TWENTY-THREE

“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything last night? No footsteps on the porch, nothing out of the ordinary?” asked Jane.

Maura sat on the couch, shivering despite her sweater and wool slacks. She had not eaten breakfast, had not even poured herself a cup of coffee, but she felt not the faintest stirring of hunger. During the half hour before Jane and Frost had arrived, Maura had remained at her living room window, watching the street, attuned to every noise, tracking every car that passed. The killer knows where I live. He knows what happened last night, in my bedroom.

“Doc?”

Maura looked up. “I didn’t hear anything. The writing was just there, on my door, when I woke up. When I went outside to get my…” She flinched, her heart suddenly thudding.

Her phone was ringing.

Frost picked up the receiver. “Isles residence. This is Detective Frost. I’m sorry, Mr. Sansone, but we’re dealing with a situation here right now, and this isn’t a convenient time for you to talk to her. I’ll let her know you called.”

Jane’s gaze returned to Maura. “Are you sure that writing wasn’t already on your door when you got home last night?”

“I didn’t see it then.”

“You used the front door to enter the house?”

“Yes. Normally, I’d come in the garage. But my car’s still on Beacon Hill.”

“Did Father Brophy walk you to the door?”

“It was dark, Jane. We wouldn’t have seen the writing.” We were only focused on each other. All we had on our minds was getting to my bedroom.

Frost said, “I think I’ll check around outside. See if there are any footprints.” He went out the front door. Though he was now tramping right outside the house, the sound of his footsteps did not penetrate the double-pane windows. Last night a trespasser could have walked right past her bedroom, and she wouldn’t have heard a thing.

“Do you think he followed you home last night?” Jane asked. “From O’Donnell’s house?”

“I don’t know. He could have. But I’ve been present at all three death scenes. Lori-Ann Tucker’s. Eve Kassovitz’s. On any one of those nights, he might have seen me.”

“And followed you home.”

She hugged herself, trying to suppress her shaking. “I never noticed. I never realized I was being watched.”

“You have an alarm system. Did you use it last night?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I-I simply forgot to arm it.” I had other things on my mind.

Jane sat down in the chair across from her. “Why would he draw those symbols on your door? What do you think they mean?”

“How would I know?”

“And the message he left-it’s the same one that he left in Lori-Ann Tucker’s bedroom. Only this time, he didn’t bother to write it in Latin. This time he made sure we’d understand exactly what he meant. I have sinned.” Jane paused. “Why direct those particular words at you?”

Maura said nothing.

“Do you think they were meant for you?” Jane’s gaze was suddenly alert, probing.

She knows me too well, thought Maura. She can see I’m not telling her the whole story. Or maybe she’s caught the whiff of lust on my skin. I should have showered before they got here; I should have washed away Daniel’s scent.

Abruptly, Maura stood up. “I can’t concentrate,” she said. “I need a cup of coffee.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen. There she busied herself, pouring coffee into mugs, reaching into the refrigerator for cream. Jane had followed her into the kitchen, but Maura avoided looking at her. She slid a steaming mug in front of Jane and then turned to the window as she sipped, delaying, as long as she could, the revelation of her shame.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” said Jane.

“I’ve told you everything. I woke up this morning and found that writing on my door. I don’t know what else to say.”

“After you left O’Donnell’s house, did Father Brophy drive you straight home?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see any cars tailing you?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe Father Brophy noticed something. I’ll see what he remembers.”

Maura cut in. “You don’t need to talk to him. I mean, if he’d noticed anything last night, he would have told me.”

“I still have to ask him.”

Maura turned to face Jane. “It’s Sunday, you know.”

“I know what day it is.”

“He has services.”

Jane’s gaze had narrowed, and Maura felt her cheeks flame with heat.

“What happened last night?” Jane asked.

“I told you. I came straight home from O’Donnell’s house.”

“And you stayed inside for the rest of the night?”

“I didn’t leave the house.”

“Did Father Brophy?”

The question, asked so matter-of-factly, startled Maura into silence. After a moment, she sank into a chair at the kitchen table but said nothing, just stared down at her coffee.

“How long did he stay?” asked Jane. Still no emotion in her voice, still the cop, although Maura knew there was disapproval behind that question, and guilt tightened its fist around her throat.

“He stayed most of the night.”

“Till what time?”

“I don’t know. It was still dark when he left.”

“And what did you two do while he was here?”

“This isn’t relevant.”

“You know it is. We’re talking about what the killer might have seen through your windows. What might have inspired him to write those words on your door. Were your living room lights on the whole night? Were you and Brophy sitting there, talking?”

Maura heaved out a breath. “No. The lights…they were off.”

“The house was dark.”

“Yes.”

“And someone standing outside, watching your windows, would have to assume-”

“You know what the hell they’d assume.”

“Would they be right?”

Maura met her gaze. “I was freaked out last night, Jane! Daniel was there for me. He’s always been there for me. We didn’t plan for this to happen. It’s the only time-the one time-” Her voice faded. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

Jane sat down at the kitchen table as well. “You know, those words take on new meaning. I have sinned.”

“We’ve all sinned,” shot back Maura. “Each and every damn one of us.”

“I’m not criticizing you, okay?”

“Yes you are. You think I can’t hear it in your voice?”

“If you’re feeling guilty, Doc, it’s not because of anything I said.”

Maura stared back at Jane’s unrelenting gaze and thought, She’s right, of course. My guilt is all my own.

“We will have to talk to Father Brophy about this, you know. About what happened last night.”

Maura gave a resigned sigh. “Please, when you do talk to him, just keep it discreet.”

“I’m not exactly bringing in the TV cameras, okay?”

“Detective Frost doesn’t have to know about this.”

“Of course he has to know. He’s my partner.”

Maura dropped her head in her hands. “Oh, God.”

“This is relevant to the case, and you know it. If I didn’t tell Frost, he’d have every right to cry foul.”

So I won’t be able to look at Frost again without seeing a reflection of my own guilt, thought Maura, cringing at the thought of Frost’s reaction. One’s reputation was such a fragile thing; one tiny crack and it disintegrates. For two years, they had regarded her as the queen of the dead, the unflappable medical examiner who could gaze without flinching at sights that turned the stomachs of even the most seasoned investigators. Now they’d look at her and see the weaknesses, the flaws of a lonely woman.

Footsteps thumped on the front porch. It was Frost, coming back into the house. She did not want to be present when he learned the tawdry truth. Uptight, upright Barry Frost would be shocked to hear who’d been sleeping in her bed.

But he was not the only person who’d just stepped into the house. Maura heard voices talking, and she looked up in sudden recognition as Anthony Sansone swept into the kitchen, followed by Frost.