Tess Gerritsen - Body Double

“I don’t get it,” said Yates.

The crate was empty.

They drove home that night, down a highway glistening with rain. Maura’s windshield wipers swept a slow, hypnotic beat across misted glass.

“All that blood in the kitchen,” said Rizzoli. “You know what it means. Amalthea’s killed before. Nikki and Theresa Wells weren’t her first victims.”

“She wasn’t alone in that house, Jane. Her cousin Elijah lived there, too. It could have been him.”

“She was nineteen years old when the Sadlers vanished. She had to know what was happening in her own kitchen.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s the one who did it.”

Rizzoli looked at her. “You believe O’Donnell’s theory? About the Beast?”

“Amalthea is schizophrenic. Tell me how someone with a mind that disordered manages to kill two women, and then goes through the very logical step of burning their bodies, destroying the evidence?”

“She didn’t do that good a job of covering her tracks. She got caught, remember?”

“The police in Virginia got lucky. Catching her on a routine traffic stop wasn’t an example of brilliant detective work.” Maura stared ahead at fingers of mist curling across the empty highway. “She didn’t kill those women all by herself. There had to be someone else helping her, someone who left fingerprints in her car. Someone who’s been with her from the very beginning.”

“Her cousin?”

“Elijah was only fourteen when he buried that girl alive. What kind of boy would do something like that? What kind of man does he grow into?”

“I hate to imagine.”

“I think we both know,” said Maura. “We both saw the blood in that kitchen.”

The Lexus hummed down the road. The rain had ceased, but the air still steamed, misting over the windshield.

“If they did kill the Sadlers,” said Rizzoli, “then you’ve got to wonder…” She looked at Maura. “What did they do with Karen Sadler’s baby?”

Maura said nothing. She kept her gaze on the highway, driving straight down that road. No detours, no side trips. Just keep driving.

“You know what I’m getting at?” said Rizzoli. “Forty-five years ago, the Lank cousins killed a pregnant woman. The baby’s remains are missing. Five years later, Amalthea Lank shows up in Van Gates’s office in Boston, with two newborn daughters to sell.”

Maura’s fingers had gone numb on the steering wheel.

“What if those babies weren’t hers?” Rizzoli said. “What if Amalthea isn’t really your mother?”

MATTIE PURVIS SAT in the dark, wondering how long it took a person to starve to death. She was going through her food too fast. Only six Hershey bars, half a packet of saltines, and a few strips of beef jerky were left in the grocery sack. I have to ration it, she thought. I have to make it last long enough to…

To what? Die of thirst instead?

She bit off a precious chunk of chocolate, and was sorely tempted to take a second bite, but managed to hold on to her willpower. Carefully, she rewrapped the rest of the bar for later. If I get truly desperate, there’s always the paper to eat, she thought. Paper was edible, wasn’t it? It’s made of wood, and hungry deer eat the bark off trees, so there must be some nutritional value to it. Yes, save the paper. Keep it clean. Reluctantly, she returned the partially eaten chocolate bar to the sack. Closing her eyes, she thought of hamburgers and fried chicken and all the forbidden foods she had denied herself ever since Dwayne had said that pregnant women reminded him of cows. Meaning she reminded him of a cow. For two weeks afterwards, she’d eaten nothing but salads, until one day she’d felt dizzy and had sat right down on the floor in the middle of Macy’s. Dwayne had turned red-faced as worried ladies gathered around them, asking again and again if his wife was all right. He kept waving them away while he’d hissed at Mattie to get up. Image was everything, he always liked to say, and there was Mr. BMW with his cow of a wife in her maternity stretch pants, wallowing on the floor. Yes, I am a cow, Dwayne. A big, beautiful cow carrying your baby. Now come and save us, goddamn it. Save us, save us.

A footstep creaked overhead.

She looked up as her captor approached. She had come to recognize his tread, light and cautious as a stalking cat’s. Each time he’d visited, she’d pleaded with him to release her. Each time, he had just walked away, leaving her in this box. Now her food was running low, and the water, too.

“Lady.”

She didn’t answer. Let him wonder, she thought. He’ll worry whether I’m okay and he’ll have to open the box. He has to keep me alive or he won’t get his precious ransom.

“Talk to me, lady.”

She stayed silent. Nothing else has worked, she thought. Maybe this will scare him. Maybe now he’ll let me out.

A thump on the dirt. “Are you there?”

Where else would I be, you asshole?

A long pause. “Well. If you’re already dead, there’s no point digging you up. Is there?” The footsteps moved away.

“Wait! Wait! ” She turned on the flashlight. Began pounding on the ceiling. “Come back, goddamn it! Come back!” She listened, heart thudding. Almost laughed with relief when she heard the creak of his approach. How pitiful was this? She was reduced to begging for his attention, like an ignored lover.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Have you talked to my husband? When is he going to pay you?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Why don’t you ever answer my questions?”

“Answer mine first.”

“Oh, I’m feeling just dandy !”

“What about the baby?”

“I’m running out of food. I need more food.”

“You have enough.”

“Excuse me, but I’m the one down here, not you! I’m starving. How are you going to get your money if I’m dead?”

“Stay calm, lady. Rest. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Everything is so not right!”

No answer.

“Hello? Hello? ” she yelled.

The footsteps were moving away now.

“Wait!” She pounded on the ceiling. “Come back!” She beat on the wood with both fists. Rage suddenly consumed her, a rage like nothing she had ever known before. She screamed, “You can’t do this to me! I’m not an animal !” She collapsed against the wall, hands bruised and throbbing, body wracked with sobs. Sobs of fury, not defeat. “Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you. And fuck Dwayne. And fuck all the other assholes in this world!”

Exhausted, she collapsed onto her back. Drew her arm across her eyes, wiping away tears. What does he want from us? By now, Dwayne must have paid him. So why am I still down here? What is he waiting for?

The baby gave a kick. She pressed her hand against her belly, a calming touch transmitted through the skin that separated them. She felt her womb tighten, the first quiver of a contraction. Poor thing. Poor…

Baby.

She went very still, thinking. Remembering all the conversations through the air grate. Never about Dwayne. Never about money. That made no sense. If the asshole wanted money, Dwayne is the person he has to go to. But he doesn’t ask about my husband. He doesn’t talk about Dwayne. What if he hasn’t even called him? What if he hasn’t asked for any ransom at all?

Then what does he want?

The flashlight dimmed. The second set of batteries was dying. Two more fresh sets to go, and then she’d be in permanent darkness. This time she did not panic as she reached into the grocery sack and tore open a new package. I’ve done this before; I can do it again. She unscrewed the back, calmly slid out the old batteries, and inserted the new. Bright light beamed out, a temporary reprieve from the long good-night she feared was coming.