Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

glittering bits of sand scattered on the toilet seat. She touched it and stared at white granules adhering to her fingers. Noticed that there were more granules sparkling on the bathroom tiles.
    Something had been emptied into the toilet.
    She went back into the office and looked at the tea tray on the side table. Remembered how Anna had brewed herbal tea in that china pot and poured three cups. Remembered that Anna had added three generous teaspoons of sugar to her own cup, an extravagance that had caught Maura’s eye. She lifted the lid to the sugar bowl. It was empty.
    Why would Anna pour the sugar into the toilet?
    The telephone rang on Anna’s desk, startling both her and Julian. They glanced at each other, both rattled that someone was calling a dead woman.
    Maura answered it. “Evensong School. This is Dr. Isles.”
    “You didn’t call me back,” said Jane Rizzoli.
    “Was I supposed to?”
    “I left a message with Dr. Welliver hours ago. Figured I’d better try again before it got too late.”
    “You spoke to Anna? When?”
    “Around five, five thirty.”
    “Jane, something awful’s happened, and—”
    “Teddy’s okay, right?” Jane cut in.
    “Yes. Yes, he’s fine.”
    “Then what is it?”
    “Anna Welliver is dead. It looks like a suicide. She jumped off the roof.”
    There was a long pause. In the background, Maura could hear the sound of the TV, running water and the clatter of dishes. Domestic sounds that made her suddenly miss her own home, her own kitchen.
    “Jesus,” Jane finally managed to say.
    Maura looked down at the sugar bowl. Pictured Anna emptying it into the toilet and walking back into this room. Opening the roof door and stepping outside, to take a short walk to eternity.
    “Why would she commit suicide?” asked Jane.
    Maura was still staring at the empty sugar bowl. And she said: “I’m not convinced she did.”

TWENTY-TWO
 
    A RE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO BE HERE FOR THIS, DR. ISLES?”
    They stood in the morgue anteroom, surrounded by supply cabinets filled with gloves and masks and shoe covers. Maura had donned a scrub top and pants from the locker room, and she was already tucking her hair into a paper cap.
    “I’ll send you the final report,” said Dr. Owen. “And I’ll order a comprehensive tox screen, as you suggested. You’re welcome to stay, of course, but it seems to me …”
    “I’m only here to observe, not interfere,” said Maura. “This is entirely your show.”
    Beneath her bouffant paper cap, Dr. Owen flushed. Even under harsh fluorescent lights it was a youthful face with enviably smooth skin that had no need for all the camouflaging creams and powders that had started to creep into Maura’s bathroom cabinet. “I didn’t mean it that way,” said Dr. Owen. “I’m just thinking about the fact you knew her personally. That has to make this hard for you.”
    Through the viewing window, Maura watched Dr. Owen’s assistant,a burly young man, assembling the instrument tray. On the table lay the corpse of Anna Welliver, still fully dressed. How many cadavers have I sliced open, she wondered, how many scalps have I peeled away from skulls? So many that she had lost track. But they were all strangers, with whom she shared no memories. She had known Anna, though. She knew her voice and her smile and had seen the gleam of life in her eyes. This was an autopsy any pathologist would avoid, yet here she was, donning shoe covers and safety glasses and mask.
    “I owe this to her,” she said.
    “I doubt there’ll be any surprises. We know how she died.”
    “But not what led up to it.”
    “This won’t give us that answer.”
    “An hour before she jumped, she was acting strangely on the phone. She told Detective Rizzoli that food didn’t taste right. And she saw birds, strange birds, flying outside her window. I’m wondering if those were hallucinations.”
    “That’s the reason you asked for the tox screen?”
    “We didn’t find any drugs in her possession, but there’s a chance we missed something. Or she hid them.”
    They pushed through the door into the autopsy room, and Dr. Owen said: “Randy, we’ve got a distinguished guest today. Dr. Isles is from the ME’s office in Boston.”
    The young man gave an unimpressed nod and asked: “Who’s going to cut?”
    “This is Dr. Owen’s case,” said Maura. “I’m just here to observe.”
    Accustomed to being in command in her own morgue, Maura had to resist the urge to claim her