Tess Gerritsen - The Apprentice

“Then you’re saying he has almost a lover’s attachment to this body,” said Rizzoli.

Zucker nodded.

“It must have been hard for him to just dump her there. In Stony Brook.”

“Yes, it would have been difficult. Like having your lover leave you.”

She thought of that place in the woods. The trees, the dappled shade. So far from the heat and noise of the city. “It’s not just a dump site,” she said. “Maybe it’s consecrated ground.”

They all looked at her.

“Say again?” said Crowe.

“Detective Rizzoli has hit on exactly the point I was getting at,” said Zucker. “That spot, in the reserve, is not just a place to throw away used corpses. You have to ask yourself, Why didn’t he bury them? Why does he leave them exposed to possible discovery?”

Rizzoli said, softly, “Because he visits them.”

Zucker nodded. “These are his lovers. His harem. He returns again and again, to look at them, touch them. Maybe even embrace them. That’s why he sheds corpse hairs. When he handles the bodies, he picks up their hairs on his clothes.” Zucker looked at Rizzoli. “That postmortem strand matches the second set of remains?”

She nodded. “Detective Korsak and I started with the assumption this unsub picked up the strand from his workplace. Now that we know where that hair came from, does it make any sense to keep pursuing the funeral home angle?”

“Yes,” said Zucker. “And I’ll tell you why. Necrophiles are attracted to corpses. They get a sexual charge out of handling the bodies. Embalming them, dressing them. Applying their makeup. They may try to gain access to this thrill by choosing jobs in the death industry. An embalmer’s assistant, for example, or a mortuary beautician. Keep in mind, that unidentified set of remains may not be a murder victim at all. One of the most well known necrophiles was a psychotic named Ed Gein, who started off by raiding cemeteries. Digging up women’s bodies to bring home. It was only later that he turned to homicide as a means of obtaining corpses.”

“Oh man,” Frost muttered. “This just keeps getting better.”

“It’s one aspect of the wide spectrum of human behavior. Necrophiliacs strike us as sick and perverted. But they’ve always been with us, this subsegment of people driven by strange obsessions. Bizarre hungers. Yes, some of them are psychotic. But some of them are perfectly normal in every way.”

Warren Hoyt was perfectly normal, too.

It was Gabriel Dean who spoke next. Up till then, he had not said a word during the entire meeting, and Rizzoli was startled to hear his deep baritone.

“You said that this unsub might return to the woods to visit his harem.”

“Yes,” said Zucker. “That’s why the stakeout of Stony Brook should continue indefinitely.”

“And what happens when he discovers his harem has vanished?”

Zucker paused. “He will not take it well.”

The words sent a chill up Rizzoli’s spine. They are his lovers. How would any man react when his lover was stolen from him ?

“He’ll be frantic,” said Zucker. “Enraged that someone would take his possessions. And anxious to replace what he’s lost. It will send him hunting again.” Zucker looked at Rizzoli. “You have to keep this out of the media’s eye, as long as possible. The stakeout may be your best chance to catch him. Because he will return to those woods, but only if he thinks it’s safe. Only if he believes the harem is still there, waiting for him.”

The conference room door opened. They all turned to see Lieutenant Marquette poke his head into the room. “Detective Rizzoli?” he said. “I need to speak to you.”

“Right now?”

“If you don’t mind. Let’s go into my office.”

Judging by the expressions of everyone else in the room, the same thought had occurred to them all: Rizzoli’s being called to the woodshed. And she had no idea why. Flushing, she rose from her chair and walked out of the room.

Marquette was silent as they headed down the hall to the homicide unit. They stepped into his office and he shut the door. Through the glass partition, she saw detectives staring at her from their workstations. Marquette went to the window and snapped the blinds shut. “Why don’t you sit down, Rizzoli?”

“I’m fine. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Please.” His voice quieter now, even gentle. “Sit down.”

His new solicitousness made her uneasy. She and Marquette had never really warmed to each other. The homicide unit was still a boy’s club, and she knew she was the bitch invader. She sank into a chair, her pulse starting to hammer.

For a moment he sat silent, as though trying to come up with the right words. “I wanted to tell you this before the others hear about it. Because I think this will be hardest on you. I’m sure it’s just a temporary situation and it’ll be resolved within days, if not hours.”

“What situation?”

“This morning, around five A.M., Warren Hoyt escaped custody.”

Now she understood why he’d insisted she sit down; he had expected her to crumble.

But she did not. She sat perfectly still, her emotions shut down, every nerve gone numb. When she spoke, her voice was so eerily calm, she scarcely recognized it as her own.

“How did it happen?” she asked.

“It was during a medical transfer. He was admitted last night to Fitchburg Hospital for an emergency appendectomy. We don’t really know how it happened. But in the operating room…” Marquette paused. “There are no witnesses left alive.”

“How many dead?” she asked. Her voice still flat. Still a stranger’s.

“Three. A nurse and a female anesthetist, prepping him for surgery. Plus the guard who accompanied him to the hospital.”

“Souza-Baranowski is a level-six facility.”

“Yes.”

“And they allowed him to go to a civilian hospital?”

“If it had been a routine admission, he would have been transported to the Shattuck prison unit. But in a medical emergency, it’s MCI policy to take prisoners to the nearest contracted facility. And the nearest one was in Fitchburg.”

“Who decided it was an emergency?”

“The prison nurse. She examined Hoyt, and consulted with the MCI physician. They both concurred he needed immediate attention.”

“Based on what findings?” Her voice was starting to sharpen now, the first note of emotion creeping in.

“There were symptoms. Abdominal pain-”

“He has medical training. He knew exactly what to tell them.”

“They also had abnormal lab tests.”

“What tests?”

“Something about a high white blood cell count.”

“Did they understand who they were dealing with? Did they have any idea?”

“You can’t fake a blood test.”

“He could. He worked in a hospital. He knows how to manipulate lab tests.”

“Detective-”

“For Christ’s sake, he was a fucking blood technician!” The shrillness of her own voice startled her. She stared at him, shocked by her outburst. And overwhelmed by the emotions that were finally blasting through her. Rage. Helplessness.

And fear. All these months, she had suppressed it, because she knew it was irrational to be afraid of Warren Hoyt. He had been locked in a place where he could not reach her, could not hurt her. The nightmares had merely been aftershocks, lingering echoes of an old terror that she hoped would eventually fade. But now fear made perfect sense, and it had her in its jaws.

Abruptly she shot to her feet and turned to leave.

“Detective Rizzoli!”

She stopped in the doorway.

“Where are you going?”

“I think you know where I have to go.”