Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

“Dr. Robinson, before we start, would you like to say a few words?”
    Addressing this crowd was clearly the last thing the bespectacled man wanted to do, but he gamely took a breath and stepped forward, nudging his drooping glasses back up the bridge of his beakish nose. This archaeologist bore no resemblance at all to Indiana Jones. With his receding hairline and studious squint, he looked more like an accountant caught in the unwelcome glare of the cameras. “I’m Dr. Nicholas Robinson,” he said. “I’m curator at—”
    “Could you speak up, Doctor?” one of the reporters called out.
    “Oh, sorry.” Dr. Robinson cleared his throat. “I’m curator at the Crispin Museum here in Boston. We are immensely grateful that Pilgrim Hospital has so generously offered to perform this CT scan of Madam X. It’s an extraordinary opportunity to catch an intimate glimpse into the past, and judging by the size of this crowd, you’re all as excited as we are. My colleague Dr. Josephine Pulcillo, who is an Egyptologist, will come out to speak to you after the scan is completed. She’ll announce the results and answer any questions then.”
    “When will Madam X go on display for the public?” a reporter called out.
    “Within the week, I expect,” said Robinson. “The new exhibit’s already been built and—”
    “Any clues to her identity?”
    “Why hasn’t she been on display before?”
    “Could she be royal?”
    “I don’t know,” said Robinson, blinking rapidly under the assault of so many questions. “We still need to confirm it’s a female.”
    “You found it six months ago, and you still don’t know the sex?”
    “These analyses take time.”
    “One glance oughta do it,” a reporter said, and the crowd laughed.
    “It’s not as simple as you think,” said Robinson, his glasses slipping down his nose again. “At two thousand years old, she’s extremely fragile and she must be handled with great care. I found it nerve-racking enough just transporting her here tonight, in that van. Our first priority as a museum is preservation. I consider myself her guardian, and it’s my duty to protect her. That’s why we’ve taken our time coordinating this scan with the hospital. We move slowly, and we move with care.”
    “What do you hope to learn from this CT scan tonight, Dr. Robinson?”
    Robinson’s face suddenly lit up with enthusiasm. “Learn? Why, everything! Her age, her health. The method of her preservation. If we’re fortunate, we may even discover the cause of her death.”
    “Is that why the medical examiner’s here?”
    The whole group turned like a multieyed creature and stared at Maura, who had been standing at the back of the room. She felt the familiar urge to back away as the TV cameras swung her way.
    “Dr. Isles,” a reporter called out, “are you here to make a diagnosis?”
    “Why is the ME’s office involved?” another asked.
    That last question needed an immediate answer, before the issue got twisted by the press.
    Maura said, firmly: “The medical examiner’s office is not involved. It’s certainly not paying me to be here tonight.”
    “But you are here,” said Channel 5’s blond hunk, whom Maura had never liked.
    “At the invitation of the Crispin Museum. Dr. Robinson thought it might be helpful to have a medical examiner’s perspective on this case. So he called me last week to ask if I wanted to observe the scan. Believe me, any pathologist would jump at this chance. I’m as fascinated by Madam X as you are, and I can’t wait to meet her.” She looked pointedly at the curator. “Isn’t it about time to begin, Dr. Robinson?”
    She’d just tossed him an escape line, and he grabbed it. “Yes. Yes, it’s time. If you’ll come with me, Dr. Isles.”
    She cut through the crowd and followed him into the Imaging Department. As the door closed behind them, shutting them off from the press, Robinson blew out a long sigh.
    “God, I’m terrible at public speaking,” he said. “Thank you for ending that ordeal.”
    “I’ve had practice. Way too much of it.”
    They shook hands, and he said: “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Isles. Mr. Crispin wanted to meet you as well, but he had hip surgery a few months ago and he still can’t stand for long periods of time. He asked me to say hello.”
    “When you invited me, you didn’t warn me I’d have to walk through that mob.”
    “The press?” Robinson gave a pained look. “They’re