been considerate enough to make no comment and had regarded her with neither sympathy nor ridicule, merely indifference.
“Dean’s the one who asked for that test on the sperm,” said Korsak. “Whatever he called it—”
“The wet prep.”
“Yeah, the wet prep thing. Isles wasn’t even gonna look at it fresh. She was gonna let it dry out first. So here’s this fibbie guy telling the doc what to do. Like he knows exactly what he’s looking for, exactly what we’ll find. How did he know? And what the hell’s the FBI doing on this case, anyway?”
“You did the background on the Yeagers. What’s there to attract the FBI?”
“Not a thing.”
“Were they into something they shouldn’t have been?”
“You make it sound like the Yeagers got
themselves
killed.”
“He was a doctor. Are we talking about drug deals here? A federal witness?”
“He was clean. His wife was clean.”
“That coup de grâce—like an execution. Maybe that’s the symbolism. A slice across the throat, to silence him.”
“Jesus, Rizzoli. You’ve made a hundred-eighty-degree turn here. First we’re thinking sex perp who kills for the thrill of it. Now you’re into conspiracies.”
“I’m trying to understand why Dean’s involved. The FBI never gives a shit about what we’re doing. They stay out of our way, we stay out of theirs, and that’s how everybody likes it. We didn’t ask for their help with the Surgeon. We handled it all in-house, used our own profiler. Their behavioral unit’s too busy kissing up to Hollywood to give us the time of day. So what’s different about this case? What makes the Yeagers special?”
“We didn’t find a thing on them,” said Korsak. “No debts, no financial red flags. No pending court cases. No one who’d say boo about either one of them.”
“Then why the FBI interest?”
Korsak thought it over. “Maybe the Yeagers had friends in high places. Someone who’s now screaming for justice.”
“Wouldn’t Dean just come out and tell us that?”
“Fibbies never like to tell you anything,” said Korsak.
She looked back at the building. It was nearly midnight, and they had not yet seen Maura Isles leave. When Rizzoli had walked out of the autopsy suite, Isles had been dictating her report and had scarcely even waved good night. The Queen of the Dead paid scant attention to the living.
Am I any different? When I lie in bed at night, it’s the faces of the murdered I see.
“This case is bigger than just the Yeagers,” said Korsak. “Now we’ve got that second set of remains.”
“I think this may let Joey Valentine off the hook,” said Rizzoli. “It explains how our unsub picked up that corpse hair—from an earlier victim.”
“I’m not done with Joey yet. One more twist of the screw.”
“You got anything on him?”
“I’m looking; I’m looking.”
“You’ll need more than an old charge of voyeurism.”
“But that Joey, he’s weird. You gotta be weird to enjoy putting lipstick on dead ladies.”
“Weirdness isn’t enough.” She stared at the building, thinking of Maura Isles. “In some ways, we’re all weird.”
“Yeah, but we’re
normal
weird. Joey’s got, like, no
normal
in his weirdness.”
She laughed. This conversation had meandered into the absurd, and she was too tired to make sense of it any longer.
“What the hell’d I say?” Korsak asked.
She turned to her car. “I’m getting punchy. I need to go home and get some sleep.”
“You gonna be here for the bone doctor?”
“I’ll be here.”
Tomorrow afternoon, a forensic anthropologist would be joining Isles to examine the skeletal remains of the second woman. Though she was not looking forward to another visit to this house of horrors, it was a duty Rizzoli could not avoid. She crossed to her car and unlocked the door.
“Hey, Rizzoli?” Korsak called out.
“Yeah?”
“Did you get dinner? Wanna go out for a burger or something?”
It was the sort of invitation
“Dean’s the one who asked for that test on the sperm,” said Korsak. “Whatever he called it—”
“The wet prep.”
“Yeah, the wet prep thing. Isles wasn’t even gonna look at it fresh. She was gonna let it dry out first. So here’s this fibbie guy telling the doc what to do. Like he knows exactly what he’s looking for, exactly what we’ll find. How did he know? And what the hell’s the FBI doing on this case, anyway?”
“You did the background on the Yeagers. What’s there to attract the FBI?”
“Not a thing.”
“Were they into something they shouldn’t have been?”
“You make it sound like the Yeagers got
themselves
killed.”
“He was a doctor. Are we talking about drug deals here? A federal witness?”
“He was clean. His wife was clean.”
“That coup de grâce—like an execution. Maybe that’s the symbolism. A slice across the throat, to silence him.”
“Jesus, Rizzoli. You’ve made a hundred-eighty-degree turn here. First we’re thinking sex perp who kills for the thrill of it. Now you’re into conspiracies.”
“I’m trying to understand why Dean’s involved. The FBI never gives a shit about what we’re doing. They stay out of our way, we stay out of theirs, and that’s how everybody likes it. We didn’t ask for their help with the Surgeon. We handled it all in-house, used our own profiler. Their behavioral unit’s too busy kissing up to Hollywood to give us the time of day. So what’s different about this case? What makes the Yeagers special?”
“We didn’t find a thing on them,” said Korsak. “No debts, no financial red flags. No pending court cases. No one who’d say boo about either one of them.”
“Then why the FBI interest?”
Korsak thought it over. “Maybe the Yeagers had friends in high places. Someone who’s now screaming for justice.”
“Wouldn’t Dean just come out and tell us that?”
“Fibbies never like to tell you anything,” said Korsak.
She looked back at the building. It was nearly midnight, and they had not yet seen Maura Isles leave. When Rizzoli had walked out of the autopsy suite, Isles had been dictating her report and had scarcely even waved good night. The Queen of the Dead paid scant attention to the living.
Am I any different? When I lie in bed at night, it’s the faces of the murdered I see.
“This case is bigger than just the Yeagers,” said Korsak. “Now we’ve got that second set of remains.”
“I think this may let Joey Valentine off the hook,” said Rizzoli. “It explains how our unsub picked up that corpse hair—from an earlier victim.”
“I’m not done with Joey yet. One more twist of the screw.”
“You got anything on him?”
“I’m looking; I’m looking.”
“You’ll need more than an old charge of voyeurism.”
“But that Joey, he’s weird. You gotta be weird to enjoy putting lipstick on dead ladies.”
“Weirdness isn’t enough.” She stared at the building, thinking of Maura Isles. “In some ways, we’re all weird.”
“Yeah, but we’re
normal
weird. Joey’s got, like, no
normal
in his weirdness.”
She laughed. This conversation had meandered into the absurd, and she was too tired to make sense of it any longer.
“What the hell’d I say?” Korsak asked.
She turned to her car. “I’m getting punchy. I need to go home and get some sleep.”
“You gonna be here for the bone doctor?”
“I’ll be here.”
Tomorrow afternoon, a forensic anthropologist would be joining Isles to examine the skeletal remains of the second woman. Though she was not looking forward to another visit to this house of horrors, it was a duty Rizzoli could not avoid. She crossed to her car and unlocked the door.
“Hey, Rizzoli?” Korsak called out.
“Yeah?”
“Did you get dinner? Wanna go out for a burger or something?”
It was the sort of invitation
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