Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

profit.”
    “How is this relevant to the investigation?”
    “I just want you to understand the background of this institution, and what kind of legacy it carries. The Crispin Museum was paid for with blood. When you walk through that building, every gold coin you see, every piece of pottery, was paid for by a war somewhere. It’s a foul place, Maura, built by a family that hid its past. A family whose roots we’ll never know.”
    “I know where you’re going with this. You’re going to tell me the Crispins have a demonic bloodline. That they’re descended from the biblical Nephilim.” She shook her head and laughed.
    “Please. Not the Dead Sea Scrolls again.”
    “Why do you think Madam X ended up in that museum?”
    “I’m sure you have an answer.”
    “I have a theory. I think she was a form of tribute. So was the shrunken head. They were donated by an admirer who understands exactly what the Crispin family represents.”
    “The third victim wasn’t found in the museum. The body was placed in Dr. Pulcillo’s car.”
    “She works for the museum.”
    “And she’s now terrified. Her keys were stolen and someone sent her one hell of a gruesome gift.”
    “Because she was an obvious go-between for the intended recipient, Simon Crispin.”
    “No, I think Dr. Pulcillo
is
the intended recipient. She’s a strikingly pretty woman and she’s caught a killer’s eye. That’s what Jane believes as well.” She paused. “Why aren’t you talking to her about this? She’s the investigator. Why come to me?”
    “Detective Rizzoli’s mind is closed to alternative theories.”
    “Meaning she’s firmly grounded in reality.” Maura rose to her feet. “So am I.”
    “Before you dismiss this out of hand, maybe you should know one more thing about the Crispin collection. The part of the collection that no one ever saw. It was kept hidden away.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it was so grotesque, so upsetting, that the family couldn’t afford to let the public know about it.”
    “How do you know about this?”
    “For years, there were rumors about it in the antiquities market. About six years ago, Simon Crispin put it up for private auction. It seems he’s been quite the spendthrift and he’s managed to go through what was left of his family’s fortune. He needed to raise cash. He also needed to dispose of embarrassing and possibly illegal items. The truly disturbing part is, he actually found a buyer, whose name remains anonymous.”
    “What did Crispin sell?”
    “War trophies. I don’t mean army medals and rusty bayonets. I’m talking about rattles made with human teeth from Africa and severed ears from Japanese soldiers. A necklace strung with fingers and a jar with women’s…” He stopped. “It was a horrifying collection. The point is, I’m not the only one who knew about the Crispin family’s interest in grotesque souvenirs. Maybe this archaeology killer did, too. And he thought he’d contribute to their collection.”
    “You believe they were gifts.”
    “Tokens of admiration from some collector who donated a few of his own keepsakes to the museum. Where they’ve been sitting, forgotten.”
    “Until now.”
    Sansone nodded. “I think this mysterious donor has decided to resurface. He’s letting the world know that he’s still alive.” He added, quietly: “There may be more such gifts coming, Maura.”
    Her kitchen telephone rang, shattering the silence. Startled, she felt her pulse give a kick as she rose from the chair. How easily Sansone was able to rattle her belief in a logical world. How quickly he could cast a shadow over a bright summer day. His paranoia was contagious, and she heard an ominous note to that ringing telephone, a warning that this call would bring unwelcome news.
    But the voice that greeted her on the line was both familiar and pleasant. “Dr. Isles, this is Carter from the lab. I have some interesting GC-MS results.”
    “On what?”
    “Those tissue samples you sent us on Thursday.”
    “From the body in the trunk? You’ve already done the gas chromatography?”
    “I got a call to come into the lab for a weekend expedite. I thought you ordered it.”
    “No, I didn’t.” She glanced over her shoulder at Sansone, who was watching her so closely that she felt compelled to turn away.
    “Go on,” she said into the phone.
    “I did a flash pyrolysis on the tissue sample, and I found ample presence of both collagenous and noncollagenous proteins