Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

serious.
    “Today, Jackals, we have a
real
forensic investigator joining us,” said Julian. “Dr. Isles works at the medical examiner’s office in Boston, where she performs autopsies. She’s a medical doctor. A forensic pathologist. A scientist. And …” He looked at her with pride. “She’s my friend.”
    My friend
. Two such simple words, yet the way he’d said them held a far deeper meaning for both of them. She stood up, smiling, and addressed the club with the same respect that they regarded her.
    “Thank you for the introduction, Julian. As he told you, I’m a pathologist. I work with the dead. I examine human remains on the autopsy table, and I look at tissues under the microscope, to understand why people die. Whether it was the natural result of a disease process. Or whether it was caused by trauma or toxins. Poisons. Since my scientific background is medicine, I can advise you on …” She paused, glimpsing movement in the hallway. A flash of blond hair. “Claire?” she called out. “Would you like to join us?”
    All the boys turned at once to look at the doorway. Claire could hardly slip away unnoticed, so she gave a shrug, as if she had nothing better to do anyway. She walked straight to the front row and dropped indifferently into the chair next to Will. All the boys were still staring at this exotic creature who’d just wandered into their midst. Indeed, thought Maura, Claire Ward
was
a strange girl. With her white-blond hair and pale eyelashes, she looked otherworldly, like some forest nymph. But her bored expression and slouched shoulders radiated pure American teenager.
    Claire looked around at the speechless boys. “Do you guys actually
do
something at these meetings, or do you just stare?”
    Julian said, “We’re about to discuss what we found in the willow tree.”
    “Which I had nothing to do with. No matter what anyone says.”
    “We just follow the evidence, Claire. Wherever it leads us.” He looked at Maura. “I thought, since you’re the medical expert, you could start by telling us the cause of death.”
    Maura frowned. “Cause of death?”
    “The rooster’s,” called out Bruno. “We already know the manner of his death was homicide. Or chicken-cide, I guess you’d call it. But
how
did he die?”
    Maura looked around at the faces watching her. They’re serious, she thought. They’re actually treating this as a death investigation.
    “You did examine him,” said Arthur. “Didn’t you?”
    “Only briefly,” Maura admitted. “Before Mr. Roman discarded the remains. And based on the angle of his neck, I’d say it was clearly broken.”
    “So would that be death from strangulation or spinal cord trauma?”
    “She just said the neck was snapped,” said Bruno. “I’d call that neurologic, not vascular.”
    “And what about the time of death estimate?” said Lester. “Do you know what the postmortem interval was?”
    Maura looked from face to face, startled by the rush of questions. “Time of death is always tricky, if there are no witnesses. In humans, we look at a number of indicators. Body temperature, rigor mortis, livor mortis—”
    “Have you ever tried doing vitreous potassium on a bird?” asked Bruno.
    She stared at him. “No. No, I can’t say that I have. I admit, I don’t know much about chicken pathology.”
    “Well, at least we have a cause of death, then. But what was thepoint of cutting him open? Why pull out his guts and hang him in the tree?”
    Precisely the question I asked in the clearing
.
    “That issue gets into profiling,” said Julian. “For now, we’ll stick to the physical evidence. I went back into the woods to try and find the body, but I think some scavenger made off with it, so we don’t have the remains to examine. I also searched for footwear impressions around the chicken coop, but I’m sorry to say the rain pretty much wiped those out. So I guess we’ll move on to what you guys found.” He looked at Bruno. “Do you want to go next?”
    As Bruno moved to the front of the class, Maura sat down, feeling like the student who hadn’t done her homework. She had no idea what the bouncy, twitchy little Bruno would have to share. He pulled on latex gloves and reached into a brown paper sack. Out came the three twig dolls, still attached to their twine nooses, and he laid them on the stainless-steel lab counter. Such trivial things, she thought, looking at them now. Under the classroom’s bright fluorescent