Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

Hewouldn’t say a word to me, not one word. I think he blames me.” She looked at Maura. “He blames all of us. You, me. Sansone.”
    “Nevertheless, Teddy’s always welcome back at Evensong.”
    “You’ve spoken to Sansone about it?”
    “This afternoon.” Maura reached for the glass of wine, as though needing to fortify herself for this subject. “He made me an interesting offer, Jane.”
    “What kind of offer?”
    “To work for the Mephisto Society as a forensic consultant. And to be part of Evensong, where I could ‘shape young minds,’ as he put it.”
    Jane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think he’s really offering you something more personal?”
    “No, that’s exactly what he said. I have to judge him by his words. Not by my interpretation of those words.”
    “Jesus.” Jane sighed. “The two of you are dancing around each other like you’re both blind.”
    “If I weren’t blind, what exactly would I be seeing?”
    “That Sansone’s a much better choice for you than Daniel ever was.”
    Maura shook her head. “I don’t think I should be choosing
any
man right now. But I am considering his offer.”
    “You mean, leave the ME’s office? Leave Boston?”
    “Yes. That’s what it would mean.”
    The violin music soared to a high, sad note. A note that seemed to pierce straight to Jane’s chest. “You’re seriously thinking about it?”
    Maura reached for the CD remote and abruptly shut off the music. Silence hung, heavy as a velvet drape, between them. She looked around the living room at the white leather sofa, at the polished mahogany. “I don’t know what’s next for me, Jane.”
    Lights flared through the window, and Jane rose to peek through the curtains. “Unfortunately, I
do
know what’s next for you.”
    “What?”
    “TV van just pulled up. Damn hyenas can’t even wait for the press conference. They gotta show up on your doorstep.”
    “I’ve been told not to talk to them.”
    Jane turned with a frown. “Who told you that?”
    “I received a call half an hour ago. The governor’s office. They’re getting pressure from Washington to keep this under wraps.”
    “Too late. It’s already on CNN.”
    “That’s what I said to him.”
    “So you’re not gonna talk to the press at all?”
    “Do we have a choice?”
    “We always have a choice,” said Jane. “What do
you
want to do?”
    Maura rose from the sofa and went to stand beside Jane at the window. They both watched as a cameraman began to haul out equipment from the van, preparing for the invasion of Maura’s front lawn.
    “The easy choice,” said Maura, “is to simply tell them
no comment
.”
    “No one can force us to talk.”
    Maura mulled this over as they watched a second TV van arrive. “But isn’t that how all of this happened?” she asked. “Too many secrets. Too many people not telling the truth. When you shine a bright light, a secret loses all its power.”
    The way Nicholas Clock did with his video, thought Jane. Shining the light of truth had cost him his life. But it had saved his son.
    “You know, Maura, that’s exactly what you’re so good at. You shine a light, and you make the dead give up their secrets.”
    “The trouble is,
the dead
are the only relationships I seem to have. I need someone whose body temperature is a little warmer than ambient. I don’t think I’m going to find him in this city.”
    “I’d hate it if you left Boston.”
    “You have a family here, Jane. I don’t.”
    “If you want a family, I’ll give you my parents. Let them drive
you
crazy. And I’ll even throw in Frankie, so you can share the joy.”
    Maura laughed. “That particular joy is yours, and yours alone.”
    “The point is, a family doesn’t automatically make us happy. Doesn’t your work matter, too? And …” She paused. Added quietly: “And your friends?”
    On the street outside, yet another TV van pulled up, and they heard the sound of slamming vehicle doors.
    “Maura,” said Jane, “I haven’t been a good enough friend. I know that. I swear, I’ll do better next time.” She went to the coffee table for Maura’s wineglass, for her own bottle of beer. “So let’s drink to friends being friends.”
    Smiling, they clinked glass against bottle and sipped.
    Jane’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her purse and saw a Maine area code on the display. “Rizzoli,” she answered.
    “Detective, this is Dr. Stein, Eastern Maine Medical Center. I’m the neurologist