Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

he said.
    “What is it?”
    “You should head over to Saint John’s Medical Center in Jackson. Dr. Draper will meet you there.”
    “Dr. Draper? You mean the Sublette County Coroner?”
    “Yes. Because that’s where it happened, in Sublette County.” There was a long and agonizing pause. “I’m afraid they found your friend.”
    ———
    “I THINK it’s best that you not see her,” Dr. Draper said, somberly facing Maura’s three friends across the conference table. “You should remember her the way she was. I’m sure she would want it that way as well.”
    St. John’s was built to serve the living, not the dead, and through the closed door of the conference room they could hear the sounds of a normal day in a hospital: ringing phones, the chime of an elevator, the far-off wails of an infant in the ER. The sounds reminded Jane that, in the aftermath of tragedy, life still went on.
    “The vehicle was discovered only this morning, off a backcountry road,” said Draper. “We can’t be certain how long it was lying in that ravine. There was a lot of damage from the fire. And afterward, from animal …” He paused. “It’s a wilderness area.”
    He didn’t need to elaborate. Jane knew what he was leaving out. In the natural world, creatures always lurked in Death’s shadow, waiting to feed with beaks and claws and sharp teeth. Even in Boston’s suburban parks, a corpse would attract dogs and raccoons, rats and turkey vultures. In the rugged mountains of western Wyoming, there would be an even larger host of scavengers waiting to feast, scavengers that could gnaw off a face and detach a hand and scatter limbs. Jane thought of Maura’s ivory skin and regal cheekbones, and she wondered what remained of those features.
No, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to know what has become of her face
.
    “If the remains were so badly damaged, how did you make the identification?” asked Gabriel. He, at least, was still thinking like an investigator, still able to focus on what needed to be asked.
    “There was sufficient evidence at the crash site to make an ID.”
    “Evidence?”
    “When the vehicle went into the ravine, a number of items were ejected from it. Several suitcases and other personal belongings that survived the fire.” He reached for the large cardboard box that he’d brought into the room. The smell of scorched plastic escaped as he lifted the lid. Although the items inside were sealed in evidencebags, the stench of fire and smoke was potent enough to penetrate even a ziplock bag. He paused for a moment, staring into the box, as though suddenly wondering if it might be a mistake to share the contents. But it was too late now to close it, to deny them the proof that he had promised. He pulled out the first evidence bag and set it on the desk.
    Through the clear plastic, they could see a leather luggage tag. Flipping it over, Draper revealed the name written in neat block letters.
    MAURA ISLES, MD .
    “I take it that’s her correct address on the tag?” he asked.
    Jane swallowed. “Yes,” she murmured. She did not dare glance at Daniel, who was sitting beside her. She didn’t want to see the devastation on his face.
    “That was attached to one of the suitcases that was thrown from the vehicle,” said Draper. “You can examine the suitcase itself if you’d like. It’s in the custody of the Sublette County Sheriff’s Department, along with the larger items.” Reaching into the box, he pulled out other evidence bags and laid them on the table. There were two cell phones, one of them scorched. Another luggage tag, this one with the name Douglas Comley, MD. A man’s toilet case. A prescription bottle of lovastatin for a patient named Arlo Zielinski.
    “The Suburban was rented by a Dr. Douglas Comley from San Diego,” said Draper. “He’d reserved it for ten days. We assume it was Dr. Comley who was behind the wheel when the vehicle went off the edge. The road makes a sharp curve there, and if it was nighttime, or snow was falling, visibility would have been poor. An icy road could have been a contributing factor as well.”
    “Then you assume it was an accident,” said Gabriel.
    Draper frowned. “As opposed to what?”
    “There are always other possibilities to consider.”
    The coroner sighed. “Given your line of work, Agent Dean, I suppose it’s natural that you’d be thinking of those other possibilities. But Sheriff Fahey concluded that this was an