The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

police?”
    “You know that he’s escaped custody?”
    “Yes. I saw it on the news, of course. And then, the State Police contacted me to ask if he had tried to reach me. They contacted everyone who corresponded with Warren.”
    Warren.
They were on a first-name basis.
    Rizzoli opened the large manila envelope she’d brought with her and removed the three Polaroids, encased in Ziploc bags. These she handed to Dr. O’Donnell. “Did you send these photos to Mr. Hoyt?”
    O’Donnell merely glanced at the images. “No. Why?”
    “You hardly looked at them.”
    “I don’t need to. I never sent Mr. Hoyt any photos of any kind.”
    “These were found in his cell. In an envelope with your return address.”
    “Then he must have used my envelope to store them.” She handed the Polaroids back to Rizzoli.
    “What, exactly, did you send him?”
    “Letters. Release forms for him to sign and return.”
    “Release forms for what?”
    “His school records. Pediatric records. Any information that might help me evaluate his history.”
    “How many times did you write him?”
    “I believe it was four or five times.”
    “And he responded?”
    “Yes. I have his letters on file. You can have copies.”
    “Has he tried to reach you since his escape?”
    “Don’t you think I would tell the authorities if he had?”
    “I don’t know, Dr. O’Donnell. I don’t know the nature of your relationship with Mr. Hoyt.”
    “It was a correspondence. Not a relationship.”
    “Yet you wrote him. Four or five times.”
    “I visited him, as well. The interview’s on videotape, if you’d like to have it.”
    “Why did you talk to him?”
    “He has a story to tell. Lessons to teach us.”
    “Like how to butcher women?” The words were out of Rizzoli’s mouth before she could think about it, a dart of bitter emotion that failed to pierce the other woman’s armor.
    Unruffled, O’Donnell replied: “As law enforcement, you see only the end result. The brutality, the violence. Terrible crimes that are the natural consequence of what these men have experienced.”
    “And what do you see?”
    “What came before, in their lives.”
    “Now you’re going to tell me it’s all due to their unhappy childhoods.”
    “Do you know anything about Warren’s childhood?”
    Rizzoli could feel her blood pressure rising. She had no desire to talk about the roots of Hoyt’s obsessions. “His victims don’t give a damn about his childhood. And neither do I.”
    “But do you know about it?”
    “I’m told it was perfectly normal. I know he had a better childhood than a lot of men who don’t cut up women.”
    “Normal.” O’Donnell seemed to find this word amusing. She looked at Dean for the first time since they’d all sat down. “Agent Dean, why don’t you give us your definition of normal?”
    A look passed between them, hostile echoes of an old battle not fully resolved. But whatever emotions Dean was now feeling did not register in his voice. He said, calmly: “Detective Rizzoli is asking the questions. I suggest you answer them, Doctor.”
    That he had not already wrestled away control of the interview surprised Rizzoli. Dean struck her as a man accustomed to taking control, yet in this he had ceded to her and had chosen instead the role of observer.
    She had allowed her anger to scattershoot the conversation. Now it was time to reclaim command, and for that she would need to keep her anger in check. To proceed calmly and methodically.
    She asked, “When did you start writing to each other?”
    O’Donnell responded, just as businesslike: “About three months ago.”
    “And why did you decide to write him?”
    “Wait a minute.” O’Donnell gave a startled laugh. “You have it wrong. I didn’t initiate this correspondence.”
    “Are you saying Hoyt did?”
    “Yes. He wrote me first. He said he’d heard of my work on the neurology of violence. He knew I’d been a defense witness in other trials.”
    “He wanted to hire you?”
    “No. He knew there was no chance his sentence could be altered. Not at this late date. But he thought I’d be interested in his case. I was.”
    “Why?”
    “Are you asking why was I interested?”
    “Why would you waste any time writing to someone like Hoyt?”
    “He’s exactly the sort of person I want to know more about.”
    “He’s been seen by half a dozen shrinks. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfectly normal, except for the fact he likes to kill