The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

been with us, this subsegment of people driven by strange obsessions. Bizarre hungers. Yes, some of them are psychotic. But some of them are perfectly normal in every way.”
    Warren Hoyt was perfectly normal, too.
    It was Gabriel Dean who spoke next. Up till then, he had not said a word during the entire meeting, and Rizzoli was startled to hear his deep baritone.
    “You said that this unsub might return to the woods to visit his harem.”
    “Yes,” said Zucker. “That’s why the stakeout of Stony Brook should continue indefinitely.”
    “And what happens when he discovers his harem has vanished?”
    Zucker paused. “He will not take it well.”
    The words sent a chill up Rizzoli’s spine.
They are his lovers. How would any man react when his lover was stolen from him?
    “He’ll be frantic,” said Zucker. “Enraged that someone would take his possessions. And anxious to replace what he’s lost. It will send him hunting again.” Zucker looked at Rizzoli. “You have to keep this out of the media’s eye, as long as possible. The stakeout may be your best chance to catch him. Because he
will
return to those woods, but only if he thinks it’s safe. Only if he believes the harem is still there, waiting for him.”
    The conference room door opened. They all turned to see Lieutenant Marquette poke his head into the room. “Detective Rizzoli?” he said. “I need to speak to you.”
    “Right now?”
    “If you don’t mind. Let’s go into my office.”
    Judging by the expressions of everyone else in the room, the same thought had occurred to them all: Rizzoli’s being called to the woodshed. And she had no idea why. Flushing, she rose from her chair and walked out of the room.
    Marquette was silent as they headed down the hall to the homicide unit. They stepped into his office and he shut the door. Through the glass partition, she saw detectives staring at her from their workstations. Marquette went to the window and snapped the blinds shut. “Why don’t you sit down, Rizzoli?”
    “I’m fine. I just want to know what’s going on.”
    “Please.” His voice quieter now, even gentle. “Sit down.”
    His new solicitousness made her uneasy. She and Marquette had never really warmed to each other. The homicide unit was still a boy’s club, and she knew she was the bitch invader. She sank into a chair, her pulse starting to hammer.
    For a moment he sat silent, as though trying to come up with the right words. “I wanted to tell you this before the others hear about it. Because I think this will be hardest on you. I’m sure it’s just a temporary situation and it’ll be resolved within days, if not hours.”
    “What situation?”
    “This morning, around five A.M. , Warren Hoyt escaped custody.”
    Now she understood why he’d insisted she sit down; he had expected her to crumble.
    But she did not. She sat perfectly still, her emotions shut down, every nerve gone numb. When she spoke, her voice was so eerily calm, she scarcely recognized it as her own.
    “How did it happen?” she asked.
    “It was during a medical transfer. He was admitted last night to Fitchburg Hospital for an emergency appendectomy. We don’t really know how it happened. But in the operating room . . .” Marquette paused. “There are no witnesses left alive.”
    “How many dead?” she asked. Her voice still flat. Still a stranger’s.
    “Three. A nurse and a female anesthetist, prepping him for surgery. Plus the guard who accompanied him to the hospital.”
    “Souza-Baranowski is a level-six facility.”
    “Yes.”
    “And they allowed him to go to a civilian hospital?”
    “If it had been a routine admission, he would have been transported to the Shattuck prison unit. But in a medical emergency, it’s MCI policy to take prisoners to the nearest contracted facility. And the nearest one was in Fitchburg.”
    “Who decided it was an emergency?”
    “The prison nurse. She examined Hoyt, and consulted with the MCI physician. They both concurred he needed immediate attention.”
    “Based on what findings?” Her voice was starting to sharpen now, the first note of emotion creeping in.
    “There were symptoms. Abdominal pain—”
    “He has medical training. He knew exactly what to tell them.”
    “They also had abnormal lab tests.”
    “What tests?”
    “Something about a high white blood cell count.”
    “Did they understand who they were dealing with? Did they have
any
idea?”
    “You can’t fake a blood