The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

drummed across the ceiling, moving back the way they had come.
    “It’s headed into the other wing!” said Rizzoli.
    With Rizzoli in the lead, they pushed through a door at the end of the hallway, and Rizzoli flipped on the light switch. They gazed down a deserted corridor. It was chilly in here, the air closed-in and damp. Through open doorways, they saw abandoned rooms and the ghostly shapes of sheet-draped furniture.
    Whatever had fled into this wing was now silent, revealing no hint of its whereabouts.
    “Your team searched this end of the building?” Maura asked.
    “We made a sweep of all these rooms.”
    “What’s upstairs? Above this ceiling?”
    “It’s just attic space.”
    “Well, something’s moving up there,” Maura said softly. “And it’s intelligent enough to know we were chasing it.”
             
     
    Maura and Rizzoli crouched in the chapel’s upper gallery, studying the mahogany panel that Mary Clement had told them would lead to the building’s crawl space. Rizzoli gave the panel a gentle push; noiselessly it swung open, and they stared into the darkness beyond, listening for sounds of movement. A whisper of warmth touched their faces. The crawl space was a trap for the building’s rising heat, and they could feel it spilling out through the panel opening.
    Rizzoli shone her flashlight into the space. They glimpsed massive timbers and the pink matting of newly installed insulation. Electrical wires snaked across the floor.
    Rizzoli was first to step through the opening. Maura turned on her own flashlight and followed. The space was not tall enough for her to stand up straight; she had to keep her head bent to avoid the oak beams arching across the ceiling. Their lights swept in wide arcs, carving a circle in the darkness. Beyond that circle was unseen frontier; Maura could feel her breaths coming too fast. The low ceiling, the stale air, made her feel entombed.
    She almost jumped when she felt a hand touch her arm. Wordlessly, Rizzoli pointed to the right.
    Timbers creaked under their weight as they moved through shadows, Rizzoli in the lead.
    “Wait,” whispered Maura. “Shouldn’t you call for backup?”
    “Why?”
    “For whatever’s up here.”
    “I’m not calling for backup, if all we’re hunting down is just some stupid raccoon. . . .” She paused, her flashlight arcing left, then right. “I think we’re over the west wing now. It’s getting nice and warm up here. Turn off your flashlight.”
    “What?”
    “Turn it off. I want to check out something.”
    Reluctantly, Maura switched off her light. So did Rizzoli.
    In the sudden blackness, Maura felt her pulse throbbing.
We can’t see what’s around us. What might be moving toward us.
She blinked, trying to force her eyes to accommodate to the darkness. Then she noticed the light—slivers of it, shining through cracks in the floor. Here and there, a wider shaft, where the boards had pulled apart, or where knotholes had contracted in the dry winter air.
    Rizzoli’s footsteps creaked away. Her shadowy form suddenly dropped to a crouch, her head bent toward the floor. For a moment she held that pose, then she gave a soft laugh. “Hey. It’s just like peeking into the boys’ locker room at Revere High.”
    “What are you looking at?”
    “Camille’s room. We’re right above it. There’s a knothole here.”
    Maura eased her way through the darkness, to where Rizzoli was crouched. Dropping to her knees, Maura peered through the opening.
    She was staring down directly at Camille’s desk.
    She straightened, a chill suddenly running its cold fingers up her spine.
Whatever was up here could see me, in that room. It was watching me.
    Thump-thump-thump.
    Rizzoli spun around so fast, her elbow slammed into Maura.
    Maura fumbled to turn on her flashlight, her beam jerking in all directions as she hunted for whoever—whatever—was in this crawlspace with them. She caught glimpses of feathery cobwebs, of massive crossbeams, hanging low overhead. It was so warm up here, the air close and stifling, and the sense of suffocation fed her panic.
    She and Rizzoli had instinctively moved into defensive positions, back to back, and Maura could feel Rizzoli’s tense muscles, could hear her rapid breathing as they both scanned the darkness. Searching for the gleam of eyes, a feral face.
    So swiftly did Maura scan her surroundings, she missed it in the first sweep of her flashlight. It was only as she brought it