The Mephisto Club

night. He followed her outside, and as she tramped through freshly fallen snow to her car, he stood watching her from the steps, his white vestments flapping in the wind. Glancing back, she saw him raise his hand in a good-bye wave.
    He was still waving as she drove away.

THREE
    The blue lights of three cruisers pulsed through a filigree of falling snow, announcing to all who approached: Something has happened here, something terrible. Maura felt her front bumper scrape against ice as she squeezed her Lexus up next to the snowbank, to make room for other vehicles to pass. At this hour, on Christmas Eve, the only vehicles likely to turn up on the narrow street would be, like hers, members of Death’s entourage. She took a moment to steel herself against the exhausting hours to come, her tired eyes mesmerized by all the flashing lights. Her limbs felt numb; her circulation turned to sludge.
Wake up,
she thought.
It’s time to go to work.
    She stepped out of the car and the sudden blast of cold air blew the sleep from her brain. She walked through freshly fallen powder that whispered away like white feathers before her boots. Although it was one-thirty, lights were burning in several of the modest homes along the street, and through a window decorated with holiday stencils of flying reindeer and candy canes, she saw the silhouette of a curious neighbor peering out from his warm house, at a night that was no longer silent or holy.
    “Hey, Dr. Isles?” called out a patrolman, an older cop whom she vaguely recognized. Clearly he knew exactly who she was. They all knew who she was. “How’d you get so lucky tonight, huh?”
    “I could ask the same of you, Officer.”
    “Guess we both drew the short straws.” He gave a laugh. “Merry goddamn Christmas.”
    “Is Detective Rizzoli inside?”
    “Yeah, she and Frost have been videotaping.” He pointed toward a residence where all the lights were shining, a boxy little house crammed into a row of tired older homes. “By now, they’re probably ready for you.”
    The sound of violent retching made her glance toward the street, where a blond woman stood doubled over, clutching at her long coat to avoid soiling the hem as she threw up in the snowbank.
    The patrolman gave a snort. Muttered to Maura, “That one’s gonna make a
fine
homicide detective. She came striding onto the scene right outta
Cagney and Lacey.
Ordered us all around. Yeah, a real tough one. Then she goes in the house, gets one look, and next thing you know, she’s out here puking in the snow.” He laughed.
    “I haven’t seen her before. She’s from Homicide?”
    “I hear she just transferred over from Narcotics and Vice. The commissioner’s bright idea to bring in more girls.” He shook his head. “She’s not gonna last long. That’s my prediction.”
    The woman detective wiped her mouth and moved unsteadily toward the porch steps, where she sank down.
    “Hey.
Detective!
” called out the patrolman. “You might wanna move away from the crime scene? If you’re gonna puke again, at least do it where they’re not collecting evidence.”
    A younger cop, standing nearby, snickered.
    The blond detective jerked back to her feet, and in bright strobe flashes the cruiser lights illuminated her mortified face. “I think I’ll go sit in my car for a minute,” she murmured.
    “Yeah. You do that, ma’am.”
    Maura watched the detective retreat to the shelter of her vehicle. What horrors was she about to face inside that house?
    “Doc,” called out Detective Barry Frost. He had just emerged from the house and was standing on the porch, hunched in a Windbreaker. His blond hair stood up in tufts, as though he had just rolled out of bed. Though his face had always been sallow, the yellow glow cast by the porch light made him look sicklier than usual.
    “I gather it’s pretty bad in there,” she said.
    “Not the kind of thing you want to see on Christmas. Thought I’d better come out here and get some air.”
    She paused at the bottom of the steps, noting the jumble of footprints that had been left on the snow-dusted porch. “Okay to walk in this way?”
    “Yeah. Those prints are all Boston PD.”
    “What about footwear evidence?”
    “We didn’t find much out here.”
    “What, did he fly in the window?”
    “It looks like he swept up after himself. You can still see some of the whisk marks.”
    She frowned. “This perp pays attention to detail.”
    “Wait till you see what’s