Тесс Герритсен - I Know a Secret

“About something he knows nothing about?”

“I know what I heard,” said Frankie.

“And that would be?”

“The victim’s eyes were cut out and the perp left the eyeballs in her hand.”

Angela slapped down her knife and fork. “It’s Christmas Eve. Do we have to talk about such horrible things?”

“This is their job,” said Jane’s father, shoveling potatoes into his mouth. “We gotta learn to deal with it.”

“Since when is it Frankie’s job?” said Jane.

“Since he started taking all those criminology courses over at Bunker Hill. You’re his sister; you should encourage him. You can give him a leg up when it comes time for him to apply.”

“But I’m not applying to Boston PD,” said Frankie with a maddening note of superiority. “I’m already at stage three in the SASS. It’s looking good, real good.”

Jane frowned. “What’s the SASS?”

“Your hubby knows.” Frankie glanced over at Gabriel.

Up till now, Gabriel had occupied himself slicing Regina’s meat into bite-size pieces. With a look of resignation, he answered, “It stands for Special Agent Selection System.”

“Cool, huh?” said Frank, Sr., slapping his son on the back. “Our Frankie here’s gonna be an FBI agent.”

“Now, hold on, Pop,” said Frankie, modestly raising both hands in protest. “It’s still early in the process. I passed the first exam. Next I go for the meet and greet. That’s where having my brother-in-law in the agency is gonna work in my favor. Right, Gabe?”

“It can’t hurt” was Gabriel’s noncommittal answer. He turned to Angela. “May I have some more green beans? Regina’s gobbling them all up.”

“That’s why I want to keep track of current investigations,” said Frankie. “Like this gal who got her eyes cut out. I want to watch how the case is handled at the local level.”

“Well, Frankie,” said Jane, “I don’t think I have much to teach you. Seeing as I just work at the local level.”

“What kinda attitude is that?” her father snapped. “Frankie’s not good enough to be in your club?”

“It’s not a matter of good enough, Dad. It’s an active investigation. I can’t talk about it.”

“Did your creepy friend do the autopsy?” asked Frankie.

“What?”

“I hear the cops call her the Queen of the Dead.”

“Who told you that?”

“I got my sources.” Frankie grinned at their father. “Wouldn’t mind a night in the morgue with her .”

Angela shoved her chair back and stood up. “Why do I even bother to cook? Next time I’m just gonna order pizza.” She pushed through the swinging door, into the kitchen.

“Eh, don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine,” said Frank, Sr. “Give her a few minutes to cool down.”

Jane slapped down her fork. “Way to go, you two.”

“What?” said her father.

“You and Mom just got back together. And this is the way you treat her?”

“What’s the problem?” said her brother. “It’s the way they’ve always been.”

“And that makes it okay, does it?” Jane dropped her napkin and stood up.

“Now you’re leaving the table too?” said her father.

“Someone’s gotta help Ma poison the dessert.”

In the kitchen, Jane found Angela standing by the sink, pouring herself a generous glass of wine.

“Want to share the bottle?” asked Jane.

“No. I think I deserve the whole damn thing.” Angela took a desperate gulp. “It’s back to the old days, Janie. Nothing’s changed.”

You’ve changed. The old Angela would have shrugged off her husband’s thoughtless comments and soldiered on through dinner. But for this new Angela, those comments must have felt like a thousand small cuts to her soul. And here she was, trying to medicate the pain with Chianti.

“You sure you want to drink alone?” said Jane.

“Oh, all right. Here, join me,” said Angela, and she filled a glass for Jane. They both gulped and sighed.

“You cooked a really wonderful meal, Mom.”

“I know.”

“Dad knows it too. He just doesn’t know how to express his appreciation.”

They took another sip. And Angela asked softly, “Have you seen Vince lately?”

Jane paused, startled by the mention of Vince Korsak, the retired cop who had made Angela briefly, deliriously happy. Until Frank returned to reclaim his wife. Until Angela’s Catholic guilt and sense of duty forced her to end the affair with Korsak.

Frowning into her wine, Jane said, “Yeah, I see Vince every so often. Usually eating lunch at Doyle’s.”

“How does he look?”

“The same,” she lied. The truth was, Vince Korsak looked miserable. He looked like a man determined to eat and drink himself to death.

“Is he... seeing anyone new?”

“I don’t know, Ma. Vince and I haven’t had a chance to talk much.”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he was seeing someone. He has a right to move on, but...” Angela set down her glass. “Oh, God, I think I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let him go, and now it’s too late.”

The kitchen door swung open and Jane’s brother lumbered in. “Hey, Dad wants to know what’s for dessert.”

“Dessert?” Angela quickly wiped her eyes and turned to the refrigerator. She pulled out a carton of ice cream and handed it to Frankie. “There.”

“Is this it?”

“What, you expected Baked Alaska?”

“Okay, okay. Just wondering.”

“I got chocolate syrup too. Go scoop it out for everyone.”

He started to leave the kitchen, then turned back to Angela. “Ma, it’s really good to have everything back to normal. You and Dad, I mean. It’s the way things are supposed to be.”

“Sure, Frankie,” sighed Angela. “The way things should be.”

Jane’s cell phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket, took one look at the caller’s number, and answered crisply: “Detective Rizzoli.”

To Jane’s annoyance, Frankie watched her conversation with eagle eyes, Mr. Would-be Special Agent ready to insinuate himself into the case. “I’ll be right there,” she said, and hung up. She looked at Angela. “I’m sorry, Ma. I have to leave.”

“You got another case?” said Frankie. “What is it?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah!”

“Read tomorrow’s paper.”

“IS IT JUST me, or does it seem like we always get the weird ones?” said Frost.

They stood shivering on the pier at Jeffries Point, where the wind blowing in across the inner harbor felt like icicles piercing her face. She pulled up her scarf to cover her already numb nose. Only four days into what was officially winter, and already there were thin cakes of ice bobbing in the harbor. At nearby Logan Airport, a jet lifted into the sky, and the roar of its engines briefly drowned out the rhythmic slap of water on the pilings.

“All homicides are weird in their own ways,” said Jane.

“This is not how I wanted to spend Christmas Eve. I had to leave Alice just as things were starting to get cozy.” He stared down at the reason why he and Jane had been pulled away from their holiday meals to meet up at this desolate spot. “At least the cause of death shouldn’t be hard to figure out on this one.”

Under the glare of their flashlights lay a young white man, his bare chest exposed to the winter wind. He was otherwise well dressed, in wool slacks, an ostrich belt, and leather wing-tip shoes. Nice-looking fellow, maybe in his mid-twenties, thought Jane. Clean-shaven and well groomed, with a trendy haircut that featured a blond swoop of a forelock. He had no dirt under his fingernails, no calluses on his hands. Someone you might find working in a downtown business office.