Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

that moment, everything else in the room seemed to vanish. She did not hear the cacophony of children’s voices or the quarters dropping into the vending machine or the scrape of chair legs across linoleum. All she saw was this tired and broken woman.
    “Can you look at me? Please,
look
at me.”
    At last the head came up, moving in little jerks, like a mechanical doll whose gears have rusted. The unkempt hair parted, and the eyes focused on Maura. Fathomless eyes. Maura saw nothing there, not awareness. Not a soul. Amalthea’s lips moved, but soundlessly. Just another twitching of muscles, without intent, without meaning.
    A small boy toddled by, trailing the scent of a wet diaper. At the next table a dishwater blonde in prison denim was sitting with her head in her hands and quietly sobbing as her male visitor watched, expressionless. At that moment a dozen family dramas like Maura’s were taking place; she was just one more bit player who couldn’t see beyond the circle of her own crisis.
    “My sister Anna came to see you,” Maura said. “She looked just like me. Do you remember her?”
    Amalthea’s jaw was moving now, as though chewing food. An imaginary meal that only she could taste.
    No, of course she doesn’t remember, thought Maura, gazing in frustration at Amalthea’s blank expression. She doesn’t register me, or who I am, or why I’m here. I’m shouting into an empty cave, and only my own voice is echoing back.
    Determined to dredge up a reaction, any reaction, Maura said with what was almost deliberate cruelty: “Anna’s dead. Your other daughter is dead. Did you know that?”
    No answer.
    Why the hell do I keep trying? There’s nobody home in there. There’s no light in those eyes.
    “Well,” said Maura. “I’ll come back another time. Maybe you’ll talk to me then.” With a sigh, Maura stood and looked around for the guard. She spotted her at the other end of the room. Maura had just raised her hand in a wave when she heard the voice. A whisper so soft she might have imagined it:
    “Go away.”
    Startled, Maura looked down at Amalthea, who was sitting in exactly the same position, lips twitching, gaze still unfocused.
    Slowly, Maura sat back down. “What did you say?”
    Amalthea’s gaze lifted to hers. And just for an instant, Maura saw awareness there. A gleam of intelligence. “Go away. Before he sees you.”
    Maura stared. A chill clambered up her spine, made the hairs on the back of her neck bristle.
    At the next table, the dishwater blonde was still crying. Her male visitor stood up and said, “I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to accept it. That’s the way it is.” He walked away, back to his life on the outside where women wore pretty blouses, not blue denim. Where doors that locked could be unlocked.
    “Who?” Maura asked softly. Amalthea didn’t answer. “Who’s going to see me, Amalthea?” Maura pressed her. “What do you mean?”
    But Amalthea’s gaze had clouded over. That brief flash of awareness was gone, and Maura was staring, once more, into a void.
    “So, are we all done with the visit?” the guard asked cheerfully.
    “Is she always like this?” asked Maura, watching Amalthea’s lips form soundless words.
    “Pretty much. She has good days and bad days.”
    “She hardly spoke to me at all.”
    “She will, if she gets to know you better. Mostly keeps to herself, but sometimes she’ll come out of it. Writes letters, even uses the phone.”
    “Whom does she call?”
    “I don’t know. Her shrink, I guess.”
    “Dr. O’Donnell?”
    “The blond lady. She’s been in a few times, so Amalthea’s pretty comfortable with her. Aren’t you, honey?” Reaching for the prisoner’s arm, the guard said: “Come on, upsy daisy. Let’s walk you back.”
    Obediently Amalthea rose to her feet and allowed the guard to guide her away from the table. She moved only a few steps, then stopped.
    “Amalthea, let’s go.”
    But the prisoner did not move. She stood as though her muscles had suddenly solidified.
    “Honey, I can’t wait all day for you. Let’s go.”
    Slowly Amalthea turned. Her eyes were still vacant. The words she said next came out in a voice that was not quite human, but mechanical. A foreign entity, channeled through a machine. She looked at Maura.
    “Now you’re going to die, too,” she said. Then she turned and shuffled away, back to her cell.
    “She has tardive dyskinesia,” said Maura. “That’s why Superintendent