Last to Die

FIFTEEN

DID YOU DO IT?”

Claire had been expecting the question. Back at the clearing, when they’d all stood gaping at what hung from the willow tree, she’d caught Will looking at her and had read the question in his eyes. He’d been discreet enough not to say a word at the time. Now that they’d lagged behind the other kids on the trail, he sidled up to whisper: “The others, they’re saying it was you.”

“They’re idiots.”

“That’s what I told them. But you were out again last night.”

“I told you, I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep.”

“Next time, why don’t you wake me up? We could hang out together.”

She halted beside the streambed. Raindrops plopped onto their faces and drummed tattoos on the leaves. “You want to hang out with me?”

“I checked the weather forecast, and the sky’s supposed to be clear tomorrow night. You could look through my telescope, and I’ll show you some really cool galaxies. I’m sure you’d like seeing those.”

“You hardly know me, Will.”

“I know you better than you think.”

“Oh sure. Like we’re best friends forever.” She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but once the words were out, she couldn’t take them back, and she wished she could. There were a lot of things she wished she’d never said. She tramped a few more paces up the trail and realized that Will was no longer beside her. Turning, she saw he’d stopped and stood staring at the stream, where water splashed and rippled across rocks.

“Why couldn’t we be?” he said quietly, and looked at her. “We’re not like everyone else. You and I, we’re both …”

“Screwed up.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, I’m screwed up, anyway,” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Everyone says so, including my shrink. You want proof?” She grabbed his hand and pressed it against the scar on her scalp. “Feel that? That’s where they sawed open my skull. That’s why I stay awake all night, like a vampire. Because I’m brain-damaged.”

He made no attempt to pull free, as she’d expected. His hand lingered in her hair, caressing the scar that marked her freakdom. He might be fat and spotty with acne, but she suddenly noticed he had nice eyes. Soft and brown, with long lashes. He kept looking at her, as if trying to see what she was really thinking. All the things she was afraid to tell him.

She shoved his hand aside and walked away. Kept walking until the trail ended at the edge of the lake. There she stopped and stared across rain-dappled waters. Hoping Will would follow her.

And there he was, standing right beside her. A frigid wind blew off the lake, and she hugged herself, shivering. Will didn’t seem to notice the cold, even though he wore only jeans and a damp T-shirt that clung to every unflattering bulge of his pillowy torso.

“Did it hurt?” he asked. “Getting shot?”

Automatically she reached up to touch the spot on her skull. The little indentation that marked the end of her life as a normal kid, a kid who slept through the night and got good grades. A kid who didn’t say all the wrong things at the wrong times. “I don’t know,” she said. “The last thing I remember is having dinner in a restaurant with my mom and dad. They wanted me to try something new, but I wanted spaghetti. I kept insisting on spaghetti, spaghetti, and my mom finally told the waiter just to get me what I wanted. That’s what I remember last. That my mom was annoyed with me. That I disappointed her.” She swiped a hand across her eyes, leaving a streak of warmth on her cheeks.

On the pond a loon cried, a lonely, unearthly sound that made tears well up in her throat.

“I woke up in the hospital,” she said. “And my mom and dad were dead.”

His touch was so soft that she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. Just a featherlight stroke of his fingers on her face. She lifted her head to look into Will’s brown eyes.

“I miss my mom and dad, too,” he said.

“THIS IS A CREEPY school with creepy kids,” said Jane. “Every single one of them is peculiar.”

They sat in Maura’s room, their chairs pulled close to the hearth, where a fire was burning. Outside, rain lashed the windows and wind rattled the glass. Although she’d changed into dry clothes, the dampness had penetrated so deeply into Jane’s bones that even the heat of the flames failed to warm her. She pulled her sweater tighter and looked up at the oil painting that hung above the mantelpiece. It was a gentleman hunter, rifle propped over his shoulder as he posed proudly beside a fallen stag. Men and their trophies.

“The word I would use,” said Maura, “is haunted.”

“The children, you mean?”

“Yes. They’re haunted by crime. By violence. No wonder they strike you as odd.”

“You put a bunch of kids like that together, kids who have serious emotional issues, and all it does is reinforce their weirdness.”

“Maybe,” said Maura. “But it’s also the one place where they find acceptance. With people who understand them.”

This was not what Jane expected her to say. The Maura she saw now, sitting by the fire, seemed like a different woman. The wind and humidity had transformed her usually sculpted black hair into a tangled thatch. Her plaid flannel shirt was untucked, and the cuffs of her blue jeans were stained with dried mud. Only a few days in Maine, and she’d been transformed into someone Jane did not quite recognize.

“You told me earlier that you wanted to pull Julian out of this school,” said Jane.

“I did.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“You can see how happy he is here. And he refuses to leave. That’s what he told me. At sixteen, he already knows exactly what he wants.” Maura sipped from a cup of tea and regarded Jane through the curling steam. “Remember what he was like in Wyoming? A wild animal who always got into fights, whose only friend was that dog. But here, in Evensong, he’s found friends. This is where he belongs.”

“Because here they’re all oddballs.”

Maura smiled at the fire. “Maybe that’s why Julian and I bonded. Because I am, too.”

“But in a good way,” Jane quickly added.

“Which way would that be?”

“Brilliant. Determined. Reliable.”

“I’m starting to sound like a German shepherd.”

“And honest.” Jane paused. “Even when it means losing friends because of it.”

Maura stared into her teacup. “I’m going to pay for that sin forever. Aren’t I?”

For a moment they didn’t speak; the only sound was the rain hitting the window and the hiss of the fire. Jane could not remember the last time they had sat together and quietly talked, just the two of them. Her bag was already packed and she was expected back in Boston tonight, but Jane made no move to leave. Instead she remained in the armchair, because she did not know when they would have this chance again. Life was too often a series of interruptions. Phone calls, family crises, other people always interrupting, whether it was in the morgue or at the crime scene. On this gray afternoon there were no ringing phones, no one knocking on the door, yet silence hung between them, heavy with all that had been left unsaid these past weeks, ever since Maura’s testimony had sent a cop to prison. Boston’s finest did not easily forgive such acts of treason.

Now, at every crime scene, Maura was forced to walk a gauntlet of chilly silence and hostile stares, and the strain was apparent in her face. In the firelight, her eyes seemed hollow, her cheeks thinner.

“Graff was guilty.” Maura’s fingers tightened around the teacup. “I would testify to that again.”

“Of course you would. That’s what you do, you tell the truth.”

“You make it sound like a bad habit. A tic.”

“No, it takes courage to tell the truth. I should have been a better friend.”

“I wasn’t sure if we were friends anymore. Or if I’m capable of holding on to any friends.” Maura stared at the fire, as if all the answers could be found in those flames. “Maybe I should just stay here. Become a hermit and live in the woods. It’s so beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life in Maine.”

“Your life’s in Boston.”

“It’s not as if Boston ever embraced me.”

“Cities don’t embrace you. People do.”

“And it’s people who let you down.” Maura blinked at the firelight.

“That could happen anywhere, Maura.”

“There’s a hardness to Boston. A coldness. Before I moved there, I’d heard about chilly New Englanders, but I didn’t really believe it. Then I got to Boston, and I felt like I had to chip through ice just to know people.”

“Even me?”

Maura looked at her. “Even you.”

“I had no idea we gave off those vibes. I guess it ain’t sunny California.”

Once again, Maura’s gaze was on the flames. “I should never have left San Francisco.”

“You have friends in Boston now. You have me.”

A smile twitched up the corner of Maura’s mouth. “You, I would miss.”

“Is Boston really the problem? Or is it one Bostonian in particular?”

They didn’t need to say his name; they were both thinking of Father Daniel Brophy, the man who’d brought both joy and sorrow into Maura’s life. The man who had probably suffered just as deeply from their ill-considered affair.

“Just when I think I’m over him,” said Maura, “when I think I’ve finally crawled out of the hole and back into the sunlight, I’ll see him at a crime scene. And the wound rips right open again.”

“It’s hard to avoid him when death scenes are what you both do.”

Maura gave a rueful laugh. “A healthy way to build a relationship! On tragedy.”

“It is over between you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Maura paused. “And no.”

“But you’re not together.”

“And I can see how much he’s suffering because of it. It’s written all over his face.”

And on your face, too.

“Which is why I should leave Boston. Go back to California, or … anywhere.”

“And that will solve everything?”

“It could.”

“You’d be two thousand miles away from him, but you’d also be two thousand miles from every tie you’ve built over the last few years. Your home, your colleagues. Your friends.”

“Friend. As in singular.”

“You didn’t see the memorial service we held for you when we thought you were dead. When we thought the body in that coffin was yours. The room was packed, Maura, with people who respect you. Who care about you. Yeah, maybe we’re no good at showing our feelings. Maybe these long winters make us all crabby. But we do have feelings. Even in Boston.”

Maura kept staring at the fireplace, where the flames were slowly dying, leaving only the glow of ashes.

“Well, I know someone who’ll be really sorry if you go back to California,” said Jane. “Does he know you’re thinking about this?”

“He?”

“Oh geez, don’t play dumb. I’ve seen how he looks at you. It’s the one reason Sansone and Brophy dislike each other so much. Because of you.”

Surprise flickered in Maura’s eyes as she looked at Jane. “Anthony Sansone was never on your list of favorite people.”

“Talk about oddballs. And he’s part of this weird Mephisto group.”

“Yet now you’re telling me he’s a reason for me to stay in Boston.”

“He’s worth considering, isn’t he?”

“Wow. He’s come a long way in your estimation.”

“At least he’s available.” Unlike Daniel Brophy was what Jane didn’t have to add. “And he has a thing for you.”

“No, Jane.” Maura slumped back into the armchair. “He doesn’t.”

Jane frowned. “How do you know?”

“A woman knows.” Her gaze drifted off again, pulled like a moth back to the moribund flames. “The night I got here, Anthony showed up, too.”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing. The next morning we had a meeting with the faculty. And then he was gone again, off to London. Just a phantom who flits in and out of my life.”

“Sansone’s been known to do that kind of thing. It doesn’t mean he’s not interested.”

“Jane, please. Don’t try to talk me into another bad affair.”

“I’m trying to talk you into not leaving Boston.”

“Because Anthony’s such a good catch?”

“No, because Boston needs you. Because you’re the smartest ME I’ve ever worked with. And because …” Jane sighed. “I’d friggin’ miss you, Maura.”

The last remnants of the birch log collapsed, sending up a puff of glowing ashes. That, and the steady patter of rain, were the only sounds in the room. Maura sat very still, so still that Jane wondered whether Maura had registered what she’d just said. Whether it made any difference at all to her. Then Maura looked at her, eyes bright with tears, and Jane knew that her words might make all the difference in the world.

“I’ll take that under consideration,” Maura said.

“Yeah, you do that.” Jane glanced again at her watch. “I should get going.”

“Do you really need to leave today?”

“I want to dig deeper into the Ward and Yablonski cases, which means dealing with multiple jurisdictions, multiple agencies. And I’ll be doing it mostly on my own, since Crowe doesn’t want to waste any manpower on it.”

“Detective Crowe has a pathetic lack of imagination.”

“You noticed that, too?” Jane stood. “I’ll be checking in every day, to make sure Teddy’s okay. You call me if there are any problems.”

“Relax, Jane. This is the safest place he could be.”

Jane thought about the gated road, the isolation. The thirty thousand acres of wooded wilderness. And she thought of the ever-alert guardians who watched over it all, the Mephisto Society. What safer place to hide a threatened child than with people who knew how dangerous the world could be?

“I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen,” she said. “I’ll see you back in Boston.”

On her way out of the castle, Jane stopped to check on Teddy one last time. He was sitting in class, and she didn’t disturb him, just watched from the doorway as Lily Saul, with swoops and slashes, demonstrated the advantages of the Spanish sword used by the Roman legions. Teddy looked enthralled, body angled forward as though to spring out of his chair and join the battle. Lily caught sight of Jane and gave a nod, a look that said: He’ll be fine. Everything is under control.

That was all Jane needed to see.

Outside, she scurried through the rain to her car, tossed her overnight bag into the backseat, and slid in behind the wheel. Swiping water from her face, she reached in her pocket for the four-digit security code she’d need to exit the gate.

Everything is under control.

But as she pulled out of the courtyard and drove under the archway, something in the distance caught her eye, something in the woods. A man standing among the trees. He was so far away that she could not make out his face, only his shape. His clothes were the same mottled gray-brown as the tree trunks around him.

The road brought her in that direction, and as she drew closer she kept her eye on the man, wondering why he stood so still. Then a curve in the road briefly cut off her view, and when the clump of trees came back into sight, she saw no one standing there. It was just the stump of a dead oak, its bark mottled with lichen and pocked with woodpecker holes.

She stopped at the side of the road and rolled down her window. Saw leaves dripping with rain, branches bobbing in the wind. But there was no watcher in the woods, just that lifeless tree stump, masquerading as a menace.

Everything is under control.

Yet her uneasiness remained as she passed through the gate and drove south through forest and then farmland. Perhaps it was the unrelenting rain and the dark clouds hanging low on the horizon. Perhaps it was the lonely road, with its abandoned houses with sagging porches and boarded-over windows. This place felt like the end of the world, and she might be the last human alive.

Her ringing cell phone shattered that illusion. I’m back in civilization again, she thought as she rooted around in her purse for the phone. Reception was weak, barely enough to carry on a conversation, but she could make out Frost’s fragmented voice.

“Your last email … spoke to Hillsborough PD …”

“Hillsborough? Is this about Will Yablonski’s aunt and uncle?”

“… says it’s weird … wants to discuss …”

“Frost? Frost?”

Suddenly his voice popped out loud and clear. The miracle of a good cell signal at last. “He has no idea what it all means.”

“You spoke to the Hillsborough cop?”

“Yeah. A Detective David G. Wyman. He said the case struck him as weird from the beginning. I told him about Claire Ward, and his attention really perked up. He didn’t know there were other kids. You need to talk to him.”

“Can you meet me in New Hampshire?” asked Jane.

There was a pause; then his voice dropped. “No way. Crowe wants us focused on finding Andres Zapata. I’m on stakeout tonight. The housekeeper’s apartment.”

“Crowe’s still going with robbery as the motive?”

“On paper Zapata looks good. Burglary priors in Colombia. He had access, opportunity. And his fingerprints are on the kitchen door.”

“But this is bugging me, Frost. These three kids.”

“Look, we’re not expecting you here till tomorrow. You’ve got time to make a little detour.”

She’d planned to be home tonight for dinner with Gabriel, and a good-night kiss for Regina. Now it seemed she was headed to New Hampshire. “Don’t say a word to Crowe.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“One more thing. Run a VICAP search on unsolved family massacres. Specifically the same year the Wards, the Yablonskis, and the Clocks were killed.”

“What do you think we’re dealing with?”

“I don’t know.” She stared ahead at the rain-slicked road. “But whatever it is, it’s starting to scare me.”