Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

moment in the deserted bay, listening for voices, footsteps, anything to tell her that someone else was still in the building. But she heard only the rumble of the refrigerator and, faintly, the whine of an ambulance on the street outside.
    Costas and Yoshima must have gone home for the night.
    When she walked out of the building fifteen minutes later, she saw that the Saab and the Toyota were indeed gone; except for her black Lexus, the only other vehicles in the parking lot were the three morgue vans, stenciled with the words: O FFICE OF THE M EDICAL E XAMINER , C OMMONWEALTH OF M ASSACHUSETTS. Darkness had fallen, and her car sat isolated under a yellow pool of light cast by the streetlamp.
    The images of Theresa and Nikki Wells still haunted her. As she walked toward the Lexus, she was alert to every shadow around her, to every stray noise, every hint of movement. A few paces from her car she came to a halt and stared at the passenger door. The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up. The bundle of files she was carrying slid from her numb hands, papers scattering across the pavement.
    Three parallel scratches marred her car’s gleaming finish. A claw mark.
    Get away. Get inside.
    She spun around and ran back to the building. Stood at the locked door, fumbling through her keys. Where was it, where was the right one? Finally she found it, thrust it into the lock, and pushed through, slamming the door behind her. She threw her weight against it as well, as though to reinforce the barricade.
    Inside the empty building, it was so quiet she could hear her own panicked breaths.
    She ran down the hall to her office and locked herself inside. Only then, surrounded by all that was familiar, did she feel her pulse stop galloping, her hands stop shaking. She went to her desk, picked up the phone, and called Jane Rizzoli.

EIGHTEEN
    “Y OU DID EXACTLY the right thing. Backed the hell away and moved to a safe place,” said Rizzoli.
    Maura sat at her desk and stared at the creased papers that Rizzoli had retrieved for her from the parking lot. A now-untidy stack from Nikki Wells’s file, smudged with dirt, trampled in panic. Even now, sitting safe in Rizzoli’s company, Maura still felt the aftershocks.
    “Did you find any fingerprints on my door?” Maura asked.
    “A few. What you’d expect to find on any car door.”
    Rizzoli rolled a chair close to Maura’s desk and sat down. Rested her hands on the shelf of her belly. Mama Rizzoli, pregnant and armed, thought Maura. Was there any less likely savior to come to my rescue?
    “How long was your car in that parking lot? You said you arrived around six.”
    “But the scratches could have been made before I got here. I don’t use the passenger door every day. Only if I’m loading groceries or something. I saw it tonight because of the way the car was parked. And it was right under the lamp.”
    “When was the last time you looked at that door?”
    Maura pressed her hands to her temples. “I know it was fine yesterday morning. When I left Maine. I put my overnight bag in the front seat. I would have noticed the scratches then.”
    “Okay. So you drove home yesterday. Then what?”
    “The car stayed in my garage all night. And then, this morning, I went to see you at Schroeder Plaza.”
    “Where did you park?”
    “In that garage near police headquarters. The one off Columbus Ave.”
    “So it was in that parking garage all afternoon. While we were visiting the prison.”
    “Yes.”
    “That garage is fully monitored, you know.”
    “Is it? I didn’t notice . . .”
    “And then where did you go? After we got back from Framingham?”
    Maura hesitated.
    “Doc?”
    “I went to see Joyce O’Donnell.” She met Rizzoli’s gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I had to see her.”
    “Were you going to tell me?”
    “Of course. Look, I just needed to know more about my mother.”
    Rizzoli leaned back, mouth set in a straight line. She’s not happy with me, thought Maura. She told me to stay away from O’Donnell and I ignored her advice.
    “How long were you at her house?” Rizzoli asked.
    “About an hour. Jane, she told me something I didn’t know. Amalthea grew up in Fox Harbor. That’s why Anna went to Maine.”
    “And after you left O’Donnell’s house? What happened then?”
    Maura sighed. “I came straight here.”
    “You didn’t notice anyone following you?”
    “Why would I bother to look? I have too many things on my