liked it. Rizzoli was no wimp when it came to hot peppers,
either.
She said, "The first really big case I worked on in Vice and
Narcotics, I was the only woman on a team with five men.
When we cracked it, there was this press conference. TV
cameras, the whole nine yards. And you know what? They
mentioned every name on that team but mine. Every other
goddamn name." She took another swallow of beer. "I make
sure that doesn't happen anymore. You guys, you can focus all
your attention on the case and the evidence. But I waste a lot
of energy just trying to make myself heard."
"I hear you fine, Rizzoli."
"It's a nice change."
"What about Frost? You have problems with him?"
"Frost is cool." She winced at the unintended quip. "His
wife's got him well trained."
They both laughed at that. Anyone who overheard Barry
Frost's meek yes dear, no dear phone conversations with his
wife had no doubt who was boss in the Frost household.
"That's why he's not gonna move up very far," she said. "No
fire in the belly. Family man."
"There's nothing wrong with being a family man. I wish I'd
been a better one."
She glanced up from the carton of Mongolian beef and saw
that he wasn't looking at her but was staring at the necklace.
There'd been a note of pain in his voice, and she didn't know
what to say in response. Figured that it was best not to say
anything.
She was relieved when he turned the subject back to the
investigation. In their world, murder was always a safe topic.
"There's something wrong here," he said. "This jewelry thing
doesn't make sense to me."
"He's taking souvenirs. Common enough."
"But what's the point of taking a souvenir if you're going to
give it away?"
"Some perps take the vic's jewelry and give it to their own
wives or girlfriends. They get a secret thrill from seeing it
around their girlfriend's neck, and being the only one who
knows where it really comes from."
"But our boy's doing something different. He leaves the
souvenir at the next crime scene. He doesn't get to keep
seeing it. Doesn't get the recurrent thrill of being reminded of
his kill. There's no emotional gain that I can see."
"A symbol of ownership? Like a dog, marking his territory.
Only he uses a piece of jewelry to mark his next victim."
"No. That's not it." Moore picked up the Ziploc bag and
weighed it in his palm, as though divining its purpose.
"The main thing is, we're onto the pattern," she said. "We'll
know exactly what to expect at the next crime scene."
He looked up at her. "You just answered the question."
"What?"
"He's not marking the victim. He's marking the crime scene.
"
Rizzoli paused. All at once, she understood the distinction.
"Jesus. By marking the scene . . ."
"This isn't a souvenir. And it's not a mark of ownership." He
set down the necklace, a tangled filigree of gold that had
skimmed the flesh of two dead women.
A shudder went through Rizzoli. "It's a calling card," she
said softly.
Moore nodded. "The Surgeon is talking to us."
A place of strong winds and dangerous tides.
This is how Edith Hamilton, in her book Mythology,
describes the Greek port of Aulis. Here lie the ruins of the
ancient temple of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt. It was at
Aulis where the thousand Greek black ships gathered to
launch their attack on Troy. But the north wind blew and the
,
ships could not sail. Day after day, the wind was relentless
and the Greek army, under the command of King
Agamemnon, grew angry and restless. A soothsayer
revealed the reason for the ill winds: the goddess Artemis
was angry, because Agamemnon had slain one of her
beloved creatures, a wild hare. She would not allow the
Greeks to depart unless Agamemnon offered up a terrible
sacrifice: his daughter, Iphigenia.
And so he sent for Iphigenia, claiming that he had
arranged for her a great marriage to Achilles. She did not
know she was coming instead to her death.
Those fierce north winds were not blowing on the day you
and I walked the beach near Aulis. It
either.
She said, "The first really big case I worked on in Vice and
Narcotics, I was the only woman on a team with five men.
When we cracked it, there was this press conference. TV
cameras, the whole nine yards. And you know what? They
mentioned every name on that team but mine. Every other
goddamn name." She took another swallow of beer. "I make
sure that doesn't happen anymore. You guys, you can focus all
your attention on the case and the evidence. But I waste a lot
of energy just trying to make myself heard."
"I hear you fine, Rizzoli."
"It's a nice change."
"What about Frost? You have problems with him?"
"Frost is cool." She winced at the unintended quip. "His
wife's got him well trained."
They both laughed at that. Anyone who overheard Barry
Frost's meek yes dear, no dear phone conversations with his
wife had no doubt who was boss in the Frost household.
"That's why he's not gonna move up very far," she said. "No
fire in the belly. Family man."
"There's nothing wrong with being a family man. I wish I'd
been a better one."
She glanced up from the carton of Mongolian beef and saw
that he wasn't looking at her but was staring at the necklace.
There'd been a note of pain in his voice, and she didn't know
what to say in response. Figured that it was best not to say
anything.
She was relieved when he turned the subject back to the
investigation. In their world, murder was always a safe topic.
"There's something wrong here," he said. "This jewelry thing
doesn't make sense to me."
"He's taking souvenirs. Common enough."
"But what's the point of taking a souvenir if you're going to
give it away?"
"Some perps take the vic's jewelry and give it to their own
wives or girlfriends. They get a secret thrill from seeing it
around their girlfriend's neck, and being the only one who
knows where it really comes from."
"But our boy's doing something different. He leaves the
souvenir at the next crime scene. He doesn't get to keep
seeing it. Doesn't get the recurrent thrill of being reminded of
his kill. There's no emotional gain that I can see."
"A symbol of ownership? Like a dog, marking his territory.
Only he uses a piece of jewelry to mark his next victim."
"No. That's not it." Moore picked up the Ziploc bag and
weighed it in his palm, as though divining its purpose.
"The main thing is, we're onto the pattern," she said. "We'll
know exactly what to expect at the next crime scene."
He looked up at her. "You just answered the question."
"What?"
"He's not marking the victim. He's marking the crime scene.
"
Rizzoli paused. All at once, she understood the distinction.
"Jesus. By marking the scene . . ."
"This isn't a souvenir. And it's not a mark of ownership." He
set down the necklace, a tangled filigree of gold that had
skimmed the flesh of two dead women.
A shudder went through Rizzoli. "It's a calling card," she
said softly.
Moore nodded. "The Surgeon is talking to us."
A place of strong winds and dangerous tides.
This is how Edith Hamilton, in her book Mythology,
describes the Greek port of Aulis. Here lie the ruins of the
ancient temple of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt. It was at
Aulis where the thousand Greek black ships gathered to
launch their attack on Troy. But the north wind blew and the
,
ships could not sail. Day after day, the wind was relentless
and the Greek army, under the command of King
Agamemnon, grew angry and restless. A soothsayer
revealed the reason for the ill winds: the goddess Artemis
was angry, because Agamemnon had slain one of her
beloved creatures, a wild hare. She would not allow the
Greeks to depart unless Agamemnon offered up a terrible
sacrifice: his daughter, Iphigenia.
And so he sent for Iphigenia, claiming that he had
arranged for her a great marriage to Achilles. She did not
know she was coming instead to her death.
Those fierce north winds were not blowing on the day you
and I walked the beach near Aulis. It
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