Unfortunately,” she said, her smile fading, “Amalthea Lank will never be on this wall.” She sat down behind her desk and focused on Maura. “I’m not sure your visit here is such a good idea, Dr. Isles.”
    “I’ve never met my birth mother.”
    “That’s what concerns me.” Gurley leaned back in her chair and studied Maura for a moment. “We all want to love our mothers. We want them to be special women because it makes
us
special, as their daughters.”
    “I don’t expect to love her.”
    “What do you expect, then?”
    That question made Maura pause. She thought of the imaginary mother she’d conjured up as a child, ever since her cousin had cruelly blurted out the truth: that Maura was adopted. That this was the reason why, in a family of blondes and towheads, she alone had black hair. She’d built a fairy-tale mother based on the darkness of her hair. An Italian heiress, forced to give up a daughter conceived in scandal. Or a Spanish beauty abandoned by her lover, tragically dead of a broken heart. Always, as Gurley had said, she’d imagined someone special, even extraordinary. Now she was about to confront not the fantasy but the real woman, and the prospect made her mouth go dry.
    Rizzoli said to Gurley: “Why don’t you think she should see her?”
    “I’m only asking her to approach this visit with caution.”
    “Why? Is the inmate dangerous?”
    “Not in the sense that she’ll spring up and physically attack anyone. In fact, she’s quite docile on the surface.”
    “And beneath the surface?”
    “Think of what she did, Detective. How much rage it must take to swing a crowbar with such force that you shatter a woman’s skull? Now
you
answer that question: What lies beneath Amalthea’s surface?” Gurley looked at Maura. “You need to go into this with your eyes open, and fully aware of whom you’re dealing with.”
    “She and I may share the same DNA,” said Maura. “But I have no emotional attachment to this woman.”
    “So you’re just curious.”
    “I need to put this to rest. I need to move on.”
    “That’s probably what your sister thought, too. You do know she came to visit Amalthea?”
    “Yes, I’ve heard.”
    “I don’t think it gave her any peace of mind. I think it only upset her.”
    “Why?”
    Gurley slid a file across the desk toward Maura. “Those are Amalthea’s psychiatric records. Everything you need to know about her is in there. Why don’t you just read that instead? Read it, walk away, and forget about her.”
    Maura didn’t touch the file. It was Rizzoli who picked up the folder and said: “She’s under a psychiatrist’s care?”
    “Yes,” said Gurley.
    “Why?”
    “Because Amalthea is a schizophrenic.”
    Maura stared at the superintendent. “Then why was she convicted of murder? If she’s schizophrenic, she shouldn’t be in prison. She should be in a hospital. ”
    “So should a number of our inmates. Tell it to the courts, Dr. Isles, because I’ve tried to. The system itself is insane. Even if you’re flat-out psychotic when you commit murder, the insanity defense seldom sways a jury.”
    Rizzoli asked, softly: “Are you sure she
is
insane?”
    Maura turned to Rizzoli. Saw that she was staring down at the inmate’s psychiatric file. “Is there a question about her diagnosis?”
    “I know this psychiatrist who’s