Tess Gerritsen: Freaks: A Rizzoli & Isles Short Story

Rayner heaved out a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I tore your blouse. Can you take these handcuffs off?”

Jane and Crowe glanced at each other. She thought of the headache of booking the man. Thought of what she’d say in court. Yes, Your Honor, I know he just lost his daughter and he was emotionally distraught. But I paid a hundred dollars for that blouse .

With a sigh she unlocked the cuffs.

“What about him ?” Rayner asked, rubbing his wrists. “Is that kid under arrest?”

“That’s for us to decide.”

He looked at her. “We’ll see about that.”

Chapter Seven

“It sounds like a classic case of folie à deux,” said Maura. “That’s my diagnosis.”

Of course Maura would come up with a diagnosis, thought Jane. From the instant Maura meets someone, she’s diagnosing him, like a scientist mentally dissecting a lab rat. As Jane tossed aside her torn blouse and buttoned on a new one, she saw Maura eyeing the ruined garment, no doubt analyzing the tensile strength of the threads and the force needed to initiate a rip.

“A pity,” said Maura. “That looks like dupioni silk.”

“I got it on sale, too.”

“Even sadder.” Maura turned toward Jane’s kitchen. “I brought us take-out Chinese. Shall I put it on the plates?”

“What’s wrong with eating out of the cartons?”

“Jane. Really.” Maura opened up cupboards and pulled out dishware.

“So tell me about this folie à deux thing.”

“It’s a delusion shared by two people,” said Maura. “In this case, their delusion was that they’re vampires. And it sounds like they carried it to extremes. Avoiding daylight. Sleeping in a coffin.”

“Which is where he’ll probably slink back to, since we didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.” Jane shook her head. “He swears they were living only on air and blood. Is that possible?”

Maura considered this as she dished out spoonfuls of kung pao chicken and stir-fried pea shoots. “Blood has plenty of iron, but it lacks essential vitamins. And since it’s seven hundred calories per liter, you’d have to drink three liters of blood a day.” She set a plate of food in front of Jane. “Bon appétit.”

“You know, I really didn’t need to know that.”

“It does explain why Kimberly Rayner was so malnourished. I’ve seen dead anorexics with more body fat. If she’s been eating only blood, she could hardly fight off a strangler.”

“Heck, she couldn’t fight off the common cold virus.”

Expertly wielding chopsticks, Maura delicately plucked up a morsel of chicken. “Scientifically speaking, the common cold isn’t caused by one particular virus. It’s a constellation of symptoms that …” She suddenly stopped, frowning.

“What?”

“Jane, you just raised a very good point.”

“I did?”

“About her lack of resistance to disease processes.”

“How is that relevant? She was strangled.”

“It looked like strangulation.” Maura set down her chopsticks. “But the autopsy just might reveal something else entirely.”

Chapter Eight

Through the viewing window, Jane and Frost could see the dead girl lying on the table in the next room. The naked body looked even more wasted than Jane remembered, the hipbones jutting out, every rib shockingly visible. But above the neck, in grotesque contrast with the skeletally thin body, the face was bloated, the eyelids swollen almost shut.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Jane asked Frost.

“I’m fine. I’m okay,” he insisted.

“That’s what you said the last time,” Jane muttered as she pushed into the autopsy room, where Maura and her assistant had already assembled their knives and scalpels, bone-cutters and tweezers. Jane avoided looking at that frightening array of instruments and focused instead on Kimberly Rayner. Once she might have been a pretty blue-eyed blonde who’d turned boys’ heads. Now with so much fat and muscle stripped away, she was a skeletal husk. Had months on a self-imposed diet of “air and blood” caused this?

“No surprises in her X-rays,” said Maura as she flipped on bright lights. “Let’s take a closer look at the neck.”

“Still looks like strangulation bruises to me.” Jane glanced at Frost, who was standing yards away from the table, strategically placing himself near the sink. “You should get a closer look at this.”

“I can see it fine from here,” he said.

“And see how her face is swollen,” Jane added. “That happens when you constrict the neck, right?”

“It’s one mechanism,” said Maura.

“So what else would cause a swollen face?”

“An allergic reaction. Anaphylaxis.” Above the surgical mask, Maura’s forehead suddenly wrinkled into a frown. “Or Latrodectus facies ,” she said softly.

“Come again?”

Maura didn’t answer, but reached for a magnifying glass. Bending close, she turned the girl’s head to expose the side of the neck. Staring at the skin, she murmured: “My God, it’s so small I almost missed it.”

“What?”

“A puncture mark.”

Frost’s cell phone suddenly rang.

Maura’s focus remained glued to the corpse’s throat. She turned the head the other way to examine the opposite side of the neck. “There’s another one here.”

“You mean, like needle marks to draw blood?”

“No, like—”

“Rizzoli, we gotta go!” yelled Frost. “St. Anthony’s Church.”

“What’s going on?”

“The girl’s father. He’s taken Lucas Henry hostage, and he’s threatening to kill him!”

Chapter Nine

Four Boston PD cruisers were parked in front of St. Anthony’s, rack lights flashing as Jane and Frost scrambled out of their car and ran toward the church.

“He’s got the boy inside,” a patrolman reported. “We have all the entrances covered, and we’ve been trying to talk him out, but he’s not cooperating.”

“Let me talk to him,” said Jane, pulling on a Kevlar vest.

“Ma’am, he’s already fired off a few rounds. That’s how we got the call, when someone in the neighborhood reported gunfire.”

“Is the boy okay?”

“He was able to answer us. Other than that, I don’t know.” The patrolman looked her up and down, as though questioning her ability to deal with the situation. “There’s a team on the way. I don’t think you should—”

“I know Rayner. I’m the one who should do this.” Jane started toward the church entrance. “Mr. Rayner!” she yelled through the door. “It’s Detective Rizzoli. I want to talk to you!”

From inside came Rayner’s shout: “Don’t bother! It won’t make a difference!”

At least he wasn’t issuing threats. “I’m opening the door now,” she announced. “I’m coming in alone.” There was no answer. She took a breath and stepped over the threshold.

It was gloomy inside, lit only by the distant flicker of a burning candle. She could not see Rayner or Lucas, but she could hear the boy’s terrified whimpers somewhere in the shadows. Bat wings flapped overhead.

“He’s crazy!” Lucas sobbed. “He broke in here while I was sleeping. Says he’s going to kill me.”

Jane’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see them now. Lucas sat huddled against a pew, and Rayner stood over him, his weapon pointed at the boy’s head.

“Let him go,” said Jane. “This doesn’t help anyone.”

“It’s justice,” said Rayner. “That’s worth something.”

“Is it worth your own life?”

“Someone has to pay. We both know he killed her.”

“I didn’t!” wailed Lucas. “I keep telling you that!”