The Surgeon: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel: With Bonus Content

an observer in a case that she knew better than anyone at this table.
    Moore’s gaze lifted in her direction, but he looked straight through her, not at her. As though he didn’t
want
to look at her.
    Dr. Zucker summarized what they’d learned about Warren Hoyt. The Surgeon.
    “He’s been working toward this one goal for a long time,” said Zucker. “Now that he’s attained it, he’s going to prolong the pleasure as long as possible.”
    “Then Cordell’s always been his goal?” said Frost. “The other victims—they were just for practice?”
    “No, they gave him pleasure as well. They tided him over, helped him release sexual tension while he worked toward this prize. In any hunt, the predator’s excitement is most intense when he’s stalking the most difficult of prey. And Cordell was probably the one woman he could not easily reach. She was always on alert, always careful about security. She barricaded herself behind locks and alarm systems. She avoided close relationships. She seldom went out at night, except to work at the hospital. She was the most challenging prey he could pursue, and the one he wanted most. He made his hunt even more difficult by letting her
know
she was prey. He used terror as part of the game. He wanted her to feel him closing in. The other women were just the buildup. Cordell was the main event.”
    “Is,”
said Moore, his voice tight with rage. “She’s not dead yet.”
    The room suddenly hushed, all eyes averted from Moore.
    Zucker nodded, icy calm unbroken. “Thank you for correcting me.”
    Marquette said, “You’ve read his background files?”
    “Yes,” said Zucker. “Warren was an only child. Apparently an adored child, born in Houston. Father was a rocket scientist—I kid you not. His mother came from an old oil family. Both of them are dead now. So Warren was blessed with smart genes and family money. There’s no record of criminal behavior as a child. No arrests, no traffic tickets, nothing that raised a red flag. Except for that one incident in medical school, in the anatomy lab, I find no warning signs. No clues that tell me he was destined to be a predator. By all accounts, he was a perfectly normal boy. Polite and reliable.”
    “Average,” said Moore softly. “Ordinary.”
    Zucker nodded. “This is a boy who never stood out, never alarmed anyone. This is the most frightening killer of all, because there’s no pathology, no psychiatric diagnosis. He’s like Ted Bundy. Intelligent, organized, and, on the surface, quite functional. But he has one personality quirk: he enjoys torturing women. This is someone you might work with every day. And you’d never suspect that when he’s looking at you, smiling at you, he’s thinking about some new and creative way to rip out your guts.”
    Shuddering at Zucker’s hiss of a voice, Rizzoli looked around the room.
What he’s saying is true. I see Barry Frost every day. He seems like a nice guy. Happily married. Never in a foul mood. But I have no idea what he’s really thinking.
    Frost caught her gaze, and he reddened.
    Zucker continued. “After the incident in medical school, Hoyt was forced to withdraw. He entered a med tech training program, and followed Andrew Capra to Savannah. It appears their partnership lasted several years. Airline and credit card records indicate they often traveled together. To Greece and Italy. To Mexico, where they both volunteered at a rural clinic. It was an alliance of two hunters. Blood brothers who shared the same violent fantasies.”
    “The catgut suture,” said Rizzoli.
    Zucker gave her a puzzled look. “What?”
    “In third world countries, they still use catgut in surgery. That’s how he got his supply.”
    Marquette nodded. “She could be right.”
    I am right, thought Rizzoli, prickling with resentment.
    “When Cordell killed Andrew Capra,” said Zucker, “she destroyed the perfect killing team. She took away the one person Hoyt felt closest to. And that’s why she became his ultimate goal. His ultimate victim.”
    “If Hoyt was in the house that night Capra died, why didn’t he kill her then?” asked Marquette.
    “I don’t know. There’s a lot about that night in Savannah that only Warren Hoyt knows. What we do know is that he moved to Boston two years ago, shortly after Catherine Cordell came here. Within a year, Diana Sterling was dead.”
    At last Moore spoke, his voice haunted. “How do we find him?”
    “You can keep his apartment