Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

feel any masses.” She looked at Gabriel. “What about it?”
    “It’s something that Joe told me. I know it sounds crazy.”
    “What?”
    “He claimed she had a microchip implanted in her arm. Right here, under the skin, to track her whereabouts.”
    For a moment Maura just stared at him. Suddenly she laughed. “That’s not a very original delusion.”
    “I know, I know what it sounds like.”
    “It’s a classic. The government-implanted microchip.”
    Gabriel turned to look once again at the X-rays. “Why do you think Barsanti is so eager to transfer these bodies? What does he think you’re going to find?”
    Maura fell silent for a moment, her gaze on Olena’s arm.
    Yoshima said, “I can X-ray that arm right now. It will only take a few minutes.”
    Maura sighed and stripped off her soiled gloves. “It’s almost certainly a waste of time, but we might as well settle the question right now.”
    In the anteroom, shielded behind lead, Maura and Gabriel watched through the window as Yoshima positioned the arm on a film cassette and angled the collimator. Maura is right, thought Gabriel, this is probably a waste of time, but he needed to locate the dividing line between fear and paranoia, between truth and delusion. He saw Maura glance up at the clock on the wall, and knew she was anxious to continue cutting. The most important part of the autopsy—the head and neck dissection—had yet to be completed.
    Yoshima retrieved the film cassette and disappeared into the processing room.
    “Okay, he’s done. Let’s get back to work,” Maura said. She pulled on fresh gloves and moved back to the table. Standing at the corpse’s head, hands tunneling through the tangle of black hair, she palpated the cranium. Then, with one efficient slice, she cut through the scalp. He could scarcely stand to watch the mutilation of this beautiful woman. A face was little more than skin and muscle and cartilage, which easily yielded to the pathologist’s knife. Maura grasped the severed edge of scalp and peeled it forward, the long hair draping like a black curtain over the face.
    Yoshima re-emerged from the processing room. “Dr. Isles?”
    “X-ray’s ready?”
    “Yes. And there’s something here.”
    Maura glanced up. “What?”
    “You can see it under the skin.” He mounted the X-ray on the light box. “This thing,” he said, pointing.
    Maura crossed to the X-ray and stared in silence at the thin white strip tracing through soft tissue. Nothing natural could be that straight, that uniform.
    “It’s man-made,” said Gabriel. “Do you think—”
    “That’s not a microchip,” said Maura.
    “There
is
something there.”
    “It’s not metallic. It’s not dense enough.”
    “What are we looking at?”
    “Let’s find out.” Maura returned to the corpse and picked up her scalpel. Rotating the left arm, she exposed the scar. The cut she made was startlingly swift and deep, a single stroke that sliced through skin and subcutaneous fat, all the way down to muscle. This patient would never complain about an ugly incision or a severed nerve; the indignities she suffered in this room, on that table, meant nothing to senseless flesh.
    Maura reached for a pair of forceps and plunged the tips into the wound. As she rooted around in freshly incised tissue, Gabriel was repelled by the brutal exploration, but he could not turn away. He heard her give a murmur of satisfaction, and suddenly her forceps re-emerged, the tips clamped around what looked like a glistening matchstick.
    “I know what this is,” she said, setting the object on a specimen tray. “This is Silastic tubing. It’s simply migrated deeper than it should have after it was inserted. It’s been encapsulated by scar tissue. That’s why I couldn’t feel it through the skin. We needed an X-ray to know it was even there.”
    “What’s this thing for?”
    “Norplant. This tube contained a progestin that’s slowly released over time, preventing ovulation.”
    “A contraceptive.”
    “Yes. You don’t see many of these implanted anymore. The product has been discontinued in the US. Usually they’re implanted six at a time, in a fanlike pattern. Whoever removed the other five missed this one.”
    The intercom buzzed. “Dr. Isles?” It was Louise again. “You have a call.”
    “Can you take a message?”
    “I think you need to answer this one. It’s Joan Anstead, in the governor’s office.”
    Maura’s head snapped up. She looked at