Body Double

TWO

SHE SAT ON THE COUCH, sipping vodka and soda, the ice cubes clattering in her glass. To hell with plain water; this shock called for sterner medicine, and Father Brophy had been understanding enough to mix her a strong drink, handing it to her without comment. It’s not every day you see yourself dead. Not every day you walk onto a crime scene and encounter your lifeless doppelgänger.

“It’s just a coincidence,” she whispered. “The woman looks like me, that’s all. A lot of women have black hair. And her face-how can you really see her face in that car?”

“I don’t know, Doc,” said Rizzoli. “The resemblance is pretty scary.” She sank into the easy chair, groaning as the cushions swallowed up her heavily pregnant frame. Poor Rizzoli, thought Maura. Women who are eight months pregnant should not be dragging themselves through homicide investigations.

“Her hairstyle is different,” said Maura.

“A little longer, that’s all.”

“I have bangs. She doesn’t.”

“Don’t you think that’s sort of a superficial detail? Look at her face. She could be your sister.”

“Wait till we see her with more light. Maybe she won’t look like me at all.”

Father Brophy said, “The resemblance is there, Maura. We all saw it. She looks exactly like you.”

“Plus, she’s sitting in a car in your neighborhood,” added Rizzoli. “Parked practically in front of your house. And she had this lying on the back seat.” Rizzoli held up an evidence bag. Through the transparent plastic, Maura could see it contained an article torn from The Boston Globe. The headline was large enough for her to read it even from across the coffee table.

RAWLINS INFANT WAS BATTERED BABY, MEDICAL EXAMINER TESTIFIES.

“It’s a photo of you, Doc,” said Rizzoli. “The caption says ‘Medical Examiner Dr. Maura Isles leaves the courtroom after testifying in Rawlins trial.’” She looked at Maura. “The victim had this in her car.”

Maura shook her head. “Why?”

“That’s what we’re wondering.”

“The Rawlins trial-that was almost two weeks ago.”

“Do you remember seeing that woman in the courtroom?”

“No. I’ve never seen her before.”

“But she’s obviously seen you. In the newspaper, anyway. And then she shows up here. Looking for you? Stalking you?”

Maura stared at her drink. The vodka was making her head float. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she thought, I was walking the streets of Paris. Enjoying the sunshine, savoring the scents drifting from the street cafés. How did I manage to take a wrong turn into this nightmare?

“Do you keep a firearm, Doc?” asked Rizzoli.

Maura stiffened. “What kind of question is that?”

“No, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just wondered if you have a way to defend yourself.”

“I don’t have a gun. I’ve seen the damage they can do to a human body, and I won’t have one in my house.”

“Okay. Just asking.”

Maura took another sip of vodka, needing liquid courage before she asked the next question: “What do you know about the victim?”

Frost pulled out his notebook, flipping through it like some fussy clerk. In so many ways, Barry Frost reminded Maura of a mild-mannered bureaucrat with his pen always at the ready. “According to the driver’s license in her purse, her name is Anna Jessop, age forty, with an address in Brighton. Vehicle registration matches the same name.”

Maura’s head lifted. “That’s only a few miles from here.”

“The residence is an apartment building. Her neighbors don’t seem to know much about her. We’re still trying to reach the landlady, to let us into the unit.”

“Does the name Jessop ring any bells?” asked Rizzoli.

She shook her heard. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Do you know anyone in Maine?”

“Why do you ask?”

“There was a speeding ticket in her purse. Looks like she got pulled over two days ago, driving south on the Maine Turnpike.”

“I don’t know anyone in Maine.” Maura took a deep breath. Asked: “Who found her?”

“Your neighbor Mr. Telushkin made the call,” said Rizzoli. “He was out walking his dog when he noticed the Taurus parked at the curb.”

“When was that?”

“Around eight P.M.”

Of course, thought Maura. Mr. Telushkin walked his dog at precisely the same time every night. Engineers were like that, precise and predictable. But tonight he had encountered the unpredictable.

“He didn’t hear anything?” Maura asked.

“He said he’d heard what he thought was a car backfiring, maybe ten minutes before that. But no one saw it happen. After he found the Taurus, he called nine-one-one. Reported that someone had just shot his neighbor, Dr. Isles. Brookline Police responded first, along with Detective Eckert here. Frost and I arrived around nine.”

“Why?” Maura said, finally asking a question that had occurred to her when she’d first spotted Rizzoli standing on her front lawn. “Why are you in Brookline? This isn’t your beat.”

Rizzoli glanced at Detective Eckert.

He said, a little sheepishly, “You know, we only had one homicide last year in Brookline. We thought, under the circumstances, it made sense to call in Boston.”

Yes, it did make sense, Maura realized. Brookline was little more than a bedroom community trapped within the city of Boston. Last year, Boston PD had investigated sixty homicides. Practice made perfect, with murder investigations as well as anything else.

“We would have come in on this anyway,” said Rizzoli. “After we heard who the victim was. Who we thought it was.” She paused. “I have to admit, it never even occurred to me that it might not be you. I took one look at the victim and assumed…”

“We all did,” said Frost.

There was a silence.

“We knew you were due to fly home this evening from Paris,” said Rizzoli. “ That’s what your secretary told us. The only thing that didn’t make sense to us was the car. Why you’d be sitting in a car registered to another woman.”

Maura drained her glass and set it on the coffee table. One drink was all she could handle tonight. Already, her limbs were numb and she was having trouble focusing. The room had softened to a blur, the lamps casting everything in a warm glow. This is not real, she thought. I’m asleep in a jet somewhere over the Atlantic, and I’ll wake up to find the plane has landed. That none of this has happened.

“We don’t know anything yet about Anna Jessop,” said Rizzoli. “All we do know-what we’ve all seen with our own eyes-is that whoever she is, she’s a dead ringer for you, Doc. Maybe her hair’s a little longer. Maybe there’s a few differences here and there. But the point is, we were fooled. All of us. And we know you.” She paused. “You can see where I’m going with this, can’t you?”

Yes, Maura could, but she didn’t want to say it. She just sat staring at the glass on the coffee table. At the melting ice cubes.

“If we were fooled, anyone else could have been as well,” said Rizzoli. “Including whoever fired that bullet into her head. It was just before eight P.M. when your neighbor heard the backfire. Already getting dark. And there she was, sitting in a parked car just a few yards from your driveway. Anyone seeing her in that car would assume it’s you.”

“You think I was the target,” said Maura.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Maura shook her head. “None of this makes sense.”

“You have a very public job. You testify at homicide trials. You’re in the newspaper. You’re our Queen of the Dead.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s what all the cops call you. What the press calls you. You know that, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t mean I like that nickname. In fact, I can’t stand it.”

“But it does mean you’re noticed. Not just because of what you do, but also because of the way you look. You know the guys notice you, don’t you? You’d have to be blind not to see it. Nice-looking woman always gets their attention. Right, Frost?”

Frost gave a start, obviously not expecting to be put on the spot, and his cheeks reddened. Poor Frost, so easily caught in a blush. “It’s only human nature,” he admitted.

Maura looked at Father Brophy, who did not return her gaze. She wondered if he, too, was subject to the same laws of attraction. She wanted to think so; she wanted to believe that Daniel was not immune to the same thoughts that went through her head.

“Nice-looking woman in the public eye,” said Rizzoli. “Gets stalked, attacked in front of her own residence. It’s happened before. What was the name of that actress out in L.A.? The one who got murdered.”

“Rebecca Schaefer,” said Frost.

“Right. And then there’s the Lori Hwang case here. You remember her, Doc.”

Yes, Maura remembered it, because she had performed the autopsy on the Channel Six newscaster. Lori Hwang had been on the air only a year when she was shot to death in front of the studio. She’d never realized she was being stalked. The perp had been watching her on TV and had written a few fan letters. And then one day he had waited outside the studio doors. As Lori had stepped out and walked toward her car, he had fired a bullet into her head.

“That’s the hazard of living in the public eye,” said Rizzoli. “You never know who’s watching you on all those TV screens. You never know who’s in the car right behind yours when you drive home from work at night. It’s not something we even think about-that someone might be following us. Fantasizing about us.” Rizzoli paused. Said, quietly: “I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to be the focus of someone’s obsession. I’m not even that much to look at, but it happened to me.” She held out her hands, revealing the scars on her palms. The permanent souvenirs of her battle with the man who had twice almost taken her life. A man who still lived, though trapped in a quadriplegic’s body.

“That’s why I asked whether you’d received any strange letters,” said Rizzoli. “I was thinking about her. Lori Hwang.”

“Her killer was arrested,” said Father Brophy.

“Yes.”

“So you’re not implying it’s the same man.”

“No, I’m just pointing out the parallels. A single gunshot wound to the head. Women in public jobs. It just makes you think.” Rizzoli struggled to her feet. It took some effort to push herself out of the easy chair. Frost was quick to offer her his hand, but she ignored it. Though heavily pregnant, Rizzoli was not one to reach for assistance. She hoisted her purse over her shoulder and gave Maura a searching look. “Do you want to stay somewhere else tonight?”

“This is my house. Why would I go anywhere else?”

“Just asking. I guess I don’t need to tell you to lock your doors.”

“I always do.”

Rizzoli looked at Eckert. “Can Brookline PD watch the house?”

He nodded. “I’ll make sure a patrol car comes by every so often.”

“I appreciate that,” said Maura. “Thank you.”

Maura accompanied the three detectives to the front door and watched them walk to their cars. It was now after midnight. Outside, the street had been transformed back into the quiet neighborhood she knew. The Brookline PD cruisers were gone; the Taurus had already been towed away to the crime lab. Even the yellow police tape had been removed. In the morning, she thought, I’ll wake up and think I imagined the whole thing.

She turned and faced Father Brophy, who was still standing in her foyer. She had never felt more uneasy in his company than at this moment, the two of them alone in her house. The possibilities surely swirled in both their heads. Or just mine? Late at night, alone in your bed, do you ever think of me, Daniel? The way I think of you?

“Are you sure you feel safe staying here alone?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.” And what’s the alternative? That you spend the night with me? Is that what you’re offering?

He turned toward the door.

“Who called you here, Daniel?” she asked. “How did you know?”

He looked back at her. “Detective Rizzoli did. She told me…” He paused. “You know, I get calls like this all the time from the police. A death in the family, someone needs a priest. I’m always willing to respond. But this time…” He paused. “Lock your doors, Maura,” he said. “I don’t ever want to go through another night like this one.”

She watched him walk out of her house and climb into his car. He did not immediately start the engine; he was waiting to make sure that she was safely inside for the night.

She closed the door and locked it.

Through the living room window, she watched Daniel drive away. For a moment she stared at the empty curb, feeling suddenly abandoned. Wishing, at that moment, that she could call him back. And what would happen then? What did she want to happen between them? Some temptations, she thought, are best kept beyond our reach. She scanned the dark street one last time, then stepped away from the window, aware that she was framed by the light in her living room. She closed the curtains and went from room to room, checking the locks and the windows. On this warm June night, she would normally sleep with her bedroom window open. But tonight, she left the windows closed and turned on the air conditioner.

In the early morning she awakened, shivering from the chill air blowing out the vent. Her dreams had been of Paris. Of strolling under blue skies, past buckets of roses and star-gazer lilies, and for a moment, she did not remember where she was. Not in Paris any longer, but in my own bed, she realized. And something terrible has happened.

It was only five A.M., yet she felt wide awake. It’s eleven A.M. in Paris, she thought. There the sun is shining and if I were there now, I would already have had my second cup of coffee. She knew that jet lag would catch up with her later today, that this burst of early morning energy would be gone by afternoon, but she could not force herself to sleep any longer.

She rose and got dressed.

The street in front of her house looked the same as it always had. The first streaks of dawn lit the sky. She watched the lights come on in Mr. Telushkin’s house next door. He was an early riser, usually heading off to work at least an hour before she did, but this morning, she’d been the first to awaken, and she saw her neighborhood with fresh eyes. Saw the automatic sprinklers come on across the street, water hissing circles on the lawn. She saw the paperboy cycle past, baseball cap turned backward, and heard the thump of The Boston Globe hitting her front porch. Everything seems the same, she thought, but it’s not. Death has paid a visit to my neighborhood, and everyone who lives here will remember it. They will look out their front windows at the curb where the Taurus was parked, and shudder at how close it came to touching any one of us.

Headlights swung around the corner, and a vehicle drove along the street, slowing down as it approached her house. A Brookline police cruiser.

No, nothing is the same, she thought as she watched the cruiser drive past.

Nothing ever is.

She arrived at work before her secretary did. By six, Maura was at her desk, tackling the large stack of transcribed dictations and lab reports that had accumulated in her in-box during the week she had been at the Paris conference. She was already a third of the way through when she heard footsteps, and she looked up to see Louise standing in the doorway.

“You’re here,” Louise murmured.

Maura greeted her with a smile. “Bonjour! I thought I’d get an early start on all this paperwork.”

Louise just stared at her for a moment, then she came into the room and sat down in the chair facing Maura’s desk, as though she was suddenly too tired to stand. Though fifty years old, Louise always seemed to have twice the stamina of Maura, who was ten years younger. But this morning, Louise looked drained, her face thin and sallow under fluorescent lights.

“Are you all right, Dr. Isles?” Louise asked quietly.

“I’m fine. A little jet-lagged.”

“I mean-after what happened last night. Detective Frost sounded so sure it was you, in that car…”

Maura nodded, her smile fading. “It was like being in the Twilight Zone, Louise. Coming home to find all those police cars in front of my house.”

“It was awful. We all thought…” Louise swallowed and looked down at her lap. “I was so relieved when Dr. Bristol called me last night. To let me know it was a mistake.”

There was a silence, heavy with reproach. It suddenly dawned on Maura that she should have been the one to call her own secretary. She should have realized that Louise was shaken, and would want to hear her voice. I’ve been living alone and unattached for so long, she thought, that it doesn’t even occur to me that there are people in this world who might care what happens to me.

Louise stood up to leave. “I’m so glad to see you back, Dr. Isles. I just wanted to tell you that.”

“Louise?”

“Yes?”

“I brought you a little something back from Paris. I know this sounds like a lame excuse, but it’s packed in my suitcase. And the airline lost it.”

“Oh.” Louise laughed. “Well, if it’s chocolate, my hips certainly don’t need it.”

“Nothing caloric, I promise.” She glanced at the clock on her desk. “Is Dr. Bristol in yet?”

“He just got here. I saw him in the parking lot.”

“Do you know when he’s doing the autopsy?”

“Which one? He has two today.”

“The gunshot from last night. The woman.”

Louise gave her a long look. “I think that one is second on his schedule.”

“Do they know anything more about her?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Dr. Bristol.”