The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

him.
    They were silent as they pulled on their coats and walked out of Doyle’s, emerging from the cloud of cigarette smoke into a night that sparkled with fresh snow. Up the street, a cruiser pulled out of the Jamaica Plain station, its blue lights veiled by a beaded curtain of falling flakes. They watched the cruiser swoop away down the street, and Rizzoli wondered what crisis awaited it. Somewhere there was always a crisis. Couples screaming, wrangling. Lost children. Stunned drivers huddled beside their smashed cars. So many different lives intersecting in a myriad of ways. Most people were wrapped up in their own little corners of the universe. A cop sees it all.
    “So what’re you doing for Christmas?” he said.
    “Going to my parents’ house. My brother Frankie’s in town for the holidays.”
    “That’s the one who’s a Marine, right?”
    “Yeah. Whenever he shows up, the whole family’s supposed to get down on our knees and worship him.”
    “Ouch. Little sibling rivalry there?”
    “Naw, I lost that contest a long time ago. Frankie’s king of the hill. So what’re you doing for Christmas?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    There was an unmistakable plea for an invitation in that answer. Save me from a lonely Christmas. Save me from my own screwed-up life. But she couldn’t save him. She couldn’t even save herself.
    “I got a few plans,” he quickly added, too proud to let the silence stretch on. “Maybe head down to Florida and see my sister.”
    “That sounds good.” She sighed, her breath a cloud of steam. “Well, I gotta go home and get some sleep.”
    “You want to get together again sometime, you got my cell phone number, right?”
    “Yeah, I’ve got it. Have a great Christmas.” She walked to her car.
    “Uh, Rizzoli?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I know you still got a thing for Dean. I’m sorry I said those things about him. I just think you could do better.”
    She laughed. “Like there’s a line of guys waiting outside my door.”
    “Well,” he said, staring up the street. Suddenly avoiding her gaze. “There is one guy.”
    She went very still, thinking: Please don’t do this to me. Please don’t make me hurt you.
    Before she could respond, he abruptly turned to his car. He gave her a careless wave as he circled to his door and ducked inside. She stared as he drove away, his tires trailing a glittering cloud of snow.

E LEVEN
     
    I T WAS AFTER SEVEN that evening when Maura finally arrived home. As she turned into her driveway, she could see lights blazing in her house. Not the paltry glow of a few bulbs switched on by automatic timers, but the cheery incandescence of many lamps burning, of someone waiting for her. And through the living room curtains, she could make out a pyramid of multicolored lights.
    A Christmas tree.
    That was the last thing she had expected to see, and she paused in the driveway, staring at the twinkling colors, remembering the Christmases when she had put up the tree for Victor, when she had lifted delicate globes from their packing nests and hung them on branches that perfumed her fingers with the tart scent of pine. She remembered Christmases before that, when she was a child, and her father would lift her on his shoulders, so she could place the silver star on top of the tree. Not once had her parents skipped that happy tradition, yet how quickly she had let it slip from her own life. It was too messy, too much work. The hauling in of the tree, the hauling out, and then it was just another dried brown discard waiting on the curb for trash pickup. She had let the troublesome aspects deter her. She had forgotten about the joy.
    She stepped from the cold garage into the house, and was greeted by the scent of roasting chicken and garlic and rosemary. How good it felt to be greeted by the smells of supper, to have someone waiting for her. She heard the TV on in the living room, and she followed the sound, pulling off her coat as she headed down the hallway.
    Victor was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the tree, trying to untangle a clump of tinsel. He saw her and gave a resigned laugh.
    “I’m no better at this than when we were married.”
    “I didn’t expect all this,” she said, looking up at the lights.
    “Well, I thought, here it is, December eighteenth, and you don’t even have a tree yet.”
    “I haven’t had time to put one up.”
    “There’s always time for Christmas, Maura.”
    “This is quite a change. You used