Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

For Christmas.”
    “
Gave
them to you? Sure.”
    “She
did
.”
    “They’re worth about five hundred bucks. Pretty nice bonus.”
    “She didn’t want them anymore. Said I could have them.”
    “Or did she suddenly find out you’d stolen them? Maybe that’s the reason Andres had to kill them. To keep them quiet so you wouldn’t get arrested.”
    Maria’s head came up, her eyes swollen and damp, her face flushed with rage. “You are a
devil
!”
    “I’m just trying to keep this city safe.”
    “By making up lies? You don’t know me. You don’t know Andres.”
    “I know he was a criminal. I know he ran from us. That tells me he was guilty.”
    “He was
afraid
.”
    “Of what?”
    “Colombia. He couldn’t go back to Colombia. They would kill him there.”
    “So he chose to die here, instead?”
    Maria dropped her face in her hands. “He wanted to live,” she sobbed. “He wanted to be left alone.”
    “Tell the truth, Maria.”
    “That
is
the truth.”
    “Tell the truth, or …” Crowe paused at Moore’s touch on his shoulder. Though no words were exchanged between the two men, Jane saw the look that passed between them. Saw Moore’s disapproving shake of the head, answered by Crowe’s glare.
    Abruptly Crowe straightened. “Think about it, Maria,” he said, and walked out of the room.
    “Man,” Frost muttered beside Jane. “That’s one asshole on steroids.”
    Through the one-way mirror, Jane watched as Moore sat with Maria. He offered no comforting touch, no reassuring words, as the woman continued to sob, hugging herself as though to stop her shaking.
    “There’s not enough evidence here,” said Jane.
    “The fingerprints on the kitchen door?” said Frost. “The fact he ran from us?”
    “Give me a break. You sound like Crowe.”
    “And those earrings. Who gives their housekeeper an expensive gift like that?”
    “Maybe it’s true. Maybe Mrs. Ackerman was a generous woman. We can’t disprove it. And think about that house, all the things Zapata could have stolen, if this really was a robbery. Even the jewelry box was left.”
    “He got spooked. Ran before he could take anything.”
    “Does that sound plausible? It’s gotta bother you. It sure as hell bothers me.”
    In the next room, Maria slowly rose to her feet, steadied by Moore’s hand. As he guided the housekeeper out the door, Jane said quietly: “It bothers Moore, too.”
    “The trouble is, you don’t have anything else to go on. Just a bad feeling.”
    That wasn’t enough, but it was also something she couldn’t ignore. A bad feeling was your subconscious telling you you’d missed something, a vital detail that could change the course of an investigation.
    It could change lives.
    Her phone rang. When she looked at the caller’s name, she had another bad feeling. “Frankie,” she answered with a sigh.
    “I’ve called you twice and you didn’t pick up.”
    “I’ve been busy.”
Chasing suspects. Watching a man die
.
    “Yeah, well, now it’s too late. It’s all hitting the fan.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “We’re at Mom’s, and Korsak’s just arrived.”
    “
We
? You mean Dad’s there, too?”
    “Yeah. They’re all yelling at each other.”
    “Jesus, Frankie. You’ve gotta keep Dad and Korsak apart. And get one of them out of there.”
    “I swear they’re gonna kill each other, Jane.”
    “Okay, okay. I’ll be right there.” She hung up.
    “Remember. There’s nothing more dangerous than a domestic call,” said Frost, spectacularly unhelpful.
    “I just hope I won’t have to call a lawyer.”
    “For your dad?”
    “For me. After I kill him.”

TWENTY
 
    A S JANE STEPPED OUT OF HER CAR, SHE COULD ALREADY HEAR THE shouting. She hurried past three familiar vehicles parked at crazy angles in front of her mother’s house and banged on the front door. Banged again when no one answered, probably because they’d gone deaf inside from the racket.
    “Finally, the police arrive,” said a cranky voice behind her.
    Jane turned to see Angela’s next-door neighbor, Mrs. Kaminsky, glaring at her from the sidewalk. The woman had looked ancient twenty years ago, and the passage of decades had changed nothing, as if she’d been frozen in time, her face forever cemented in a scowl.
    “This neighborhood’s gone all to pot,” said Mrs. Kaminsky. “All this running around with strange men.”
    “Excuse me?” said Jane.
    “Your mother used to be respectable. A good married