Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

victim.”
    “Or he’s already chosen her,” said Moore. And thought: Catherine Cordell.
    The first streaks of dawn were lightening the sky. Moore had not slept in nearly twenty-four hours, had been going full throttle for most of the night, fueled only by coffee. Yet as he looked up at the brightening sky, what he felt was not exhaustion but renewed agitation. There was some connection between Catherine and the Surgeon that he did not understand. Some invisible thread that bound her to that monster.
    “Moore.”
    He turned to see Rizzoli and instantly picked up on the excitement in her eyes.
    “Sex Crimes just called,” she said. “Our victim is a very unlucky lady.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Two months ago, Nina Peyton was sexually assaulted.”
    The news stunned Moore. He thought of the blank pages in the victim’s datebook. Eight weeks ago, the entries had stopped. That was when Nina Peyton’s life had screeched to a halt.
    “There’s a report on file?” said Zucker.
    “Not just a report,” said Rizzoli. “A rape kit was collected.”
    “
Two
rape victims?” said Zucker. “Could it be this easy?”
    “You think their rapist comes back to kill them?”
    “It’s got to be more than random chance. Ten percent of serial rapists later communicate with their victims. It’s the perp’s way of prolonging the torment. The obsession.”
    “Rape as foreplay to murder.” Rizzoli gave a disgusted snort. “Nice.”
    A new thought suddenly occurred to Moore. “You said a rape kit was collected. So there was a vaginal swab?”
    “Yep. DNA’s pending.”
    “Who collected that swab? Did she go to the emergency room?” He was almost certain that she’d say:
Pilgrim Hospital.
    But Rizzoli shook her head. “Not the E.R. She went to Forest Hills Women’s Clinic. It’s right down the road.”
     
    On a wall in the clinic waiting room, a full-color poster of the female genital tract was displayed beneath the words:
Woman. Amazing Beauty
. Though Moore agreed that a woman’s body was a miraculous creation, he felt like a dirty voyeur, staring at that explicit diagram. He noticed that several women in the waiting room were eyeing him the way gazelles regard a predator in their midst. That he was accompanied by Rizzoli did not seem to alter the fact he was the alien male.
    He was relieved when the receptionist finally said, “She’ll see you now, Detectives. It’s the last room on the right.”
    Rizzoli led the way down the hall, past posters with
The 10 signs your partner is abusive
and
How do you know if it’s rape?
With every step he felt as if another stain of male guilt had attached itself to him, like dirt soiling his clothes. Rizzoli felt none of this; she was the one on familiar ground. The territory of women. She knocked on the door that said: “Sarah Daly, Nurse Practitioner.”
    “Come in.”
    The woman who stood up to greet them was young and hip-looking. Under her white coat she wore blue jeans and a black tee shirt, and her boyish haircut emphasized dark gamine eyes and elegant cheekbones. But what Moore could not stop focusing on was the small gold hoop in her left nostril. For much of the interview, he felt as if he were talking to that hoop.
    “I reviewed her medical chart after you called,” said Sarah. “I know a police report
was
filed.”
    “We’ve read it,” said Rizzoli.
    “And your reason for coming here?”
    “Nina Peyton was attacked last night, in her home. She’s now in critical condition.”
    The woman’s first reaction was shock. And then, fast on its heels, rage. Moore saw it in the way her chin jutted up and her eyes glittered. “Was it
him
?”
    “Him?”
    “The man who raped her?”
    “It’s a possibility we’re considering,” said Rizzoli. “Unfortunately, the victim is comatose and can’t talk to us.”
    “Don’t call her the
victim
. She does have a name.”
    Rizzoli’s chin jutted up as well, and Moore knew she was pissed off. It was not a good way to start an interview.
    He said, “Ms. Daly, this was an incredibly brutal crime, and we need—”
    “Nothing is incredible,” retorted Sarah. “Not when we’re talking about what men do to women.” She picked up a folder from her desk and held it out to him. “Her medical record. The morning after she was raped, she came to this clinic. I was the one who saw her that day.”
    “Were you also the one who examined her?”
    “I did everything. The interview, the pelvic exam. I took