Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

Maura.
    “This piece was picked up by the wire services. It ran in a lot of newspapers. If our killer spotted this story, then he’d know Lorraine Edgerton’s body had just been found. And that there’d be excitement to come after the CT scan. Now look at this.”
    Jane clicked on a saved file on her computer, and an image appeared on the screen. It was a head shot of a young woman with long black hair and delicately arching brows. This was not a candid shot but a formal pose in front of a professional backdrop, a photo that might have been taken for a college yearbook.
    “Who is she?” asked Maura.
    “Her name was Kelsey Thacker. She was a college student who was last seen twenty-six years ago, walking home from a neighborhood bar. In Indio, California.”
    “Indio?” said Maura. And she thought of the crumpled newspaper that she had pulled from the head of the
tsantsa
—a newspaper that had been printed twenty-six years ago.
    “We reviewed the missing persons reports for every woman who vanished from the Indio area that year. Kelsey Thacker’s name popped front and center. And when I saw her photo, I was sure of it.” She pointed to the image. “I think this is what Kelsey looked like before a killer cut off her head. Before he peeled off her face and scalp. Before he shrank it down and hung it on a string like a fucking Christmas ornament.” Jane took an agitated breath.
    “Without a skull, we have no way of matching her dental records. But I’m positive this is her.”
    Maura’s gaze was still fixed on the woman’s face. Softly she said, “She looks like Lorraine Edgerton.”
    “And like Josephine, too. Dark-haired, pretty. I think it’s clear what kind of woman attracts this killer. We also know that he watches the news. He hears that Madam X has been found in the Crispin Museum, and maybe all the publicity thrills him. Or maybe it just annoys him. The important thing is, it’s all about
him.
And he spots Josephine’s photo in that article about the mummy. Pretty face, black hair. Identical to his dream girl. The kind of girl he seems to kill again and again.”
    “And that draws him to Boston.”
    “No doubt he saw this article, too.” Jane pulled up yet another news article from the
Boston Globe
archive, this one about Bog Lady: BODY DISCOVERED IN WOMAN’S CAR. Accompanying the story was a file photo of Maura, with the caption: “Medical examiner says cause of death still undetermined.”
    “It’s a photo of another pretty woman with black hair,” said Jane. She looked at Maura. “Maybe you never noticed the resemblance, Doc, but I did. The first time I saw you and Josephine in the same room, I thought you could be her older sister. That’s why I’ve asked Newton PD to keep an eye on your house. It might not be a bad idea for you to leave home for a few days. Maybe it’s also a good time to think about getting a dog. A great big dog.”
    “I have an alarm system, Jane.”
    “A dog has teeth. Plus, he’d keep you company.” Jane stood to leave. “I know you like your privacy. But sometimes, a woman just doesn’t want to be alone.”
    But I am alone, thought Maura later as she watched Jane’s car drive away and vanish into the night. Alone in a silent house without even a dog for company.
    She armed her security system and paced the living room, as restless as a caged animal, her gaze returning again and again to the telephone. At last she could resist the temptation no longer. She felt like a junkie in withdrawal as she picked up the receiver, her hand trembling with need as she punched in Daniel’s cell phone number.
Please answer. Please be there for me.
    His voice mail picked up.
    She hung up without leaving a message and stared down at the phone, feeling betrayed by its silence. Tonight I need you, she thought, but you’re beyond my reach. You’ve always been beyond my reach, because God is the one who owns you.
    The glare of headlights drew her to the window. Outside a Newton PD cruiser crawled slowly past her house. She waved, acknowledging the faceless patrolman who watched over her on a night when the man she loved did not and could not. And what did that patrolman see as he passed her house? A woman with a comfortable home and all the trappings of success who stood alone at her window, isolated and vulnerable.
    Her phone rang.
    Daniel
was her first thought, and by the time she’d snatched up the receiver, her heart was pounding as hard as a