Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

fingerprints are all over the steering wheel.”
    “Wait. Joseph Roke’s prints are on file?”
    “Military records. Look, I’ll come right over.”
    “What else do you know?” said Gabriel. He’d heard the urgency in Moore’s voice, and knew there was something the detective had not yet told him. “Just tell me.”
    “There’s a warrant for his arrest.”
    “What charges?”
    “It was . . . a homicide. A shooting.”
    “Who was the victim?”
    “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. We can talk about it when I get there.”
    “Who was the victim?” Gabriel repeated.
    Moore sighed. “A cop. Two months ago, Joseph Roke killed a cop.”
     
    “It started off as a routine traffic stop,” said Moore. “The event was automatically recorded by the video camera mounted in the police officer’s cruiser. New Haven PD didn’t attach the entire video, but here’s the first of the freeze-frame images they emailed me.” Moore clicked the mouse, and a photo appeared on his laptop computer. It showed the back of the New Haven police officer, caught in midstride as he walked toward a vehicle parked in front of his cruiser. The other car’s rear license plate was visible.
    “It’s a Virginia plate,” said Moore. “You can see it more clearly with image enhancement. It’s the same car we found this afternoon, parked illegally on Harrison Street a few blocks from the medical center.” He looked at Gabriel. “Joseph Roke is the registered owner.”
    “You said he was from Virginia.”
    “Yes.”
    “What was he doing in Connecticut two months ago?”
    “We don’t know. Nor do we know what he’s now doing in Boston. All I’ve got on him is the rather sketchy biographical profile that New Haven PD has put together.” He pointed to his laptop. “And this. A shooting caught on camera. But that’s not the only thing you see in these photos.”
    Gabriel focused on Roke’s vehicle. On the view through the rear window. “There’s a passenger,” he said. “Roke has someone sitting beside him.”
    Moore nodded. “With image enhancement, you can clearly see this passenger has long dark hair.”
    “It’s her,” said Maura, staring at the screen. “It’s Jane Doe.”
    “Which means they were together in New Haven two months ago.”
    “Show us the rest,” said Gabriel.
    “Let me go to the last image—”
    “I want to see them all.”
    Moore paused, his hand on the mouse. He looked at Gabriel. “You don’t really need to,” he said quietly.
    “Maybe I do. Show me the whole sequence.”
    After a hesitation, Moore clicked the mouse, advancing to the next photo. The police officer was now standing at Roke’s window, looking in at the man who, in the next few seconds, would end his life. The cop’s hand was resting on his weapon. Merely a cautionary stance? Or did he already have an inkling that he was looking into the face of his killer?
    Again, Moore hesitated before advancing to the next image. He had already seen these; he knew what horrors lay ahead. He clicked the mouse.
    The image was an instant in time, captured in all its gruesome detail. The police officer was still standing, and his weapon was out of its holster. His head was snapped back by the bullet’s impact, his face caught in mid-disintegration, flesh exploding in a bloody mist.
    A fourth and final photo finished the sequence. The officer’s body was now lying on the road beside the shooter’s car. It was just the postscript, yet this was the image that made Gabriel suddenly lean forward. He stared at the car’s rear window. At a silhouette that had not been visible in the three earlier images.
    Maura saw it, too. “There’s someone in Roke’s backseat,” she said.
    “That’s what I wanted you both to see,” said Moore. “A third person was in Roke’s car. Hiding, maybe, or sleeping in the backseat. You can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. All you can see is this head with short hair, popping up right after the shooting.” He looked at Gabriel. “There’s a third associate we haven’t seen or heard yet. Someone who was with them in New Haven. That activation code may have been meant for more than one person.”
    Gabriel’s gaze was still riveted on the screen. On that mysterious silhouette. “You said he had a military record.”
    “That’s how we matched his prints. He served in the army, 1990 to ’92.”
    “Which unit?” When Moore did not immediately answer, Gabriel looked at him. “What was he