The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

with my secretary. That same afternoon.”
    He nodded. “God, you were stunning on TV. All wrapped up in that black coat. I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.”
    “But that’s not why you called me, is it? It was the murder you were interested in. You called because I’m the ME on that case.”
    He didn’t answer.
    “You knew one of the victims used to work for One Earth. You wanted to find out what the police knew. What I knew.”
    Still there was no answer.
    “Why didn’t you just ask me about it? What are you trying to hide?”
    He straightened, his gaze suddenly challenging hers. “Do you have any idea how many lives we save every year?”
    “You’re not answering my question.”
    “How many children we immunize? How many pregnant women get their only prenatal care from our clinics? They depend on us, because they have no alternatives. And One Earth survives only because of the goodwill of its benefactors. Our reputation has to be spotless. One whisper of bad press, and our grant money dries up like
that
.” He snapped his fingers.
    “What does that have to do with this investigation?”
    “I’ve spent the last twenty years building One Earth from nothing, but it’s never been about me. It’s always been about
them
—the people no one else cares about. They’re the ones who matter. That’s why I can’t let anything endanger our funding.”
    Money, she thought. It’s all about money.
    She stared at him. “Your corporate donor.”
    “What?”
    “You told me about it. That you got a huge grant last year, from a corporate donor.”
    “We get grants from a lot of sources—”
    “Was it Octagon Chemicals?”
    The look of shock on his face answered her question. She heard his sudden intake of breath, as though he was preparing to deny it, but then he exhaled without saying a word, the futility of argument leaving him silent.
    “It’s not hard to confirm,” said Maura. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
    He looked down. Gave a tired nod. “Octagon is one of our major donors.”
    “And what do they expect from you? What does One Earth have to do in return for that money?”
    “Why do you think we have to do anything? Our work speaks for itself. Why do you think we’re welcomed in so many countries? Because people trust us. We don’t proselytize, and we don’t muck around in local politics. We’re just there to help them. That’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it? Saving lives?”
    “And Sister Ursula’s life? Does that matter to you?”
    “Of course it does!”
    “She’s now on full life support. One more EEG, and they’ll probably pull the plug. Who wants her dead, Victor?”
    “How should I know?”
    “You seem to know a lot that you never bothered to tell me. You knew one of the victims worked for you.”
    “I didn’t think that was relevant.”
    “You should have let me decide that.”
    “You said you were focusing on the other nun. The young one.
She
was the only victim you talked about. I assumed the attack had nothing to do with Ursula.”
    “You concealed information.”
    “Now you’re talking like a goddamn cop. Are you going to whip out the badge and handcuffs next?”
    “I’m trying
not
to get the police involved. I’m trying to give you a chance to explain.”
    “Why bother? You’ve already passed judgment.”
    “And you’re already acting guilty.”
    He stood very still, his gaze averted, one hand clutching the granite countertop. The seconds ticked by in silence. And she suddenly focused on the wooden block of knives resting just within his reach. Eight Wusthof chef’s knives, which she always kept well honed and ready for use. Never before had she felt afraid of Victor. But the man standing so close to those knives was someone she did not know, did not even recognize.
    She said, quietly, “I think you should leave.”
    He turned to face her. “What are you going to do?”
    “Just leave, Victor.”
    For a moment he didn’t move. She stared at him, her heart hammering, every muscle tensed. Watching his hands, waiting for his next move, the whole time thinking:
No, he wouldn’t hurt me. I don’t believe he’d ever hurt me.
    And, at the same time, frighteningly aware of the strength of his hands. She wondered if those same hands would ever reach for a hammer and crush a woman’s skull.
    “I love you, Maura,” he said. “But there are some things more important than either one of us. Before you do anything, think about