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

about Andrew Capra?” he asked quietly.
    “I haven’t kept anything from you.”
    “The night he attacked you, why did he come to your house?”
    “How is this relevant?”
    “You were the only victim Capra knew as a person. The other victims were strangers, women he picked up in bars. But you were different. He
chose
you.”
    “He was—he may have been angry with me.”
    “He came to see you about something at work. A mistake he’d made. That’s what you told Detective Singer.”
    She nodded. “It was more than just one mistake. It was a series of them. Medical errors. And he’d failed to follow up on abnormal blood tests. It was a pattern of carelessness. I’d confronted him earlier in the day, in the hospital.”
    “What did you tell him?”
    “I told him he should seek another specialty. Because I was not going to recommend him for a second year of residency.”
    “Did he threaten you? Express any anger?”
    “No. That was the strange thing. He just accepted it. And he . . . smiled at me.”
    “Smiled?”
    She nodded. “As though it didn’t really matter to him.”
    The image gave Moore a chill. She could not have known then that Capra’s smile had masked an unfathomable rage.
    “Later that night, in your house,” said Moore, “when he attacked you—”
    “I’ve already gone over what happened. It’s in my statement. Everything is in my statement.”
    Moore paused. Reluctantly he pressed on. “There are things you didn’t tell Singer. Things you left out.”
    She looked up, her cheeks stung red with anger. “I’ve left nothing out!”
    He hated being forced to hound her with more questions, but he had no choice. “I reviewed Capra’s autopsy report,” he said. “It’s not consistent with the statement you gave the Savannah police.”
    “I told Detective Singer exactly what happened.”
    “You said you were lying with your body draped over the side of the bed. You reached under the bed for the gun. From that position you aimed at Capra and fired.”
    “And that’s true. I swear it.”
    “According to the autopsy, the bullet tracked upward through his abdomen and passed through his thoracic spine, paralyzing him. That part is consistent with your statement.”
    “Then why are you saying I lied?”
    Again Moore paused, almost too sick at heart to press on. To keep hurting her. “There’s the problem of the second bullet,” he said. “It was fired at close range, straight into his left eye. Yet you were lying on the floor.”
    “He must have bent forward, and that’s when I fired—”
    “Must have?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
    “You don’t remember firing the second bullet?”
    “No. Yes. . . .”
    “Which is the truth, Catherine?” He said it quietly, but he could not soften the sting of his words.
    She shot to her feet. “I won’t be questioned this way.
I’m
the victim.”
    “And I’m trying to keep you alive. I need to know the truth.”
    “I’ve told you the truth! Now I think it’s time for you to leave.” She crossed to the door, yanked it open, and gave a startled gasp.
    Peter Falco stood right outside, his hand poised to knock.
    “Are you okay, Catherine?” asked Peter.
    “Everything is
fine
,” she snapped.
    Looking at Moore, Peter’s gaze sharpened. “What is this, police harassment?”
    “I’m asking Dr. Cordell a few questions, that’s all.”
    “That’s not what it sounded like in the hallway.” Peter looked at Catherine. “Do you want me to show him out?”
    “I can deal with this myself.”
    “You’re not obligated to answer any questions.”
    “I’m well aware of that, thank you.”
    “Okay. But if you need me, I’m out here.” Peter shot a last warning glance at Moore, then turned and went back to his own office. At the other end of the hallway, Helen and the billing clerk were staring at her. Flustered, she shut the door again. For a moment she stood with her back to Moore. Then her spine straightened, and she turned to him. Whether she answered him now or later, the questions would remain.
    “I’ve kept nothing from you,” she said. “If I can’t tell you everything that happened that night, it’s because I don’t remember.”
    “So your statement to the Savannah police was not entirely true.”
    “I was still hospitalized when I gave that statement. Detective Singer talked me through what happened, helping me piece it together. I told him what I
thought
was correct at the