Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

Forensic Pathology
. Daljeet talks about you all the time, so I feel like I already know you.”
    “How is Daljeet?”
    “He’s in Alaska this week, on vacation. Otherwise he’d be here himself.”
    Maura said, with an ironic laugh, “And this was supposed to be
my
vacation.”
    “That’s got to suck. Come to Maine and the dead bodies follow you.” Dr. Owen pulled shoe covers out of her pocket and, with the grace of a dancer, easily slipped them on while balancing on one leg, then the other. Like so many young female physicians now transforming the face of the medical profession, Dr. Owen seemed smart, athletic, and sure of herself. “Detective Holland already briefed me over the phone. Did you see this coming? Notice any signs of suicidal ideation, depression?”
    “No. I’m as shocked as everyone else here. Dr. Welliver seemed perfectly fine to me. The only thing different today is that she didn’t come down to dinner.”
    “And the last time you saw her?”
    “At lunchtime. I believe she had her last student appointment of the day at one o’clock. No one saw her after that. Until she jumped.”
    “Do you have any theories? Any idea why she’d do this?”
    “Absolutely none. We’re all baffled.”
    “Well,” the woman said, “if an expert like Dr. Isles is in the dark, then we’ve
really
got a mystery.” She pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Detective Holland told me there was a witness.”
    “One of the students saw it happen.”
    “Oh God. That’ll give the kid nightmares.”
    As if Claire Ward didn’t already have her share of them, thought Maura.
    Dr. Owen looked up at the building, the windows lit up against the night sky. “Wow. I’ve never been out here before. I didn’t even know this school existed. It looks like a castle.”
    “Built in the nineteenth century as a railroad baron’s estate. Judging by the Gothic architecture, I think he fancied himself as royalty.”
    “Do you know where she jumped from?”
    “The roof walk. It leads off the turret, where her office is located.”
    Dr. Owen stared up at the turret, where Welliver’s office lights were still shining. “That looks like it’s about seventy feet, maybe even higher. What do you think, Dr. Isles?”
    “I’d agree.”
    As they followed the path around the side of the building, Maura wondered when she’d assumed the role of Senior Authority, a status made apparent whenever the young woman addressed her as
Dr. Isles
. Up ahead were the flashlight beams of the two Maine State Police detectives. The body lying at their feet was covered with a plastic sheet.
    “Evening, gentlemen,” said Dr. Owen.
    “Ain’t it always the shrinks who do this sort of thing?” one of the detectives said.
    “She was a shrink?”
    “Dr. Welliver was the school psychologist,” said Maura.
    The detective grunted. “As I was saying. I guess there’s a reason they choose the field.”
    As Dr. Owen lifted up the sheet, both cops aimed their flashlights to illuminate the body. Anna Welliver lay on her back, face exposed to the glare, her hair splayed about her head like a wiry gray nest. Maura glanced up at the third-floor dormitory windows and saw the silhouettes of students staring down at a sight that children should never have to see.
    “Dr. Isles?” Dr. Owen offered Maura a pair of gloves. “If you’d like to join me.”
    It was an invitation Maura didn’t particularly welcome, but she pulled on the gloves and crouched down beside her younger colleague. Together they palpated the skull, examined the limbs, tallied up the obvious fractures.
    “All we want to know is: accident or suicide?” said one of the detectives.
    “You’ve already ruled out homicide, have you?” said Dr. Owen.
    He nodded. “We talked to the witness. Girl named Claire Ward, age thirteen. She was outside, standing right here when it happened, and she didn’t see anyone else on the roof but the victim. Said the woman spread her arms and took a dive.” He pointed up toward the brightly lit turret. “The door leading from her office was wide open, and we saw no signs of a struggle. She stepped out onto the roof walk, climbed over the railing, and jumped.”
    “Why?”
    The detective shrugged. “That I’ll leave to the shrinks. The ones who
haven’t
jumped.”
    Dr. Owen quickly rose back to her feet, but Maura felt her own age as she stood up more slowly, her right knee stiff from too many summers of gardening, from four decades of