John Doe Read Free Page A

Maura’s home. It meant she was with the killer when it happened.
    Or she was the killer.
    “Check the cars in Maura’s neighborhood,” Jane said. “Any vehicle that doesn’t belong.”
    “You’re not thinking that …”
    “We have to, Frost. We have no choice.” She glanced up as Maura emerged, now dressed, from the exam room. “Right now, she’s our only suspect.”

    The vehicle was parked across the street from Maura’s residence, a black Buick LaCrosse with Massachusetts plates, registered to Christopher Scanlon of Braintree. None of the nearby neighbors knew anything about the car, only that it was already parked there when they woke up that morning.
    “Unlocked. Keys still in the ignition,” said Frost. “And look what’s down there.” He pointed to the floor beneath the passenger seat, and Jane’s heart dropped when she saw the woman’s high-heeled shoe. It was the mate to the shoe she’d seen under Maura’s coffee table.
    “Tow truck’s on the way now,” said Frost. “Once they get it back to the lab, I’m gonna bet CSU finds her fingerprints in there as well.”
    “Oh man. This gets worse and worse.”
    “If this were anyone else, we’d be reading her her rights.”
    “But it’s not anyone else,” said Jane. “This is Maura.”
    “And we both know a few cops who’d like to see her take a perp walk.” Maura’s recent testimony against a Boston PD officer had sent him to prison—something plenty of cops viewed as a betrayal of the thin blue line.
    “What do we have on this guy, Christopher Scanlon?” she asked.
    Frost pulled up the data on his smartphone. “Age forty-one, six foot two, hundred eighty pounds. Brown hair, blue eyes.” He showed her the driver’s license photo. “Looks like our victim.”
    “Who’s no longer a John Doe.”
    “And get this. ME’s office sent the victim’s fingerprints to AFIS. Scanlon’s in their database. Two arrests, both for indecent assault and battery.”
    “He’s a rapist? Any convictions?”
    “None. It seems our victim was a very bad boy. Who kept getting away with it.”
    But not this time, thought Jane as she crossed the street back to Maura’s house.
    She found Maura still sitting in the kitchen where she’d left her moments ago. Her cup of coffee appeared untouched, and she barely looked up as Jane walked in the room.
    “Is the car his?” Maura asked.
    “It appears so. His real name is Christopher Scanlon. Lives—lived—in Braintree. That ring any bells?”
    “I told you, I never met the man before last night.”
    Jane couldn’t help studying the wooden block of kitchen knives on the countertop. Couldn’t help noticing that one slot was empty.
    “Was it a Wüsthof blade?” Maura asked softly.
    “What?”
    “The knife that killed him. That’s the brand of knives I own. It’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it?”
    “The murder weapon hasn’t been found.”
    “Then you’ll want to collect mine for a wound match. Fingerprints, blood. And don’t forget the knife in the dishwasher.” She raised her head and looked at Jane. “You have a job to do, I understand that.”
    Jane sat down at the table. “Then you also understand—”
    “I’m a suspect.” Maura gave an ironic laugh. “Which will please more than a few Boston PD officers. The high-and-mighty ME everyone loves to hate.”
    “Not true.”
    “They’ll blithely point out that murder runs in my family. Like mother, like daughter.”
    “Your mother is not you .”
    “My mother is a monster. Do you think we’ll be granted the privilege of adjoining prison cells?”
    “Stop it, Maura. For God’s sake.”
    “I’m just telling it like it is.”
    “That’s the drug talking. Whatever he gave you, it’s kicked you down and out and made you give up.” Jane leaned forward and said fiercely: “I won’t allow it.”
    They stared at each other for a moment.
    Maura leaned back with a smile. “Everyone should have their own Jane