Tess Gerritsen: Freaks: A Rizzoli & Isles Short Story

But months later, the toxicology report showed only alcohol in Dixon’s system. It left no doubt in Maura’s mind that the manner of death was homicide. And one of the killers now sat at the defense table, staring at Maura.

“I have no further questions,” said Aguilar and she sat down, looking confident that she had successfully made her case.

Morris Whaley, the defense attorney, rose for the cross-examination, and Maura felt her muscles tense. Whaley appeared cordial enough as he approached the witness stand, as if he intended only to have a friendly chat. Had they met at a cocktail party, she might have found him pleasant company, an attractive enough man in his Brooks Brothers suit.

“I think we’re all impressed by your credentials, Dr. Isles,” he said. “So I won’t take up any more of the court’s time reviewing your academic achievements.”

She said nothing, just stared at his smiling face, wondering from which direction the attack would come.

“I don’t think anyone in this room doubts that you’ve worked hard to get where you are today,” Whaley continued. “Especially taking into account some of the challenges you’ve faced in your personal life in the past few months.”

“Objection.” Aguilar heaved an exasperated sigh and stood. “This is not relevant.”

“It is, your honor. It goes to the witness’s judgment,” said Whaley.

“How so?” the judge countered.

“Past experiences can affect how a witness interprets the evidence.”

“What experiences are you referring to?”

“If you’ll allow me to explore that issue, it will become apparent.”

The judge stared hard at Whaley. “For the moment, I’ll allow this line of questioning. But only for the moment.”

Aguilar sat back down, scowling.

Whaley turned his attention back to Maura. “Dr. Isles, do you happen to recall the date that you examined the deceased?”

Maura paused, taken aback by the abrupt return to the topic of the autopsy. It did not slip past her that he’d avoided using the victim’s name.

“You are referring to Mr. Dixon?” she said, and saw irritation flicker in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“The date of the postmortem was November first of last year.”

“And on that date, did you determine the cause of death?”

“Yes. As I said earlier, he died of massive internal hemorrhage secondary to a ruptured spleen.”

“On that same date, did you also specify the manner of death?”

She hesitated. “No. At least, not a final—”

“Why not?”

She took a breath, aware of all the eyes watching her. “I wanted to wait for the results of the toxicology screen. To see whether Mr. Dixon was, in fact, under the influence of cocaine or other pharmaceuticals. I wanted to be cautious.”

“As well you should. When your decision could destroy the careers, even the lives, of two dedicated peace officers.”

“I don’t concern myself with consequences, Mr. Whaley. I only concern myself with the facts. Wherever they may lead.”

He didn’t like that answer; she could see it in the twitch of his jaw muscle. All semblance of cordiality had vanished; this was now a battle.

“So you performed the autopsy on November first,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What happened after that?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Did you take the weekend off? Did you spend the following week performing other autopsies?”

She stared at him, anxiety coiling like a serpent in her stomach. She didn’t know where he was taking this, but she didn’t like the direction. “I attended a pathology conference,” she said.

“In Wyoming, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“Where you had something of a traumatic experience. You were assaulted by a rogue police officer.”

Aguilar shot to her feet. “Objection! Not relevant!”

“Overruled,” the judge said.

Whaley smiled, his path now cleared to ask the questions that Maura dreaded. “Is that correct, Dr. Isles?” Whaley asked. “Were you attacked by a police officer?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m afraid I didn’t hear that.”

“Yes,” she repeated, louder.

“And how did you survive that attack?”

The room was dead silent, waiting for her story. A story she didn’t even want to think about, because it still gave her nightmares. She remembered the lonely hilltop in Wyoming. She remembered the thud of the deputy’s vehicle door as it closed, trapping her in the backseat behind the prisoner gate. She remembered her panic as she’d futilely battered her hands against the window, trying to escape from a man she knew was about to kill her.

“Dr. Isles, how did you survive? Who came to your aid?”

She swallowed. “A boy.”

“Julian Perkins, age sixteen, I believe. A young man who shot and killed that police officer.”

“He had no choice!”

Whaley cocked his head. “You’re defending a boy who killed a cop?”

“A bad cop!”

“And then you came home to Boston. And declared Mr. Dixon’s death a homicide.”

“Because it was.”

“Or was it merely a tragic accident? The unavoidable consequence after a violent prisoner fights back and has to be subdued?”

“You saw the morgue photos. The police used far more force than was necessary.”

“So did that boy in Wyoming, Julian Perkins. He shot and killed a sheriff’s deputy. Do you consider that justifiable force?”

“Objection,” said Aguilar. “Dr. Isles isn’t the one on trial here.”

Whaley barreled ahead with the next question, his gaze fixed on Maura. “What happened out there in Wyoming, Dr. Isles? While you were fighting for your life, was there an epiphany? A sudden realization that cops are the enemy?”

“Objection!”

“Or have cops always been the enemy? Members of your own family seem to think so.”

The gavel banged down. “Mr. Whaley, you will approach the bench now .”

Maura sat stunned as both attorneys huddled with the judge. So it had come to this, the dredging up of her family. Every cop in Boston probably knew about her mother, Amalthea, now serving a life sentence in a women’s prison in Framingham. The monster who gave birth to me, she thought. Everyone who looks at me must wonder if the same evil has seeped into my blood as well. She saw that the defendant, Officer Graff, was staring at her. Their gazes locked, and a smile curled his lips. Welcome to the consequences , she read in his eyes. This is what happens when you betray the thin blue line .

“The court will take a recess,” the judge announced. “We’ll resume at two this afternoon.”

As the jury filed out, Maura sagged back against the chair and didn’t notice that Aguilar was standing beside her.

“That was dirty pool,” said Aguilar. “It should never have been allowed.”

“He made it all about me,” said Maura.

“Yeah, well, that’s all he has. Because the autopsy photos are pretty damn convincing.” Aguilar looked hard at her. “Is there anything else I should know about you, Dr. Isles?”

“Other than the fact that my mother’s a convicted murderer and I torture kittens for fun?”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You said it earlier. I’m not the one on trial.”

“No, but they’ll try to make it about you. Whether you hate cops. Whether you have a hidden agenda. We could lose this case if that jury thinks you’re not on the level. So tell me if there’s anything else they might bring up. Any secrets that you haven’t mentioned to me.”

Maura considered the private embarrassments that she guarded. The illicit affair that she’d just ended. Her family’s history of violence. “Everyone has secrets,” she said. “Mine aren’t relevant.”