The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

they had in common, the one prey they both wanted, but could never catch. Even after Bradley died, Jimmy never stopped looking for her.”
    “But instead he found her daughter.”
    “He probably spotted Josephine’s photo in the newspaper. She’s the spitting image of Medea, and she’s the right age to be her daughter. She’s even in the same profession. It wouldn’t take much digging to learn that Josephine wasn’t who she claimed to be. So he watched her, waiting to see if her mother would turn up.”
    Frost shook his head. “That was some crazy obsession he had with Medea. After all these years, you’d think he’d move on.”
    “Remember Cleopatra? Helen of Troy? Men were obsessed with them, too.”
    “Helen of Troy?” He laughed. “Man, this archaeology thing is rubbing off on you. You sound like Dr. Robinson.”
    “The point is, men get obsessed. A guy will cling to a particular woman for years.” She added, quietly: “Even a woman who doesn’t love him.”
    His face reddened and he looked away.
    “Some people just can’t move on,” she said, “and they waste their lives waiting for someone they can’t have.” She thought of Maura Isles, another person who wanted someone she couldn’t have, who was trapped by her own desires, her own poor choice of a lover. On the night Maura had needed him, Father Daniel Brophy was not there for her. Instead, it was Anthony Sansone who had taken her into his house. It was Sansone who had called Jane to confirm it was safe to let Maura return home. Sometimes, thought Jane, the person who could make you happiest is the one you overlook, the one who waits patiently in the wings.
    They heard a knock on the door, and Alice stepped in. Dressed in a sleek skirt suit, she looked blonder and more stunning than Jane remembered, but her beauty had no warmth. She held herself like marble, perfectly chiseled, meant only for looking but not touching. The women exchanged tense but polite greetings, like two rivals for the same man’s attention. For years they had shared Frost, Jane as his partner, Alice as his wife, yet Jane felt no connection with this woman.
    She stood to leave, but as she reached the door, she couldn’t resist a parting remark. “Be nice to him. He’s a hero.”

    Frost saved me, now I’m going to have to save him, Jane thought as she walked out of the hospital and climbed into her car. Alice was going to shatter his heart, the way you shatter flesh with liquid nitrogen and a sharp whack with a hammer. Jane had seen it in Alice’s eyes, the grim resolve of a wife who’s already left the marriage and was only there to wrap up the final details.
    He’d need a friend tonight. She would come back later, to pick up the pieces.
    She started her car and her cell phone rang. The number was unfamiliar.
    So was the voice of the man who greeted her on the line. “I think you’ve made a big mistake, Detective,” he said.
    “Excuse me? Who am I speaking to?”
    “Detective Potrero, San Diego PD. I just got off the phone with Detective Crowe, and I heard how it all went down there. You claim you took out Jimmy Otto.”
    “I didn’t. My partner did.”
    “Yeah, well, whoever you shot, it wasn’t Jimmy Otto. Because he died here twelve years ago. I ran that investigation, so I know. And I need to question the woman who killed him. Is she in custody?”
    “Medea Sommer isn’t going anywhere. She’ll be right here in Boston, anytime you want to come out and talk to her. I can assure you, the shooting in San Diego was absolutely justified. It was self-defense. And the man she shot wasn’t Jimmy Otto. It was a guy named Bradley Rose.”
    “No, it wasn’t. Jimmy’s own sister ID’d him.”
    “Carrie Otto lied to you. That wasn’t her brother.”
    “We have DNA to prove it.”
    Jane paused. “What DNA?”
    “The report wasn’t included in that file we sent you, because the test was completed months after we closed our case. You see, Jimmy was a murder suspect in another jurisdiction. They contacted us because they wanted to be absolutely sure their suspect was dead. They asked Jimmy’s sister to provide a DNA sample.”
    “Carrie’s DNA?”
    Potrero gave an impatient sigh, as though speaking to a moron.
    “Yes, Detective Rizzoli. Her DNA. They wanted to prove the dead man really was her brother. Carrie Otto mailed in a cheek swab, and we ran it against the victim’s. It was a family match.”
    “That can’t be right.”
    “Hey,