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

prey came together.
    Her beeper went off. It was Barry Frost paging her.
    “What’s all that racket?” asked Frost, barely audible over her cell phone.
    “I’m sitting in a bar.” She turned and glared as a nearby table exploded with laughter. “What did you say?”
    “. . . a doctor over on Marlborough Street. I’ve got a copy of her medical record.”
    “Whose medical record?”
    “Diana Sterling’s.”
    At once Rizzoli was hunched forward, every ounce of attention focused on Frost’s faint voice. “Tell me again. Who’s the doctor and why did Sterling see him?”
    “The doctor’s a she. Dr. Bonnie Gillespie. A gynecologist over on Marlborough Street.”
    Another noisy burst of laughter drowned out his words. Rizzoli cupped her hand over her ear so she could hear his next words. “Why did Sterling see her?” she yelled.
    But she already knew the answer; she could see it right in front of her as she stared at the bar, where two men were converging on a woman like lions stalking a zebra.
    “Sexual assault,” said Frost. “Diana Sterling was raped, too.”
     
    “All three were sexual assault victims,” said Moore. “But neither Elena Ortiz nor Diana Sterling reported their attacks. We found out about Sterling’s rape only because we checked local women’s clinics and gynecologists to find out if she was ever treated for it. Sterling never even told her parents about the attack. When I called them this morning, they were shocked to find out about it.”
    It was only midmorning, but the faces he saw around the conference room table looked drained. They were operating on sleep deficits, and another full day stretched ahead of them.
    Lieutenant Marquette said, “So the only person who knew about Sterling’s rape was this gynecologist on Marlborough Street?”
    “Dr. Bonnie Gillespie. It was Diana Sterling’s one and only visit. She went in because she was afraid she’d been exposed to AIDS.”
    “What did Dr. Gillespie know about the rape?”
    Frost, who’d interviewed the physician, answered the question. He opened the folder containing Diana Sterling’s medical record. “Here’s what Dr. Gillespie wrote: ‘Thirty-year-old white female requests HIV screen. Unprotected sex five days ago, partner’s HIV status unknown. When asked if her partner was in a high-risk group, patient became upset and tearful. Revealed that sex was not consensual, and she does not know assailant’s name. Does not wish to report the assault. Refuses referral for rape counseling.’ ” Frost looked up. “That’s all the information Dr. Gillespie got from her. She did a pelvic exam, tested for syphilis, gonorrhea, and HIV, and told the patient to return in two months for a follow-up HIV blood test. The patient never did. Because she was dead.”
    “And Dr. Gillespie never called the police? Even after the murder?”
    “She didn’t know her patient was dead. She never saw the news reports.”
    “Was a rape kit collected? Semen?”
    “No. The patient, uh . . .” Frost flushed in embarrassment. Some topics even a married man like Frost found difficult to discuss. “She douched a few times, right after the attack.”
    “Can you blame her?” said Rizzoli. “Shit, I would’ve felt like douching with Lysol.”
    “Three rape victims,” said Marquette. “This is no coincidence.”
    “You find the rapist,” said Zucker, “I think you’ll have your unsub. What’s the status on the DNA from Nina Peyton?”
    “It’s on expedite,” said Rizzoli. “Lab’s had the semen sample for nearly two months, and nothing’s been done with it. So I lit a fire under them. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that our perp’s already in CODIS.”
    CODIS, the Combined DNA Index System, was the FBI’s national database of DNA profiles. The system was still in its infancy, and the genetic profiles of half a million convicted offenders had not yet been entered into the system. The chances of their getting a “cold hit”—a match with a known offender—were slim.
    Marquette looked at Dr. Zucker. “Our unsub sexually assaults the victim first. Then returns weeks later to kill her? Does that make sense?”
    “It doesn’t have to make sense to
us
,” said Zucker. “Only to him. It’s not uncommon for a rapist to return and attack his victim a second time. There’s a sense of ownership there. A relationship, however pathological, has been established.”
    Rizzoli snorted. “You call it a