The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

didn’t have the patience to argue with him, so she ignored him and plunged on.
    She spotted the men standing in a grim circle beneath the trees, like silent mourners with heads bowed. Sleeper turned and met her gaze.
    “They’d just finished their first sweep with the metal detector,” he said. “Crime scene tech was heading back to the golf course when the alarm went off.”
    She moved into the circle of men and crouched down to inspect what they had found.
    The skull had been separated from the body and lay isolated from the rest of the nearly skeletonized remains. A gold crown glinted like a pirate’s tooth from the row of dirt-stained teeth. She saw no clothing, no remnants of fabric, only exposed bones with leathery bits of decomposing flesh still adhering. Clumps of long brown hair were matted to leaves, suggesting that these remains were a woman’s.
    She straightened, her gaze scanning the forest floor. Mosquitoes lit on her face and fed off her blood, but she was oblivious to their sting. She focused only on the layers of dead leaves and twigs, the dense underbrush. A deeply sylvan retreat that she now regarded with horror.
    How many women are lying in these woods?
    “It’s his dump site.”
    She turned and looked at Gabriel Dean, who had just spoken. He was crouched a few feet away, sifting through the leaves with gloved hands. She had not even seen him pull on gloves. Now he stood up, his gaze meeting hers.
    “Your unsub has used this place before,” said Dean. “And he’ll probably use it again.”
    “If we don’t scare him off.”
    “And that’s the challenge. Keeping it quiet. If you don’t alarm him, there’s a chance he’ll come back. Not just to dump another body, but to visit. To recapture the thrill.”
    “You’re from the behavioral unit. Aren’t you?”
    He didn’t answer her question but turned to survey the array of personnel standing around in the woods. “If we can keep this out of the press, we might have a chance. But we’ve got to clamp down on it now.”
    We.
With that one word, he had stepped into a partnership with her that she had never sought, had never consented to. Yet here he was, issuing edicts. What made it especially galling was the fact that everyone else was listening to their conversation and understood that her authority was now being challenged.
    Only Korsak, with his customary bluntness, dared step into the dialogue. “Excuse me,
Detective
Rizzoli,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?”
    “FBI,” she said, her gaze still fixed on Dean.
    “So could someone explain to me when this turned into a federal case?”
    “It hasn’t,” she said. “And Agent Dean is about to leave the site. Could somebody show him the way?”
    She and Dean gazed at each other for a moment. Then he tipped his head to her, a silent acknowledgment that he was conceding this round. “I can find my own way out,” he said. He turned and walked back toward the golf course.
    “What is it with these fibbies?” said Korsak. “Always think they’re king of the hill. What’s the Bureau doing here?”
    Rizzoli stared at the woods into which Gabriel Dean had just vanished, a gray figure blending into the dusk. “I wish I knew.”

    Lieutenant Marquette arrived on the scene a half hour later.
    The presence of brass was usually the last thing Rizzoli welcomed. She disliked having a superior officer look over her shoulder as she worked. But Marquette did not interfere and simply stood among the trees, silently appraising the situation.
    “Lieutenant,” she said.
    He responded with a curt nod. “Rizzoli.”
    “What’s with the Bureau? They had an agent here, expecting full access.”
    He nodded. “Request came through OPC.”
    So it had been approved at the top—the Office of the Police Commissioner.
    She watched as the CSU crew packed up their kits and headed back toward the van. Though they were standing within Boston city limits, this dark corner of Stony Brook Reservation felt as isolated as the deep woods. The wind tossed leaves into the air and stirred the smell of decay. Through the trees she saw Barry Frost’s flashlight bobbing in the darkness as he untied the crime scene tape, removing all traces of police activity. Tonight, the stakeout would begin, for an unsub whose craving for a whiff of decay might draw him back to this lonely park, to this silent grove of trees.
    “So I don’t have any choice?” she said. “I have to cooperate with Agent