The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

see it, all the time.” She smiled as she opened the front door to leave. “He’ll appreciate that.”
             
     
    Christmas lights were twinkling in her living room.
    The garage door cranked open, and Maura saw that Victor’s rental car was parked inside, taking up the right side of the garage, as though it belonged there. As though this was now his house, as well. She pulled in beside it and turned off the engine with an angry twist of the key. Waited for a moment as the door closed again, trying to calm herself for what came next.
    She grabbed her briefcase and stepped out of the car.
    In the house, she took her time hanging up her coat, setting down her purse. Still carrying the briefcase, she walked into the kitchen.
    Victor smiled at her as he dropped ice into a cocktail shaker. “Hey. I’m just mixing your favorite drink for you. Dinner’s already in the oven. I’m trying to prove to you that a man really can be useful around the house.”
    She watched as he rattled ice in the shaker and poured the liquid into a martini glass. He handed her the drink.
    “For the hardworking lady of the house,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her lips.
    She stood perfectly still.
    Slowly he pulled away, his gaze searching her face. “What’s the matter?”
    She set down the glass. “It’s time for you to be honest with me.”
    “Do you think I haven’t been?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “If we’re talking about what went wrong three years ago—the mistakes I made—”
    “This isn’t about what happened then. This is about now. Whether you’re being honest with me now.”
    He gave a bewildered laugh. “What did I do wrong this time? What am I supposed to apologize for? Because I’ll be happy to do it, if that’s what you want. Hell, I’ll even apologize for things I
haven’t
done.”
    “I’m not asking for an apology, Victor.” She reached into her briefcase for the file that Gabriel Dean had lent her, and held it out to him. “I just want you to tell me about this.”
    “What is this?”
    “It’s a police file, transmitted from Interpol. Concerning a mass slaughter last year, in India. In a small village, outside Hyderabad.”
    He opened the folder to the first photograph, and winced at the image. Without a word, he turned to the next one, and the next.
    “Victor?”
    He closed the file and looked at her. “What am I supposed to say about this?”
    “You knew about this massacre, didn’t you?”
    “Of course I knew. That was a One Earth clinic they attacked. We lost two volunteers there. Two nurses. It’s my job to know about it.”
    “You didn’t tell me.”
    “It happened a year ago. Why should I?”
    “Because it’s relevant to our investigation. One of the nuns attacked at Graystones Abbey worked in that same One Earth clinic. You knew that, didn’t you?”
    “How many volunteers do you think work for One Earth? We have thousands of medical personnel, in over eighty countries.”
    “Just tell me, Victor. Did you know Sister Ursula worked for One Earth?”
    He turned and paced over to the sink. There he stood staring out the window, although there was nothing to see, only darkness beyond.
    “It’s interesting,” she said. “After the divorce, I never heard from you. Not one word.”
    “Do I need to point out that you never bothered to contact me, either?”
    “Not a letter, not a phone call. If I wanted the latest news about you, I had to read it in
People
magazine. Victor Banks, the saint of humanitarian causes.”
    “I didn’t anoint myself, Maura. You can’t hold that against me.”
    “And then suddenly, out of the blue, you show up here in Boston, anxious to see me. Just as I start work on this homicide case.”
    He turned to look at her. “You don’t think I wanted to see you?”
    “You waited three years.”
    “Yes. Three years too long.”
    “Why now?”
    He searched her face, as though hoping to see some trace of understanding. “I’ve missed you, Maura. I really have.”
    “But that’s not the original reason you came to see me. Is it?”
    A long pause. “No. It wasn’t.”
    Suddenly exhausted, she sank into a chair at the kitchen table and gazed down at the folder containing the damning photograph. “Then why did you?”
    “I was in my hotel room, getting dressed, and the TV was on. I heard the news about the attack on the convent. I saw you there, on camera. At the crime scene.”
    “That was the day you left the first message