The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

apparently during thunderstorms.” Maura turned to look at the car where Josephine was now sitting. “She’s a very attractive girl, don’t you think?”
    “Attractive? More like drop-dead gorgeous. I’m going to have to put Frost on a leash, the way he’s panting after her.”
    Maura was still gazing toward Josephine, her frown deepening. “There’s been a great deal of publicity about Madam X. That big article in the
Globe
back in March. More news reports these past few weeks, with photos.”
    “You mean photos of Josephine.”
    Maura nodded. “Maybe she’s picked up an admirer.”
    One particular admirer, thought Jane. Someone who’d known all along what was hidden in the museum basement. The publicity about Madam X would certainly have drawn his attention. He would have read every article, perused every photo. He would have seen Josephine’s face.
    She looked down at the trunk, grateful that it was now closed and she did not have to see the wretched occupant, its body twisted as though in the throes of agony. “I think our collector has just sent us a message. He’s telling us he’s still alive. And hunting for new specimens.”
    “He’s also telling us he’s right here in Boston.” Once again, Maura turned to look in Josephine’s direction. “You said she lost her keys. Which keys?”
    “To her car. And her apartment.”
    Maura’s chin lifted in dismay. “That’s not good.”
    “Her locks are being changed as we speak. We’ve already spoken to her building manager, and we’ll see that she gets home safely.”
    Maura’s cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number. “Excuse me,” she said, turning away to take the call. Jane noted the furtive dip of Maura’s head, the way her shoulders curled forward, as though to block anyone’s view of her conversation.
    “What about Saturday night, can you make it then? It’s been so long…”
    It was the whispers that gave her away. She was talking to Daniel Brophy, but Jane heard no joy in the murmured conversation, only disappointment.
What else but disappointment can you expect when you fall in love with an unattainable man?
    Maura ended the conversation with a soft, “I’ll call you later.” She turned to face Jane but didn’t meet her gaze. Instead she focused her attention on the Honda. A dead body was a safer topic of conversation. Unlike a lover, a corpse would not break her heart or disappoint her or leave her lonely at night.
    “I assume CSU will be examining the trunk?” Maura said, and she was all business now, once again snapping into the role of the coldly logical medical examiner.
    “We’re impounding the vehicle. When will you do the autopsy?”
    “I want to do some preliminary studies first. X-rays, tissue samples. I need to understand exactly what preservation process I’m dealing with before I start cutting her open.”
    “So you won’t do the autopsy today?”
    “It won’t be until after the weekend. By the looks of the body, she’s been dead a long time. A few extra days won’t change the postmortem results.” Maura glanced toward Josephine. “What about Dr. Pulcillo?”
    “We’re still talking to her. After we get her home and into some dry clothes, maybe she’ll remember a few more details.”
             
     
    Josephine Pulcillo is one odd duck, thought Jane as she and Frost stood in the young woman’s apartment, waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom. The living room was furnished in the décor of
starving college student.
The fabric of the sleeper sofa was ratty from the claws of some phantom cat, and the coffee table was stained with drink rings. There were textbooks and technical journals lining the bookshelves, but Jane saw no photographs, no personal mementos, nothing that gave any clues to the occupant’s personality. On the computer, screensaver images of Egyptian temples cycled in a continuous loop.
    When Josephine at last reappeared, her damp hair was tamed into a ponytail. Though she wore fresh jeans and a cotton pullover, she still looked chilled, her face as rigid as a stone carving. A statue of an Egyptian queen, perhaps, or some mythical beauty; Frost openly stared, as though he were in the presence of a goddess. If his wife, Alice, were here, she’d probably give him a swift and badly needed kick in the shins.
Maybe I should do it on Alice’s behalf.
    “Are you feeling better, Dr. Pulcillo?” he asked. “Do you need some more time before we talk about