Vanish

THIRTY-THREE

The weapon felt heavy and strangely unfamiliar on Jane’s hip. Once an old friend, it had sat locked up and ignored in a drawer these past few weeks. Only reluctantly had she loaded it and snapped it into her holster. Though she’d always regarded her weapon with the healthy respect due any object that could blast a hole in a man’s chest, never before had she hesitated to reach for it. This must be what motherhood does to you, she thought. I look at a gun now, and all I can think of is Regina. How one twitch of a finger, one wayward bullet, could take her from me.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” said Gabriel.

They were sitting in Gabriel’s parked Volvo on Newbury Street, where fashionable shops were preparing to close for the night. The Saturday restaurant crowd still lingered in the neighborhood, well-dressed couples strolling past, happily sated with dinner and wine. Unlike Jane, who’d been too nervous to eat more than a few bites of the pot roast her mother had brought to their apartment.

“They can send in another female cop,” said Gabriel. “You can just sit this one out.”

“Mila knows my voice. She knows my name. I have to do it.”

“You’ve been out of the game for a month.”

“And it’s time for me to get back in.” She looked at her watch. “Four minutes,” she said into her comm unit. “Is everyone ready?”

Over the earpiece, she heard Moore say: “We’re in place. Frost is at Beacon and Huntington. I’m in front of the Four Seasons.”

“And I’ll be behind you,” said Gabriel.

“Okay.” She stepped out of the car and tugged down the light jacket she was wearing, so it would cover the bulge of her weapon. Walking up Newbury Street, heading west, she brushed past Saturday night tourists. People who did not need guns on their belts. At Arlington Street she paused to wait for traffic. Across the street were the public gardens, and to her left was Beacon Street, where Frost was posted, but she did not glance his way. Nor did she hazard a look over her shoulder, to confirm that Gabriel was behind her. She knew he was.

She crossed Arlington and strolled into the public gardens.

Newbury Street had been bustling, but here there were few tourists. A couple sat on a bench by the pond, arms wrapped around each other, heedless of anyone outside their own fevered universe. A man was hunched over a trash bin, picking out aluminum cans and dropping them into his clanking sack. Sprawled on the lawn, shadowed by trees from the glow of streetlights, a circle of kids took turns strumming a guitar. Jane paused at the pond’s edge and scanned the shadows. Is she here? Is she already watching me?

No one approached her.

She made a slow circuit around the pond. During the day there would be swan boats gliding in the water, and families eating ice cream, and musicians pounding on bongo drums. But tonight the water was still, a black hole reflecting not even a shimmer of city lights. She continued to the north end of the pond and paused, listening to traffic along Beacon Street. Through the bushes she saw the silhouette of a man loitering beneath a tree. Barry Frost. She turned and continued her circle around the pond, and finally came to a halt beneath a streetlamp.

Here I am, Mila. Take a good long look at me. You can see that I’m alone.

After a moment, she settled onto a bench, feeling like the star of a one-woman stage play, with the lamplight shining down on her head. She felt eyes watching her, violating her privacy.

Something rattled behind her, and she jerked around, automatically reaching for her weapon. Her hand froze on the holster when she saw it was only the scruffy man with the trash bag of clanking aluminum cans. Heart pounding, she again settled back against the bench. A breeze blew through the park, rippling the pond, raking its surface with sequins of reflected light. The man with the cans dragged his bag to a trash receptacle beside her bench and began to poke through the rubbish. He took his time excavating treasure, each find announced by a cymbal’s clash of aluminum. Would the man never go away? In frustration, she rose to her feet to escape him.

Her cell phone rang.

She thrust a hand in her pocket and snapped up the phone. “Hello? Hello?”

Silence.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m sitting by the pond, where you told me to wait. Mila?”

She heard only the throb of her own heartbeat. The connection was dead.

She spun around and scanned the park, spotting only the same people she’d seen before. The couple necking on the bench, the kids with the guitar. And the man with the sack of cans. He was motionless, hunched over the trash receptacle, as though eyeing some minute jewel in the mound of newspapers and food wrappings.

He’s been listening.

“Hey,” Jane said.

The man instantly straightened. He began to walk away, the sack of cans clanking behind him.

She started after him. “I want to talk to you!”

The man did not look back, but kept walking. Faster now, knowing that he was being pursued. She sprinted after him, and caught up just as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Grabbing the back of his windbreaker she yanked him around. Beneath the glare of the streetlight, they stared at each other. She saw sunken eyes and an unkempt beard streaked with gray. Smelled breath soured by alcohol and rotting teeth.

He batted away her hand. “What’re you doing? What the hell, lady?”

“Rizzoli?” Moore’s voice barked over her earpiece. “You need backup?”

“No. No, I’m okay.”

“Who ya talking to?” the bum said.

Angrily, she waved him off. “Go. Just get out of here.”

“Who do you think you are, ordering me around?”

“Just leave.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave a snort and walked away, dragging his cans behind him. “Park’s full of crazy people these days…”

She turned, and suddenly realized that she was surrounded. Gabriel, Moore, and Frost had all moved within yards of her position, to form a protective circle around her. “Oh man,” she sighed. “Did I ask for help?”

“We didn’t know what was going on,” said Gabriel.

“Now we’ve blown it.” She looked around the park, and it seemed emptier than ever. The couple on the bench was walking away; only the kids with the guitar remained, laughing in the shadows. “If Mila’s been watching, she knows it’s a setup. There’s no way she’ll come near me.”

“It’s nine forty-five,” said Frost. “What do you think?”

Moore shook his head. “Let’s wrap it up. Nothing’s going to happen tonight.”

“I was doing fine,” said Jane. “I didn’t need the cavalry.”

Gabriel pulled into his parking space behind their apartment building and shut off the engine. “We didn’t know what was happening. We saw you running after that man, and then it looked like he was taking a swing at you.”

“He was just trying to get away.”

“I didn’t know that. All I thought was-” He stopped and looked at her. “I just reacted. That’s all.”

“We’ve probably lost her, you know.”

“Then we’ve lost her.”

“You sound like you don’t even care.”

“You know what I care about? That you don’t get hurt. That’s more important than anything else.” He got out of the car; so did she.

“Do you happen to remember what I do for a living?” she asked.

“I’m trying not to.”

“Suddenly my job is not okay.”

He shut his car door and met her gaze over the roof. “I admit it. I’m having trouble right now, dealing with it.”

“You’re asking me to quit?”

“If I thought I could get away with it.”

“What am I supposed to do instead?”

“Here’s a novel idea. You could stay home with Regina.”

“When did you go all retro on me? I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, either.”

“You knew who I was when you married me, Gabriel.” She turned and walked into the building, and was already climbing to the second floor when she heard him say, from the bottom of the stairs: “But maybe I didn’t know who I was.”

She glanced back at him. “What does that mean?”

“You and Regina are all I have.” Slowly he came up the stairs, until they were face-to-face on the landing. “I never had to worry about anyone else before, about what I could lose. I didn’t know it would scare me so much. Now I’ve got this big exposed Achilles heel, and all I can think about is how to protect it.”

“You can’t protect it,” she said. “It’s just something you have to live with. It’s what happens when you have a family.”

“It’s too much to lose.”

Their apartment door suddenly opened, and Angela poked her head into the hallway. “I thought I heard you two out here.”

Jane turned. “Hi, Mom.”

“I just put her down for the night, so keep your voices quiet.”

“How was she?”

“Exactly like you were at her age.”

“That bad, huh?” Stepping into the apartment, Jane was taken aback by how neat everything looked. The dishes were washed and put away, the countertops wiped clean. A lace doily graced the dining table. When had she ever owned a lace doily?

“You two had a fight, didn’t you?” said Angela. “I can tell just by looking at you.”

“We had a disappointing night, that’s all.” Jane took off her jacket and hung it in the closet. When she turned back to look at her mother, she saw that Angela’s gaze had focused on Jane’s weapon.

“You’re going to lock that thing up, aren’t you?”

“I always do.”

“Because babies and guns-”

“Okay, okay.” Jane took off her weapon and slid it into a drawer. “You know, she’s not even a month old.”

“She’s precocious, just like you were.” Angela looked at Gabriel. “Did I ever tell you what Jane did when she was three?”

“Mom, he doesn’t want to hear that story.”

“Yes I do,” said Gabriel.

Jane sighed. “It involves a cigarette lighter and the living room curtains. And the Revere Fire Department.”

“Oh, that,” said Angela. “I forgot all about that story.”

“Mrs. Rizzoli, why don’t you tell me about it while I drive you home?” said Gabriel, reaching into the closet to retrieve Angela’s sweater.

In the other room, Regina suddenly let out a howl to announce that she was not, in fact, down for the night. Jane went into the nursery and lifted her daughter out of the crib. When she came back into the living room, Gabriel and her mother had already left the apartment. Rocking Regina in one arm, she stood at the kitchen sink, running warm water into a pan to heat the milk bottle. The apartment’s front door buzzer sounded.

“Janie?” Angela’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Can you let me back in? I forgot my glasses.”

“Come on up, Mom.” Jane pressed the lock release and was waiting at the door to hand over the glasses when her mother came up the stairs.

“Can’t read without these,” said Angela. She paused to give her fussing granddaughter one last kiss. “Better go. He’s got the car running.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Jane went back into the kitchen, where the pan was now overflowing. She set the bottle in hot water, and as the formula warmed, she paced the room with her crying daughter.

The apartment door buzzed again.

Oh, Ma. What’d you forget this time? she wondered, and pressed the lock release.

By now the bottle was warm. She slipped the nipple into Regina’s mouth, but her daughter simply batted it away, as though in disgust. What do you want, baby? she thought in frustration as she carried her daughter back into the living room. If you could just tell me what you want!

She opened the door to greet her mother.

It was not Angela standing there.