Vanish (37 page)

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.

THIRTY-FOUR

Without a word, the girl slipped right past Jane, into the apartment, and locked the door. She

scurried across to the windows and yanked the Venetian blinds shut, one after the other in

quick succession, as Jane watched in astonishment.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The intruder spun around to face her, and pressed her finger to her lips. She was small, more a

child than a woman, her thin frame almost lost in the bulky sweatshirt. The hands that poked

out the faded sleeves had bones that looked as delicate as a bird’s, and the bulging tote bag she

carried seemed to drag down her frail shoulder. Her red hair was cut in a wildly uneven fringe,

as though she herself had wielded the scissors, hacking blindly. Her eyes were pale, an

unearthly shade of gray, transparent as glass. It was a hungry, feral face, with jutting

cheekbones and a gaze that darted around the room in a search for hidden traps.

“Mila?” said Jane.

Again the girl’s finger snapped up to her lips. The look she gave Jane needed no interpretation.

Be quiet. Be afraid.

Even Regina seemed to understand. The baby suddenly went still, her eyes wide and alert as

she lay quietly in Jane’s arms.

“You’re safe here,” Jane said.

“No place is safe.”

“Let me call my friends. We’ll get you police protection right now.”

Mila shook her head.

“I know these men. I work with them.” Jane reached for the telephone.

The girl shot forward and slammed her hand down on the receiver.
“No police.”

Jane stared into the girl’s eyes, which were now burning with panic. “Okay,” she murmured,

backing away from the phone. “I’m police, too. Why do you trust me?”

Mila’s gaze dropped to Regina. And Jane thought: This is why she’s risked this visit. She

knows I’m a mother. Somehow that makes all the difference.

“I know why you’re running,” said Jane. “I know about Ashburn.”

Mila went to the couch and sank onto the cushions. Suddenly she seemed even smaller, wilting

by the moment beneath Jane’s gaze. Her shoulders crumpled forward. Her head drooped into

her hands, as though she was too exhausted to hold it up any longer. “I am so tired,” she

whispered.

Jane moved closer until she was standing just above the bowed head, looking down at the

raggedly cut hair. “You saw the killers. Help us identify them.”

Mila looked up with hollow, haunted eyes. “I will not live long enough.”

Jane dropped to a crouch, until their eyes were level. Regina too was staring at Mila, fascinated

by this exotic new creature. “Why are you here, Mila? What do you want me to do?”

Mila reached into the dirty tote bag she had carried in, and rummaged through wadded-up

clothes and candy bars and crumpled tissues. She pulled out a videotape and held it out to Jane.

“What is this?”

“I am afraid to keep it anymore. I give it to you. You tell them there are no more. This is the last

copy.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Just
take
it!” She held it at arm’s length, as though it was poisonous, and she wanted to keep it

as far away as possible. She breathed a sigh of relief when Jane finally took it from her.

Jane set Regina in her infant carrier, then crossed to the TV. She slipped the cassette into the

VCR, and pressed PLAY on the remote control.

An image appeared on the screen. She saw a brass bed, a chair, heavy drapes covering a

window. Off camera, footsteps creaked closer, and a woman giggled. A door clunked shut, and

now a man and woman came into view. The woman had a sleek mane of blond hair, and her

low-cut blouse revealed bountiful cleavage. The man was dressed in a polo shirt and khaki

slacks.

“Oh yeah,” the man sighed as the woman unbuttoned her blouse. She wriggled out of her skirt,

peeled down her underwear. She gave the man a playful shove onto the bed, and he flopped

back, utterly passive, as she unbuckled his pants, pulled them down over his hips. Bending