Tess Gerritsen - The Keepsake

She looked down at the trunk, grateful that it was now closed and she did not have to see the wretched occupant, its body twisted as though in the throes of agony. “I think our collector has just sent us a message. He’s telling us he’s still alive. And hunting for new specimens.”

“He’s also telling us he’s right here in Boston.” Once again, Maura turned to look in Josephine’s direction. “You said she lost her keys. Which keys?”

“To her car. And her apartment.”

Maura’s chin lifted in dismay. “That’s not good.”

“Her locks are being changed as we speak. We’ve already spoken to her building manager, and we’ll see that she gets home safely.”

Maura’s cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number. “Excuse me,” she said, turning away to take the call. Jane noted the furtive dip of Maura’s head, the way her shoulders curled forward, as though to block anyone’s view of her conversation.

“What about Saturday night, can you make it then? It’s been so long…”

It was the whispers that gave her away. She was talking to Daniel Brophy, but Jane heard no joy in the murmured conversation, only disappointment. What else but disappointment can you expect when you fall in love with an unattainable man?

Maura ended the conversation with a soft, “I’ll call you later.” She turned to face Jane but didn’t meet her gaze. Instead she focused her attention on the Honda. A dead body was a safer topic of conversation. Unlike a lover, a corpse would not break her heart or disappoint her or leave her lonely at night.

“I assume CSU will be examining the trunk?” Maura said, and she was all business now, once again snapping into the role of the coldly logical medical examiner.

“We’re impounding the vehicle. When will you do the autopsy?”

“I want to do some preliminary studies first. X-rays, tissue samples. I need to understand exactly what preservation process I’m dealing with before I start cutting her open.”

“So you won’t do the autopsy today?”

“It won’t be until after the weekend. By the looks of the body, she’s been dead a long time. A few extra days won’t change the postmortem results.” Maura glanced toward Josephine. “What about Dr. Pulcillo?”

“We’re still talking to her. After we get her home and into some dry clothes, maybe she’ll remember a few more details.”

Josephine Pulcillo is one odd duck, thought Jane as she and Frost stood in the young woman’s apartment, waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom. The living room was furnished in the décor of starving college student. The fabric of the sleeper sofa was ratty from the claws of some phantom cat, and the coffee table was stained with drink rings. There were textbooks and technical journals lining the bookshelves, but Jane saw no photographs, no personal mementos, nothing that gave any clues to the occupant’s personality. On the computer, screensaver images of Egyptian temples cycled in a continuous loop.

When Josephine at last reappeared, her damp hair was tamed into a ponytail. Though she wore fresh jeans and a cotton pullover, she still looked chilled, her face as rigid as a stone carving. A statue of an Egyptian queen, perhaps, or some mythical beauty; Frost openly stared, as though he were in the presence of a goddess. If his wife, Alice, were here, she’d probably give him a swift and badly needed kick in the shins. Maybe I should do it on Alice’s behalf.

“Are you feeling better, Dr. Pulcillo?” he asked. “Do you need some more time before we talk about this?”

“I’m ready.”

“Maybe a cup of coffee before we start?”

“I’ll make some for you.” Josephine turned toward the kitchen.

“No, I was thinking of you. Whether you needed anything.”

“Frost,” snapped Jane, “she just said she’s ready to talk. So why don’t we all sit down and get started?”

“I just want to be sure she’s comfortable. That’s all.”

Frost and Jane settled onto the battered-looking couch. Through the cushion, Jane felt the bite of a broken spring. She slid away from it, leaving a wide gap between her and Frost. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, like an estranged couple at a counseling session.

Josephine sank onto a chair, and her face was as unreadable as onyx. She might be only twenty-six, but she was eerily self-contained, any emotions she might possess kept under tight lock and key. Something is not right here, thought Jane. Was she the only one who felt it? Frost seemed to have lost any sense of objectivity.

“Let’s talk about those keys again, Dr. Pulcillo,” Jane began.

“You said they went missing over a week ago?”

“When I got home last Wednesday, I couldn’t find my key ring in my purse. I thought I’d misplaced it at work, but I couldn’t find it there, either. You can ask Mr. Goodwin about it. He charged me forty-five dollars to replace the mailbox key.”

“And the missing key ring never turned up again?”

Josephine’s gaze dropped to her lap. What followed was only a few beats of silence, but it was enough to catch Jane’s attention. Why would such a straightforward question require so much thought?

“No,” said Josephine. “I never saw those keys again.”

Frost asked, “When you’re at work, where do you keep your purse?”

“In my desk.” Josephine visibly relaxed, as though this was a question she had no problem answering.

“Is your office locked?” He leaned forward, as though afraid to miss a single word she said.

“No. I’m in and out of my office all day, so I don’t bother to lock it.”

“I assume the museum has security tapes? Some record of who might have gone into your office?”

“Theoretically.”

“What does that mean?”

“Our security camera system went on the blink three weeks ago and it hasn’t been repaired yet.” She shrugged. “It’s a budget issue. Money’s always short, and we thought that just having the cameras in public view would be enough to deter any thieves.”

“So any visitor to the museum could have wandered upstairs to your office and taken the keys.”

“And after all the publicity about Madam X, we’ve had droves of visitors. The public’s finally discovered the Crispin Museum.”

Jane said, “Why would a thief take just your key ring and leave your purse? Was anything else missing from your office?”

“No. At least, I haven’t noticed. That’s why I didn’t worry about it. I just assumed I’d dropped the keys somewhere. I never imagined someone would use them to get into my car. To put that…thing in my trunk.”

“Your apartment building doesn’t have a parking lot,” observed Frost.

Josephine shook her head. “It’s every man for himself. I park on the street like all the other tenants. That’s why I don’t keep anything valuable in my car, because they’re always getting broken into. But it’s usually to take things.” She gave a shudder. “Not put things in. ”

“How is security in this building?” asked Frost.

“We’ll get to that issue in a minute,” said Jane.

“Someone has her key ring. I think that’s the most pressing concern, the fact that he has access to her car and to her apartment. The fact that he seems to be focused on her.” He turned to the young woman. “Do you have any idea why?”

Josephine’s gaze skittered away. “No, I don’t.”

“Could it be someone you know? Someone you’ve recently met?”

“I’ve only been in Boston for five months.”

“Where were you before that?” Jane asked.

“Job hunting in California. I moved to Boston after the museum hired me.”

“Any enemies, Dr. Pulcillo? Any ex-boyfriends you don’t get along with?”