The Surgeon (39 page)

of a somber professional. Maura gazed directly at the
camera, her mouth neutral and unsmiling--appropriate for the
line of work she was in. When one's job involved slicing open
the dead, a broad grin would be unsettling.
Michelle studied the photo again with self-conscious
diligence. She was young, in her midtwenties, and having so
many people watching would make it difficult for anyone to
concentrate. Especially when one of those people was your
boss.
Jane said to the manager, "Would you mind stepping out,
sir?"
"This is my office."
"We only need to borrow it for a short time."
"Since this business involves my hotel, I think I should know
exactly what's going on." He looked at the clerk. "Do you
remember her or not, Michelle?"
The young woman gave a helpless shrug. "I can't be sure.
Are there any other pictures?"
After a silence, Brophy said quietly: "I have one." From the
inside pocket of his jacket, he produced the photo. It was a
casual snapshot of Maura seated at her kitchen table, a glass
of red wine in front of her. Compared with the somber photo
from the ME's office, this looked like a different woman

entirely, her face flushed with alcohol and laughter. The photo
was worn around the edges from repeated handling; it was
something that he probably always carried with him, to be
brought out and gazed at in lonely moments. For Daniel
Brophy, there must be many such moments, torn between duty
and longing, between God and Maura.
"Does she look familiar?" Queenan asked Michelle.
The young woman frowned. "This is the same woman? She
looks so different in this picture."
Happier. In love.
Michelle looked up. "You know, I think I do remember her.
Was she here with her husband?"
"She's not married," said Jane.
"Oh. Well, maybe I'm thinking of the wrong woman, then."
"Tell us about the woman you do remember."
"She was with this guy. A really cute guy with blond hair."
Jane avoided looking at Brophy; she didn't want to see his
reaction.
"What else do you remember about them?"
"They were going out to dinner together. I remember they

stopped at the desk, and he asked for directions to the
restaurant. I just assumed they were married."
"Why?"
"Because he was laughing and said something like, `You
see? I have learned to ask for directions.' I mean, that's
something a guy would say to his wife, right?"
"When did you see this couple?"
"It would have been Thursday night. Because I was off duty
on Friday."
"And Saturday, the day she checked out? Were you
working that morning?"
"Yes, but a lot of us were on duty. That's when the
conference ended and we had all those guests checking out. I
don't remember seeing her then."
"Someone at the desk must have helped her check out."
"Actually, no," the manager said. He held up a computer
printout. "You said you wanted her room bill, so I ran off a copy.
Looks like she used the in-room checkout feature on her TV.
She didn't have to stop at the desk at all when she left."
Queenan took the printout. Flipping through the pages, he
read aloud all the charges. "Room tax. Restaurant. Internet.

Restaurant. I don't see anything out of the ordinary here."
"If it was an in-room checkout," Jane said, "how do we know
she actually did it herself?"
Queenan didn't even bother to suppress a snort. "Are you
suggesting that someone broke into her room? Packed up
her stuff and checked out for her?"
"I'm just pointing out that we don't have proof she was
actually here on Saturday morning, the day she supposedly
left."
"What kind of proof do you need?"
Jane turned to the manager. "You have a security camera
mounted over the reception desk. How long do you keep the
recordings?"
"We'd still have the video from last week. But you're talking
about hours and hours of recordings. Hundreds of people
walking through the lobby. You'd be here all week watching
those."
"What time did she check out, according to the bill?"
Queenan looked at the printout. "It was seven fifty-four AM."
"Then let's start there. If she walked out of this hotel on her
own two feet, we should be able to spot her."

THERE WAS NOTHING in life so mind numbing as
reviewing a surveillance video. After only thirty minutes, Jane's
neck and shoulders were sore from craning forward, trying to
catch every passing figure on the monitor. It did not help
matters that Queenan kept sighing and fidgeting in his chair,
making it clear to everyone else in the room that he thought
this was a fool's errand. And maybe it is, thought Jane as she
watched figures twitch across the screen, groups gathering
and dispersing. As the time stamp moved toward eight AM,
and dozens of hotel guests converged on the reception desk
for checkout, her attention was pulled in too many directions at
once.
It was Daniel who spotted her. "There!" he said.
Gabriel froze the recording. Jane counted at least two
dozen people captured in that freeze-frame of the lobby, most
of them standing near the desk. Others were caught in the
background, clustered near the lobby chairs. Two men stood
talking on their cell phones, and both were simultaneously
looking at their watches. Welcome to the era of the
compulsive multitasker.
Queenan said: "I don't see her."
"Go back," said Daniel. "I'm sure it was her."
Gabriel reversed the sequence, frame by frame. They
watched as people walked backward, as groups broke apart
and new clusters formed. One of the cell phone talkers

twitched this way and that, as though dancing to some erratic
beat coming through his receiver.
"That's her," Daniel said softly.
The dark-haired woman was at the very edge of the screen,
her face caught in profile. No wonder Jane had missed seeing
it the first time: Maura was weaving through the lobby with half
a dozen people standing between her and the camera. Only at
that instant, as she walked past a gap in the crowd, did the
lens capture her image.
"Not a very clear shot," said Queenan.
"I know it's her," said Daniel, staring at Maura with
undisguised yearning. "It's her face, her haircut. And I
recognize the parka."
"Let's see if we can get any other views," said Gabriel. He
moved the recording forward, frame by frame. Maura's dark
hair reappeared, bobbing in and out of view as she moved
past. Only at the very edge of the screen did she emerge
again from the crowd. She was wearing dark pants and a
white ski parka with a furred hood. Gabriel advanced one
more image, and Maura's head moved beyond the frame, but
half her torso was still visible.
"Well, look at that," said Queenan, pointing. "She's wheeling
a suitcase." He looked at Jane. "I think that settles the issue,
doesn't it? She packed her own bag and checked out. She

wasn't dragged from the building. As of Saturday, eight oh
five, she was alive and well and leaving the hotel on her own
steam." He glanced at his watch and stood. "Call me if you
see anything else worth noting."
"You're not staying?"
"Ma'am, we've sent her photo to every newspaper and TV
station in the state of Wyoming. We're fielding every call that
comes in. The problem is, she--or someone who looks like
her--has been sighted just about everywhere."
"Where, exactly?" asked Jane.
"You name it, she's been seen there. The Dinosaur
Museum in Thermopolis. Grubb's General Store in Sublette
County. Eating dinner at the Irma Hotel in Cody. A dozen
different places, all around the state. At the moment, I'm not
sure what more I can do. Now, I don't know your missing friend
here. I don't know what kind of woman she is. But I'm thinking
that she met some guy, maybe one of those other doctors
here. She packs her suitcase, checks out a day early, and
they decide to drive off somewhere together. Don't you agree
that's the most likely explanation? That she's holed up in
some hotel room with this guy, and they're having such hot sex
that she's lost track of the calendar?"
Painfully aware that Daniel was standing beside her, Jane
said: "She wouldn't do that."

"I can't count the number of times people have said that to
me, or some variation on those words. He's a good husband.
He'd never do that. Or: She'd never leave her kids . The point
is, people surprise you. They do something crazy, and
suddenly you realize you never really knew them. You must've
dealt with that situation yourself, Detective."
Jane could not deny it; were their roles reversed, she would
probably be giving the same little speech. How people are not
who you think they are, not even people you've loved all your
life. She thought of her own parents, whose thirty-five-year
marriage had disintegrated after her father's affair with
another woman. She thought of her mother's startling
transformation from dowdy housewife into a lusty divorc�e in
low-cut dresses. No, people are too often not who you think
they are. Sometimes they do foolish and inexplicable things.
Sometimes, they fall in love with Catholic priests.
"The point is, we haven't seen evidence of a crime yet,"
said Queenan, pulling on his winter jacket. "No blood, nothing
to suggest that anyone forced her to do anything."
"There was that man. The one the hotel clerk saw with
Maura."
"What about him?"
"If Maura went off with this guy, I'd like to know who he is.
Shouldn't we at least check the videos from Thursday night?"

Queenan stood scowling as he debated whether to pull off
his jacket again. At last he sighed. "Okay. Let's look at
Thursday night. The clerk said they were headed out to dinner,
so we can start the recording around five PM."
This time, it was easier to spot their target. According to
Michelle, the couple had come up to the reception desk to ask
for directions to the restaurant. They fast-forwarded through
the video, pausing only when someone approached the desk.
Passersby jittered back and forth across the screen. The time
stamp advanced toward six PM and the crowd grew larger as
guests headed toward dinner, the women now adorned in
earrings and necklaces, the men in coats and ties.
At six fifteen, a blond man appeared, facing across the
desk.
"There," said Jane.
For a moment, there was silence as everyone focused on
the dark-haired woman standing beside the man. There was
no doubt about her identity.
It was Maura, and she was smiling.
"That's your gal, I take it?" asked Queenan.
"Yes," said Jane softly.

"She doesn't seem particularly distressed. That looks like a
woman who's headed out to a nice restaurant, wouldn't you
say?"
Jane stared at the image of Maura and the nameless man.
Queenan's right, she thought. Maura looked happy. She could
not remember the last time she'd seen such a smile on her
friend's face. Over the past months, Maura had grown wan
and increasingly private, as though, by avoiding Jane's
questions, she could also avoid confronting the truth: that love
had made her unhappier than ever.
And the reason for that unhappiness now stood beside
Jane, staring at the video of that smiling pair. They were a
startlingly attractive couple. The man was tall and lean, with
boyishly tousled blond hair. Even though it was not a high-
resolution image, Jane imagined she could see a twinkle in
his eye, and she knew why the clerk would remember this
encounter. Whoever the man was, he knew how to attract a
woman's attention.
Abruptly Daniel walked out of the room.
That sudden departure made Queenan stare after him
thoughtfully. "Was it something I said?" he asked.
"He's taking it hard," said Jane. "We were all hoping for
answers."
"I think this video may be your answer." Once again,

Queenan stood and reached for his jacket. "We'll continue to
field any calls that come in. And hope that your friend decides
to surface on her own."
"I want to know who that man is," said Jane, pointing to the
monitor.
"Good-looking fella. No wonder your friend's got a big smile
on her face."
"If he's a hotel guest," said Gabriel, "we could winnow down
the names."
"We had a full house last week," the manager said. "We're
talking about two hundred and forty rooms."
"We eliminate the females. Focus on men who booked
singles."
"It was a medical conference. There were a lot of men who
booked singles."
"Then we'd better get started now, don't you think?" Gabriel
said. "We'll need names, addresses, phone numbers."
The manager looked at Queenan. "Don't these people
need a warrant? We've got privacy issues here, Detective."
Jane pointed to Maura's face on the monitor. "You've also
got a missing woman who was last seen in this hotel. In the

company of one of your guests."
The manager gave a disbelieving laugh. "It was a bunch of
doctors! You really think one of them--"
"If she was abducted," said Jane, "we have only a short time
to work with." She moved toward the manager, close enough
to make him retreat against the doorway. Close enough see
his pupils dilate. "Don't make us waste a single minute."
The ringing of Queenan's cell phone cut the silence.
"Detective Queenan," he answered. "What? Where?"
The tone of his voice made them all turn to watch the
conversation. His face was grim as he disconnected.
"What's going on?" Jane asked. Afraid to hear the answer.
"You folks need to drive down to Sublette County. The Circle
B Guest Ranch. It's not my jurisdiction, so you'll have to talk to
Sheriff Fahey when you get there."
"Why?"
"They've just found two bodies," said Queenan. "A man and
a woman."

Rizzoli & Isles, In Their Own Words...
JANE RIZZOLI
Detective, homicide unit, Boston Police Department
I'm just a girl from Boston who hunts monsters for a living.
Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to call 'em that, but that's what
some of them are. Monsters. If you saw what they've done, the
lives they've ruined, you'd want to take them down, too.
I've wanted to be a cop since a police officer came to my
school for career day. I saw how the other kids looked up to
him, and I knew that was the job for me. I wanted the gun, the
badge.
Most of all, I wanted the respect.
Felt like I didn't get a lot of that when I was growing up. My
mom's a housewife and my dad's a plumber�we're blue collar
all the way. I had an okay childhood, but I have to admit we
were a noisy household. Lots of yelling.
After my training at Boston PD academy, I worked my way up
from beat patrolman to detective (vice and narcotics) and