Tess Gerritsen: Vanish

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And this interaction had nothing to do with why you were originally in that building.”

“No, ma’am. It was just a coincidence that we happened to be there. But when we determine that a citizen is in danger, it’s our duty to intervene.”

“And that’s why you knocked at apartment two-B.”

“Two-E.”

“And when no one answered, you burst through the door.”

“We felt a woman’s life was in jeopardy, based on the screams we heard.”

“How did you know they were screams of distress? Couldn’t they have been the sounds of, say, passionate lovemaking?”

Jane wanted to laugh at the question, but didn’t. “That was not what we heard.”

“And you know that for a fact? You can tell the difference?”

“A woman with a bloody lip is pretty good evidence.”

“The point is, you didn’t know it at the time. You didn’t give my client a chance to answer the door. You made a rush to judgment and just broke in.”

“We stopped a beating.”

“You’re aware that the so-called victim has refused to press charges against Mr. Rollo? That they are still together as a loving couple?”

Jane’s jaw squared. “That’s her decision.” Dumb though it is. “What I saw that day, in apartment two-E, was clearly abuse. There was blood.”

“Like my blood doesn’t count?” said Rollo. “You pushed me down the stairs, lady! I still got the scar here, on my chin!”

“Silence, Mr. Rollo,” the judge ordered.

“Look! See where I hit the bottom step? I needed stitches!”

“Mr. Rollo!”

“ Did you push my client down the stairs, Detective?” asked Quinlan.

“Objection,” said Spurlock.

“No, I did not,” said Jane. “He was plenty drunk enough to fall down the stairs all by himself.”

“She’s lying!” said the defendant.

The gavel banged down. “Quiet, Mr. Rollo!”

But Billy Wayne Rollo was just building up a head of outraged steam. “She and her partner, they dragged me into the stairwell so no one would see what they were doing. You think she could arrest me all by herself? That little pregnant girl ? What a crock of shit she’s telling you!”

“Sergeant Givens, remove the defendant.”

“It’s a case of police brutality!” Rollo yelled as the bailiff hauled him to his feet. “Hey, you people in the jury, are you stupid? Can’t you see this is all made-up shit? These two cops kicked me down the fucking stairwell!”

The gavel slammed down. “Let’s take a recess. Please escort the jurors out.”

“Oh yeah! Let’s take a recess !” Rollo laughed and shoved away the bailiff. “Just when they’re finally hearing the truth!”

“Get him out of here, Sergeant Givens.”

Givens grabbed Rollo’s arm. Enraged, Rollo twisted around and charged, his head thudding into the bailiff’s belly. They both slammed to the floor and began to grapple. Victoria Quinlan stared, openmouthed, as her client and the bailiff flopped around just inches from her high-heeled Manolo Blahniks.

Ah, Jesus. Someone’s gotta take control of this mess.

Jane heaved herself out of the chair. Shoving aside the stunned Quinlan, Jane snatched up the bailiff’s handcuffs, which he’d dropped on the floor in the confusion.

“Assistance!” yelled the judge, banging on his gavel. “We need another bailiff in here!”

Sergeant Givens was lying on his back now, pinned beneath Rollo, who was just raising his right fist to deliver a blow. Jane grabbed Rollo’s raised wrist and snapped on one of the cuffs.

“What the fuck?” Rollo said.

Jane rammed her foot into his back, twisted his arm behind him, and shoved him down against the bailiff. Another click, and the second cuff closed around Rollo’s left wrist.

“Get off me, you fucking cow!” Rollo screamed. “You’re breaking my back!”

Sergeant Givens, trapped at the bottom of the pileup, looked like he was about to suffocate beneath the weight.

Jane took her foot off Rollo’s back. Suddenly a gush of hot liquid flooded from between her legs, splashing down onto Rollo, onto Givens. She stumbled backward and looked down in shock at her soaked maternity dress. At the fluid dripping from her thighs onto the courtroom floor.

Rollo twisted onto his side and stared up at her. Suddenly he laughed. He couldn’t stop laughing as he rolled onto his back. “Hey,” he said. “Look at that! The bitch just peed in her dress!”

Maura was stopped at a traffic light in Brookline Village when Abe Bristol rang her on her cell phone. “Did you watch TV this morning?” he asked.

“Don’t tell me the story’s already made the news.”

“Channel six. Reporter’s name is Zoe Fossey. Did you speak to her?”

“Only briefly last night. What did she say?”

“In a nutshell? ‘Woman found alive in body bag. Medical examiner blames the Weymouth Fire Department and state police for misdiagnosing death.”

“Oh Jesus. I never said that.”

“I know you didn’t. But now we’ve got a pissed-off fire chief down in Weymouth, and the state police aren’t too happy either. Louise is already fielding calls from them.”

The traffic light turned green. As she drove through the intersection, she suddenly wished she could turn around and go home. Wished she could avoid the ordeal to come.

“Are you at the office?” she asked.

“I got in at seven. Thought you’d be here by now.”

“I’m in my car. I needed a few extra hours this morning to prepare that statement.”

“Well, I’ve gotta warn you, when you get here, you’re going to get ambushed in the parking lot.”

“They’re hanging around out there?”

“Reporters, TV vans. They’re parked on Albany Street. Running back and forth between our building and the hospital.”

“How convenient for them. One-stop shopping for the press.”

“Have you heard anything more about the patient?”

“I called Dr. Cutler this morning. He said the patient’s tox screen came back positive for barbiturates and alcohol. She must’ve been pretty loaded.”

“That probably explains why she took a tumble into the water. And with barbs on board, no wonder they had trouble finding her vital signs.”

“Why is this turning into such a feeding frenzy?”

“Because it’s prime National Enquirer stuff. The dead rising from the grave. Plus, she’s a young woman, isn’t she?”

“I’d say she’s in her twenties.”

“And attractive?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Come on.” Abe laughed. “You know it makes a difference.”

Maura sighed. “Yes,” she admitted. “She’s very attractive.”

“Yeah, well, there you go. Young, sexy, and almost sliced open alive.”

“She wasn’t.”

“I’m just warning you, that’s how the public’s going to see it.”

“Can’t I just call in sick today? Maybe catch the next flight to Bermuda?”

“And leave me with this mess? Don’t you dare.”

When she turned onto Albany Street twenty minutes later, she spotted two TV vans parked near the front entrance of the ME’s building. As Abe had warned her, reporters were poised to pounce. She stepped out of her air-conditioned Lexus, into a morning already thick with humidity, and half a dozen reporters scurried toward her.

“Dr. Isles!” a man called out. “I’m from the BostonTribune. Could I have a few words with you about Jane Doe?”

In response, Maura reached into her briefcase and pulled out copies of what she had composed that morning. It was a matter-of-fact summary of the night’s events, and how she had responded. Briskly she handed out copies. “This is my statement,” she said. “I have nothing else to add.”