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“Coronaries are clean,” said Maura. She glanced at the gaunt face. “Even if nothing else about him looks healthy.”
“Yeah, death does that to a body.”
“I mean his cachexia. His clothes were several sizes too big, and see how wasted his temples are? He’s lost a great deal of weight.”
Jane thought about the empty bottles of coffee brandy in the car. “Alcoholic?”
“That could be part of it.” Maura moved aside loops of small bowel. “But I think this was the real reason.” She pointed to a bulging mass. “Pancreas. It’s already metastasized to the liver.”
“Cancer, then?”
“Advanced. He was dying.”
Jane looked down at James Creighton’s sunken eyes. “You think he knew?”
“All he had to do was look in a mirror.”
Jane shook her head. “This makes no sense. The man had cancer and he must have known he was dying. Why would he stalk a woman? Why follow her to the lake and attack her?”
Maura looked up. “Did you actually see the bruises on Amy’s neck?”
“Yeah.”
“Obvious ones?”
“You don’t believe the victim?”
“It’s just in my nature to question. You know that.”
“The bruises were faint,” said Jane. “But Amydidhave them. And remember, his ex-wife was strangled too.”
“It was never proven that Creighton did it.”
“After this attack, it looks more likely.”
“Likelyis not proof.” Just the sort of thing that Maura would say. The sort of thing that irritated Jane, even though she knew it was true.
Maura set down the scalpel. “What Icangive you is a time of death, a cause of death, and an ID. This man’s fingerprints and his blood type match James Creighton, age fifty-six.”
Jane’s cell phone rang. She reached under the surgical gown and fished it out of her pocket. “Detective Rizzoli.”
“I have some news that’ll make you happy,” said Det. Sgt. Goode.
“Make me happy.”
“You know that hammer we found in James Creighton’s car? The state lab just confirmed the blood on it is human and it matches Sofia Suarez’s. Congratulations. You’ve got your man.”
Jane looked down at the hollowed-out body. She should be feeling happy that the last piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place, relieved that she could now close the file on Sofia Suarez’s murder. Instead, as she stared at the face of James Creighton, she thought:Why do I feel like I’m missing something?
