Tess Gerritsen - The Mephisto Club

“There was a dinner party for five people inside the house. Lotta cooking, lotta garbage.”

“So we’re looking at a time of death between six and ten P.M.”

“That’s right.”

“And the last time Detective Kassovitz was seen alive by her boyfriend?”

“About three this afternoon. Just before he headed to his shift.”

“So he has an alibi.”

“Airtight. Partner was with him all evening.” Tripp paused. “You need to take a body temp or something? ’Cause we already got the ambient temperature if you need it. It’s twelve degrees.”

Maura eyed the corpse’s heavy clothes. “I’m not going to take a rectal temp here. I don’t want to undress her in the dark. Your witness has already narrowed down the time of death. Assuming he’s correct about the times.”

Tripp gave a grunt. “Probably down to the split second. You should meet this butler guy, Jeremy. I now know the meaning of anal retentive.”

A light slashed the darkness. She glanced up to see a silhouette approaching, flashlight beam sweeping the courtyard.

“Hey, Doc,” said Jane. “Didn’t know you were already here.”

“I just arrived.” Maura rose to her feet. In the gloom, she could not see Jane’s face, only the voluminous halo of her hair. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Crowe was the one who called me.”

“He called me, too.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s inside, interviewing the home owner.”

Tripp gave a snort. “Of course he is. It’s warm in there. I’m the one who has to freeze his butt out here.”

“Geez, Tripp,” said Jane. “Sounds like you love Crowe as much as I do.”

“Oh yeah, such a lovable guy. No wonder his old partner took early retirement.” He huffed out a breath, and the steam spiraled up into darkness. “I think we should rotate Crowe around the unit. Spread the pain a little. We can each take turns putting up with Pretty Boy.”

“Believe me, I’ve already put up with him more than I should have to,” said Jane. She focused on Eve Kassovitz, and her voice softened. “He was an asshole to her. That was Crowe’s idea, wasn’t it? The puke bucket on the desk?”

“Yeah,” Tripp admitted. “But we’re all responsible, in a way. Maybe she wouldn’t be here if…” He sighed. “You’re right. We were all assholes.”

“You said she came here working the case,” said Maura. “Was there a lead?”

“O’Donnell,” said Jane. “She was one of the dinner guests tonight.”

“Kassovitz was tailing her?”

“We briefly discussed surveillance. It was just a consideration. She never told me she was going to act on it.”

“O’Donnell was here, in this house?”

“She’s still inside, being interviewed.” Jane’s gaze was back on the body. “I’d say O’Donnell’s devoted fan has just left her another offering.”

“You think this is the same perp.”

“I know it is.”

“There’s mutilation of the eyes here, but no dismemberment. No ritualistic symbols like in East Boston.”

Jane glanced at Tripp. “You didn’t show her?”

“I was about to.”

“Show me what?” asked Maura.

Jane raised her flashlight and shone it on the back door of the residence. What Maura saw sent a chill coiling up her spine. On the door were three upside-down crosses. And drawn beneath it, in red chalk, was a single staring eye.

“I’d say that’s our boy’s work,” said Jane.

“It could be a copycat. A number of people saw those symbols in Lori-Ann Tucker’s bedroom. And cops talk.”

“If you still need convincing…” Jane aimed her flashlight at the bottom of the door. On the single granite step, leading into the house, was a small cloth-covered bundle. “We unwrapped it just enough to look inside,” said Jane. “I think we’ve found Lori-Ann Tucker’s left hand.”

A sudden gust of wind swept the courtyard, kicking up a mist of snow that stung Maura’s eyes, flash-froze her cheeks. Dead leaves rattled across the patio, and the gazebo creaked and shuddered above them.

“Have you considered the possibility,” said Maura softly, “that this murder tonight has nothing to do with Joyce O’Donnell?”

“Of course it does. Kassovitz tails O’Donnell here. The killer sees her, chooses her as his next victim. It still gets back to O’Donnell.”

“Or he could have seen Kassovitz on Christmas Eve. She was there at the crime scene. He could have been watching Lori-Ann Tucker’s house.”

“You mean, enjoying all the action?” said Tripp.

“Yes. Enjoying the fact that all the excitement, all the cops, were because of him. Because of what he’d just done. What a sense of power.”

“So he follows Kassovitz here,” said Tripp, “because she caught his eye that night? Man, that puts a different spin on this.”

Jane looked at Maura. “It means he could’ve been watching any one of us. He’d know all our faces now.”

Maura bent down and pulled the sheet back over the body. Her hands were numb and clumsy as she stripped off the latex gloves and pulled on her wool ones. “I’m freezing. I can’t do anything else out here. We should just move her to the morgue. And I need to defrost my hands.”

“Have you already called for pickup?”

“They’re on their way. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait for them in my car. I want to get out of this wind.”

“I think we should all get out of this wind,” said Tripp.

They walked back along the side yard and stepped through the iron gate into the liverish glow of the gas lamp. Across the street, silhouetted in strobe by cruiser rack lights, was a huddle of cops. Daniel stood among them, taller than the other men, hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat.

“You can come inside with us and wait,” said Jane.

“No,” said Maura, her gaze on Daniel. “I’ll just sit in my car.”

Jane was silent for a moment. She’d noticed Daniel, too, and she could probably guess why Maura was lingering outside.

“If you’re looking to get warm, Doc,” said Jane, “you’re not going to find it out here. But I guess that’s your choice.” She clapped Tripp on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go back inside. See how Pretty Boy’s doing.” They walked up the steps, into the house.

Maura paused on the sidewalk, her gaze on Daniel. He did not seem to notice that she was there. It was awkward with all those cops standing around him. But what was there to be embarrassed about, really? She was here to do her job, and so was he. It’s the most natural thing in the world for two acquaintances to greet each other.

She crossed the street, toward the circle of cops. Only then did Daniel see her. So did the other men, and they all fell silent as she approached. Though she dealt with police officers every day, saw them at every crime scene, she had never felt entirely comfortable with them, or they with her. That mutual discomfort was never more obvious than at this moment, when she felt their gazes on her. She could guess what they thought of her. The chilly Dr. Isles, never a barrel of laughs. Or maybe they were intimidated; maybe it was the MD behind her name that set her apart, made her unapproachable.

Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe they are afraid of me.

“The morgue van should be here any minute,” she said, opening the conversation on pure business. “If you could make room for it on the street.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” one of the cops said, and coughed.

Another silence followed, the cops looking off in other directions, everywhere but at her, their feet shuffling on cold pavement.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be waiting in my car.” She didn’t cast a glance at Daniel, but simply turned and walked away.