Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

someplace where their nephew could enjoy the outdoors, breathe fresh air. Gas station, grocery store clerks saw them around town, but to everyone else the Temples were pretty much invisible.”
    “What about their nephew, Will? He must have had friends around here.”
    “Homeschooled. Never got a chance to mix in with any local kids. Besides which, I got the feeling he was sort of different.”
    “How so?”
    “Kind of big and clumsy. A real nerd, if you know what I mean. The night it happened, he told me he was standing out in that field there.” Wyman pointed to the pasture, where the lone deer was leisurely grazing. “He had this fancy telescope set up, and he was looking at the stars or something. Oh, I remember now. He was searching for comets.” Wyman laughed. “Now, I got two teenage boys of myown. And on a Saturday night, the last thing they’d want to do is stand out in a field with no TV and no Facebook.”
    “So Will’s just standing out here by himself in this field, looking at the sky. And the house blows up.”
    “That’s about it. I assumed it was just an accident. Furnace, propane tank, something like that. Then the fire chief checks it out, and finds what look like incendiary devices. That’s when we called in the State Police Major Crime Unit. It’s all in my report. I’ve brought a copy for you. It’s in the truck.”
    “Their nephew, Will. What did you think of him? I mean, beyond the fact he’s a nerd.”
    “I took a long look at the kid, of course. Wondered if maybe he had issues with his aunt and uncle, maybe wanted to get out from under their thumbs. But we’re pretty sure he couldn’t have done it.”
    “You just told me he’s a smart kid. He could probably figure out how to build a bomb.”
    “Not like this one.”
    “What’s special about it?”
    “Semtex, to start with.”
    That startled her. “Plastic explosives?”
    “Highly sophisticated design. According to the FBI, the components were French. That’s not what a fourteen-year-old kid would use to murder his aunt and uncle.”
    Jane frowned at the blackened timbers. Came to the only possible conclusion.
A professional did this
. “Tell me about the Temples,” she said.
    “They were the boy’s only surviving relatives. Lynn Temple was his mother’s sister. She worked as a librarian near Baltimore. Brian Temple was a physicist, worked at NASA-Goddard in Greenbelt, Maryland, where Will’s father Neil Yablonski also worked. The two men were friends and colleagues, and the couples were pretty close. After the boy’s parents were killed in the plane crash, Lynn and Brian got custody of Will. What happened after that is kind of a puzzle.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Days after the boy’s parents died in the crash both Brian and Lynn quit their jobs. Just like that, Brian leaves a twenty-year career with NASA. They pack up, put their furniture in storage, and leave Baltimore. Few months later, they settled here.”
    “Without jobs? How did they support themselves?”
    “Another good question. The Temples died with five hundred thousand dollars in their bank account. Now, I don’t know how well NASA pays, but that’s quite a nice nest egg, even for a physicist.”
    Daylight was fading. From the woods, two more deer emerged, a doe and her fawn, but they were cautious, eyeing the two humans as they ventured out, step by step, into the field. Come hunting season, that caution might be the extra margin of safety that would keep them alive.
But nothing will save you once you catch the hunter’s eye
.
    “What were the Temples running from?” she said.
    “I don’t know, but it’s pretty obvious they
were
running. Maybe they knew something about that plane crash.”
    “Then why not go to the police?”
    “I have no idea. The Maryland detective I spoke to, the one who investigated the Yablonskis’ deaths, sounded as baffled as I am.”
    “Did Will know why his aunt and uncle moved him here?”
    “They told him Baltimore was a dangerous town, and they wanted to live someplace safer. That’s it.”
    “And this is where they end up,” she said, thinking of collapsing timbers, searing flames. A hellish death at the edge of a quiet wood.
    “The thing is, this
is
a safe town,” said Wyman. “We get our OUIs, our stupid teens doing stupid stuff. Maybe a burglary, or some family hauling off at each other. That’s our police blotter. But this?” He shook his head. “I’ve never dealt with anything