The Mephisto Club

other.
    She crossed the street, toward the circle of cops. Only then did Daniel see her. So did the other men, and they all fell silent as she approached. Though she dealt with police officers every day, saw them at every crime scene, she had never felt entirely comfortable with them, or they with her. That mutual discomfort was never more obvious than at this moment, when she felt their gazes on her. She could guess what they thought of her. The chilly Dr. Isles, never a barrel of laughs. Or maybe they were intimidated; maybe it was the MD behind her name that set her apart, made her unapproachable.
    Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe they are afraid of me.
    “The morgue van should be here any minute,” she said, opening the conversation on pure business. “If you could make room for it on the street.”
    “Sure thing, Doc,” one of the cops said, and coughed.
    Another silence followed, the cops looking off in other directions, everywhere but at her, their feet shuffling on cold pavement.
    “Well, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be waiting in my car.” She didn’t cast a glance at Daniel, but simply turned and walked away.
    “Maura?”
    She glanced back at the sound of his voice, and saw that the cops were still watching.
There’s always an audience,
she thought.
Daniel and I are never alone.
    “What do you know so far?” he asked.
    She hesitated, aware of all the eyes. “Not much more than anyone else, at this point.”
    “Can we talk about it? It might help me comfort Officer Lyall if I knew more about what happened.”
    “It’s awkward. I’m not sure…”
    “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable revealing.”
    She hesitated. “Let’s sit in my car. It’s right down the street.”
    They walked together, hands thrust in pockets, heads bent against icy gusts. She thought of Eve Kassovitz, lying alone in the courtyard, her corpse already chilled, her blood freezing in her veins. On this night, in this wind, no one wanted to keep company with the dead. They reached her car and slid inside. She turned on the engine to run the heater, but the air that puffed through the vents offered no warmth.
    “Officer Lyall was her boyfriend?” she asked.
    “He’s devastated. I don’t think I was able to offer much comfort.”
    “I couldn’t do your job, Daniel. I’m not good at dealing with grief.”
    “But you do deal with it. You have to.”
    “Not on the level you do, when it’s still so raw, so fresh. I’m the one they expect all the answers from, not the one they call in to give comfort.” She looked at him. In the gloom of her car he was just a silhouette. “The last Boston PD chaplain lasted only two years. I’m sure the stress contributed to his stroke.”
    “Father Roy
was
sixty-five, you know.”
    “And he looked eighty the last time I saw him.”
    “Well, taking night calls isn’t easy,” he admitted, his breath steaming the window. “It’s not easy for cops, either. Or doctors or firemen. But it’s not all bad,” he added with a soft laugh, “since going to death scenes is the only time I ever get to see you.”
    Although she could not read his eyes, she felt his gaze on her face and was grateful for the darkness.
    “You used to visit me,” he said. “Why did you stop?”
    “I came for midnight Mass, didn’t I?”
    He gave a weary laugh. “Everyone shows up at Christmas. Even the ones who don’t believe.”
    “But I
was
there. I wasn’t avoiding you.”
    “Have you been, Maura? Avoiding me?”
    She said nothing. For a moment they regarded each other in the gloom of her car. The air blowing from the vent had barely warmed and her fingers were still numb, but she could feel heat rise to her cheeks.
    “I know what’s going on,” he said quietly.
    “You have no idea.”
    “I’m just as human as you are, Maura.”
    Suddenly she laughed. It was a bitter sound. “Well,
this
is a cliché. The priest and the woman parishioner.”
    “Don’t reduce it to that.”
    “But it is a cliché. It’s probably happened a thousand times before. Priests and bored housewives. Priests and lonely widows. Is it the first time for you, Daniel? Because it sure as hell is the first time for me.” Suddenly ashamed that she had turned her anger on him, she looked away. What had he done, really, except offer her his friendship, his attention?
I am the architect of my own unhappiness.
    “If it makes you feel any better,” he said quietly, “you’re not