“Or he could have seen Kassovitz on Christmas Eve. She was there at the crime scene. He could have been watching Lori-Ann Tucker’s house.”

“You mean, enjoying all the action?” said Tripp.

“Yes. Enjoying the fact that all the excitement, all the cops, were because of him. Because of what he’d just done. What a sense of power.”

“So he follows Kassovitz here,” said Tripp, “because she caught his eye that night? Man, that puts a different spin on this.”

Jane looked at Maura. “It means he could’ve been watching any one of us. He’d know all our faces now.”

Maura bent down and pulled the sheet back over the body. Her hands were numb and clumsy as she stripped off the latex gloves and pulled on her wool ones. “I’m freezing. I can’t do anything else out here. We should just move her to the morgue. And I need to defrost my hands.”

“Have you already called for pickup?”

“They’re on their way. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait for them in my car. I want to get out of this wind.”

“I think we should all get out of this wind,” said Tripp.

They walked back along the side yard and stepped through the iron gate into the liverish glow of the gas lamp. Across the street, silhouetted in strobe by cruiser rack lights, was a huddle of cops. Daniel stood among them, taller than the other men, hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat.

“You can come inside with us and wait,” said Jane.

“No,” said Maura, her gaze on Daniel. “I’ll just sit in my car.”

Jane was silent for a moment. She’d noticed Daniel, too, and she could probably guess why Maura was lingering outside.

“If you’re looking to get warm, Doc,” said Jane, “you’re not going to find it out here. But I guess that’s your choice.” She clapped Tripp on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go back inside. See how Pretty Boy’s doing.” They walked up the steps, into the house.

Maura paused on the sidewalk, her gaze on Daniel. He did not seem to notice that she was there. It was awkward with all those cops standing around him. But what was there to be embarrassed about, really? She was here to do her job, and so was he. It’s the most natural thing in the world for two acquaintances to greet each other.

She crossed the street, toward the circle of cops. Only then did Daniel see her. So did the other men, and they all fell silent as she approached. Though she dealt with police officers every day, saw them at every crime scene, she had never felt entirely comfortable with them, or they with her. That mutual discomfort was never more obvious than at this moment, when she felt their gazes on her. She could guess what they thought of her. The chilly Dr. Isles, never a barrel of laughs. Or maybe they were intimidated; maybe it was the MD behind her name that set her apart, made her unapproachable.

Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe they are afraid of me.

“The morgue van should be here any minute,” she said, opening the conversation on pure business. “If you could make room for it on the street.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” one of the cops said, and coughed.

Another silence followed, the cops looking off in other directions, everywhere but at her, their feet shuffling on cold pavement.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be waiting in my car.” She didn’t cast a glance at Daniel, but simply turned and walked away.

“Maura?”

She glanced back at the sound of his voice, and saw that the cops were still watching. There’s always an audience, she thought. Daniel and I are never alone.

“What do you know so far?” he asked.

She hesitated, aware of all the eyes. “Not much more than anyone else, at this point.”

“Can we talk about it? It might help me comfort Officer Lyall if I knew more about what happened.”

“It’s awkward. I’m not sure…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable revealing.”

She hesitated. “Let’s sit in my car. It’s right down the street.”

They walked together, hands thrust in pockets, heads bent against icy gusts. She thought of Eve Kassovitz, lying alone in the courtyard, her corpse already chilled, her blood freezing in her veins. On this night, in this wind, no one wanted to keep company with the dead. They reached her car and slid inside. She turned on the engine to run the heater, but the air that puffed through the vents offered no warmth.

“Officer Lyall was her boyfriend?” she asked.

“He’s devastated. I don’t think I was able to offer much comfort.”

“I couldn’t do your job, Daniel. I’m not good at dealing with grief.”

“But you do deal with it. You have to.”

“Not on the level you do, when it’s still so raw, so fresh. I’m the one they expect all the answers from, not the one they call in to give comfort.” She looked at him. In the gloom of her car he was just a silhouette. “The last Boston PD chaplain lasted only two years. I’m sure the stress contributed to his stroke.”

“Father Roy was sixty-five, you know.”

“And he looked eighty the last time I saw him.”

“Well, taking night calls isn’t easy,” he admitted, his breath steaming the window. “It’s not easy for cops, either. Or doctors or firemen. But it’s not all bad,” he added with a soft laugh, “since going to death scenes is the only time I ever get to see you.”

Although she could not read his eyes, she felt his gaze on her face and was grateful for the darkness.

“You used to visit me,” he said. “Why did you stop?”

“I came for midnight Mass, didn’t I?”

He gave a weary laugh. “Everyone shows up at Christmas. Even the ones who don’t believe.”

“But I was there. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Have you been, Maura? Avoiding me?”

She said nothing. For a moment they regarded each other in the gloom of her car. The air blowing from the vent had barely warmed and her fingers were still numb, but she could feel heat rise to her cheeks.

“I know what’s going on,” he said quietly.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m just as human as you are, Maura.”

Suddenly she laughed. It was a bitter sound. “Well, this is a cliché. The priest and the woman parishioner.”

“Don’t reduce it to that.”

“But it is a cliché. It’s probably happened a thousand times before. Priests and bored housewives. Priests and lonely widows. Is it the first time for you, Daniel? Because it sure as hell is the first time for me.” Suddenly ashamed that she had turned her anger on him, she looked away. What had he done, really, except offer her his friendship, his attention? I am the architect of my own unhappiness.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said quietly, “you’re not the only one who’s miserable.”

She sat perfectly still as air hissed from the vents. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead, on the windshield now fogged with condensation, but all her other senses were painfully focused on him. Even if she were blind and deaf, she’d still know he was there, so attuned was she to every aspect of his presence. Attuned, as well, to her own pounding heart, to the sizzling of her nerves. She’d felt a perverse thrill from his declaration of unhappiness. At least she was not the only one suffering, not the only one who lay sleepless at night. In affairs of the heart, misery yearns for company.

There was a loud rapping on her window. Startled, she turned to see a ghostly silhouette peering in through the fogged glass. She lowered her window and stared into the face of a Boston PD cop.

“Dr. Isles? The morgue van just arrived.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.” Her window hummed shut again, leaving the glass streaked with watery lines. She shut off the car engine and looked at Daniel. “We have a choice,” she said. “We can both be miserable. Or we can move on with our lives. I’m choosing to move on.” She stepped out of the car and closed the door. She took one breath of air so cold it seemed to sear her throat. But it also swept any last indecision from her brain, leaving it clearer and focused with laser intensity on what she had to do next. She left her car and did not look back. Once again, she headed up the sidewalk, moving from pool to pool of light as she passed beneath streetlamps. Daniel was behind her now; ahead waited a dead woman. And all these cops, standing around. What were they waiting for? Answers that she might not be able to give them?