The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

In the case of European bog bodies, the victims must have been walked into the bog while still alive. And only then, at the water’s edge, were they murdered.”
    Jane turned and looked at the brutally shattered tibias on the X-ray light box. “This victim couldn’t have walked anywhere with two broken legs. She’d have to be carried in. If you were the killer, you wouldn’t want to do that in the dark. Not if you’re walking through a bog.”
    “So he does it in broad daylight?” said Frost. “Drags her from his car and hauls her to the water? He’d have to have the location picked out ahead of time. A place he knew he wouldn’t be seen, and close enough to a road so he wouldn’t have to carry her far.”
    “There are other conditions required,” said Vandenbrink.
    “What conditions?” asked Jane.
    “The water must be deep enough and cold enough. Temperature matters. And it would have to be remote enough so the body wouldn’t be found until he was ready to claim her.”
    “That’s a long list of conditions,” said Jane. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to fill a bathtub with water and peat moss?”
    “How can you be certain you’d properly replicate the conditions? A bog is a complex ecosystem that we don’t fully understand, a chemical soup of organic matter that has to steep over centuries. Even if you manage to make that soup in a bathtub, you’d need to initially chill it to four degrees Celsius and hold it there for at least several weeks. Then the body would need to soak for months, perhaps years. How would you keep it concealed that long? Would there be odors? Suspicious neighbors?” He shook his head. “The ideal place is still a bog. A
real
bog.”
    But those broken legs remained a problem. Whether the victim was alive or dead, she would need to be carried or dragged to the water’s edge, over terrain that might be muddy. “How big was she, do you think?” Jane asked.
    “Based on skeletal indices,” said Maura, “I estimate her height at around five foot six. And you can see she’s relatively slender.”
    “So maybe a hundred twenty, a hundred thirty pounds.”
    “A reasonable guess.”
    But even a slender woman would weigh a man down after a short distance. And if she were already dead, time would be of the essence. Delay too long, and the corpse would begin its inevitable journey to decay. If she were still alive, there would be other difficulties to contend with. A struggling and noisy victim. The chance of being heard while you dragged her from the car.
Where did you find this perfect spot, this killing place?
    The intercom buzzed, and Maura’s secretary said over the speaker: “Dr. Isles, there’s a phone call on line one. It’s a Scott Thurlow from NCIC.”
    “I’ll take it,” said Maura. She pulled off her gloves as she went to the telephone. “This is Dr. Isles.” She paused, listening, then suddenly straightened and shot a look at Jane that said,
This one’s important.
“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll take a look at that right now. Hold on.” She crossed to the lab computer.
    “What is it?” said Jane.
    Maura opened one of her e-mails and clicked on the attachment. A series of dental X-rays appeared on the screen. Unlike the morgue panograms that showed all the teeth at once, these were spot films from a dentist’s office.
    “Yes, I’m looking at them now,” said Maura, still on the phone.
    “I see an occlusal amalgam on number thirty. This is absolutely compatible.”
    “Compatible with what?” said Jane.
    Maura held up a hand to keep her silent, her focus still on the phone conversation. “I’m opening the second attachment,” she said. A new image filled the screen. It was a young woman with long black hair, her eyes narrowed against the sunlight. She was wearing a denim shirt over a black tank top. The deeply tanned face, devoid of makeup, suggested a woman who lived her life outdoors, who thrived on fresh air and practical clothes. “I’m going to look over these files,” Maura said. “I’ll call you back.” She hung up.
    “Who’s the woman?” Jane asked.
    “Her name is Lorraine Edgerton. She was last seen near Gallup, New Mexico, about twenty-five years ago.”
    Jane frowned at the face smiling back at her from the computer screen. “Am I supposed to remember that name?”
    “You will now. You’re looking at the face of Madam X.”

SIXTEEN
     
    Forensic psychologist Dr. Lawrence Zucker had a gaze so penetrating