The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

course they thought I should be held responsible. They sued the university, but that didn’t bring their daughter back. In the end, it probably caused her father’s heart attack. Her mother died a few years after that.” He shook his head. “It was the strangest thing, how the desert just swallowed that girl up. She waved goodbye one afternoon, rode off on her motorbike, and vanished.” He looked at Jane. “And now you say her body’s turned up in Boston?”
    “But we believe she was killed here, in New Mexico.”
    “So many years ago. And now we finally learn the truth.”
    “Not all of it. That’s why we’re here.”
    “There was a detective back then who questioned us. I think his name was McDonald or something. Have you spoken to him?”
    “His name was McDowell. He died two years ago, but we have all his notes.”
    “Oh, dear. And he was younger than me, too. They were all younger than me, and now they’re dead. Lorraine. Her parents.” He looked at Jane with clear blue eyes. “And here I am, still hale and hearty. You just never know, do you?”
    “Professor, I know it’s been a long time, but we want you to think back to that summer. Tell us about the day she disappeared. And about the students who were working with you.”
    “Detective McDowell interviewed everyone who was here at the time. You must have read his notes.”
    “But you actually knew the students. You must have kept some field notes. A written record of the excavation.”
    Professor Quigley shot a worried look at Frost, whose face had flushed an even brighter shade of scarlet. “Young man, I can see you’re not going to last much longer in this heat. Why don’t we talk in my office, at the Park Service building? It’s air-conditioned.”
             
     
    Lorraine Edgerton stood in the last row in the photograph, shoulder-to-shoulder with the men. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, emphasizing the square jaw and the prominent cheekbones of a deeply tanned face.
    “We called her the Amazon,” said Professor Quigley. “Not because she was particularly strong, but because she was fearless. And I don’t mean just physically. Lorraine would always speak her mind, whether or not it got her into trouble.”
    “Did it get her into trouble?” asked Frost.
    Quigley smiled as he gazed at the faces of his former students, who would now be well into middle age. If they were still alive.
    “Not with me, Detective. I found her honesty refreshing.”
    “Did the others?”
    “You know how it is in any group. There are conflicts and alliances. And these were young people in their twenties, so you have to factor in the hormones. An issue I try my best to stay away from.”
    Jane studied the photograph, which had been taken midway through the dig season. There were two rows of students, the front row crouched on their knees. Everyone looked trim and tanned and healthy in T-shirts and shorts. Standing beside the group was Professor Quigley, his face fuller, his sideburns longer, but already the lanky man he was today.
    “There are a lot more women than men in this group,” Frost noted.
    Quigley nodded. “I find it’s usually that way. Women seem drawn to archaeology more than men, and they’re more willing to do the tedious work of cleaning and sifting.”
    “Tell me about these three men in the photo,” said Jane.
    “What do you remember about them?”
    “You’re wondering if any of them could have killed her.”
    “The short answer would be yes.”
    “Detective McDowell interviewed them all. He found nothing to implicate any of my students.”
    “Nevertheless, I’d like to know what you remember about them.”
    Quigley thought about it for a moment. He pointed to the Asian man beside Lorraine. “Jeff Chu, pre-med. Very bright but impatient sort of boy. I think he got bored out here. He’s a doctor now, in Los Angeles. And this one’s Carl something-or-other. As sloppy as they come. The girls always had to pick up after him. And this third fellow here, Adam Stancioff, was a music major. No talent as an archaeologist, but I remember he played the guitar quite well. The girls liked that.”
    “Lorraine included?” asked Jane.
    “Everyone liked Adam.”
    “I meant, in the romantic sense. Was Lorraine involved with any of these men?”
    “Lorraine had no interest in romance. She was single-minded in the pursuit of her career. That’s what I admired about her. That’s what I wish I saw more of