Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

bulging beneath the voluminous maternity dress. Now she shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable, trying to project some semblance of authority, but the room was warm, and she could already feel perspiration beading on her forehead. A sweating, fidgeting, pregnant cop. Yes, quite an authority figure.
    Gary Spurlock, the assistant DA for Suffolk County, rose to conduct the direct exam. Jane knew him to be a calm and methodical prosecutor, and she had no anxiety about this first round of questions. She kept her gaze on Spurlock, avoiding even a glance at the defendant, Billy Wayne Rollo, who slouched beside his female attorney and stared at Jane. She knew Rollo was trying to intimidate her with the evil eye. Rattle the cop, throw her off balance. He was like too many other assholes she’d known, and his stare was nothing new. Just the last resort of a loser.
    “Could you tell the court your name and spell the last name, please?” Spurlock said.
    “Detective Jane Rizzoli. R-I-Z-Z-O-L-I.”
    “And your profession?”
    “I’m a detective with the homicide unit, Boston Police Department.”
    “Could you describe your education and background for us?”
    She shifted again, her back starting to ache in the hard chair. “I received my associate’s degree in criminal justice from Massachusetts Bay Community College. After my training at Boston PD Academy, I was a beat patrolman in both the Back Bay and Dorchester.” She flinched as her baby gave a hard kick.
Settle down in there. Mama’s on the stand.
Spurlock was still waiting for the rest of her answer. She continued. “I worked as a detective in vice and narcotics for two years. Then, two and a half years ago, I transferred to the homicide unit, which is where I am currently assigned.”
    “Thank you, Detective. Now I’d like to ask you about the events of February third of this year. In the course of your job, you visited a residence in Roxbury. Correct?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “The address was 4280 Malcolm X Boulevard, correct?”
    “Yes. It’s an apartment building.”
    “Tell us about that visit.”
    “At approximately two thirty P.M. , we—my partner, Detective Barry Frost, and I—arrived at that address to interview a tenant in apartment two-B.”
    “In regards to what?”
    “It was in regards to a homicide investigation. The subject in two-B was an acquaintance of the victim.”
    “So he—or she—was not a suspect in that particular case?”
    “No, sir. We did not consider her to be a suspect.”
    “And what happened then?”
    “We had just knocked on the door to two-B when we heard a woman screaming. It came from the apartment across the hall. In two-E.”
    “Could you describe the screams?”
    “I guess I would characterize them as screams of severe distress. Fear. And we heard several loud bangs, as though furniture was being overturned. Or someone was being slammed against the floor.”
    “Objection!” The defense attorney, a tall blond woman, rose to her feet. “Pure speculation. She wasn’t in the apartment to see that.”
    “Sustained,” the judge said. “Detective Rizzoli, please refrain from guessing about events you couldn’t possibly see.”
    Even if it wasn’t just a frigging guess? Because that’s exactly what was happening. Billy Wayne Rollo was slamming his girlfriend’s head against the floor.
    Jane swallowed her irritation and amended her statement. “We heard a loud banging in the apartment.”
    “And what did you do then?”
    “Detective Frost and I immediately knocked on the door to two-E.”
    “Did you identify yourselves as police officers?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And what happened—”
    “That’s a fucking lie,” said the defendant. “They never said they were cops!”
    Everyone looked at Billy Wayne Rollo; he was looking only at Jane.
    “You will remain silent, Mr. Rollo,” the judge ordered.
    “But she’s a liar.”
    “Counsel, either control your client or he will be ejected from this courtroom.”
    “Shhh, Billy,” the defense attorney murmured. “This is not helping.”
    “All right,” the judge said. “Mr. Spurlock, you may continue.”
    The assistant DA nodded and turned back to Jane. “What happened after you knocked on the door to two-E?”
    “There was no answer. But we could still hear the screaming. The banging. We made the joint decision that a life was in danger, and that we needed to enter the apartment with or without consent.”
    “And did you