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“Has anyone written you about fantasies of dismemberment?” he asked.
“Not lately.”
“But someone has?”
“As I said, dismemberment is not unusual.”
“As a fantasy or a real act?”
“Both.”
Jane said, “Who’s been writing you about their fantasies, Dr. O’Do
The woman met Jane’s gaze. “That correspondence is confidential. That’s why they feel safe telling me their secrets, their desires, their daydreams.”
“Do these people ever call you?”
“Rarely.”
“And you talk to them?”
“I don’t avoid them.”
“Do you keep a list of these callers?”
“Hardly a list. I can’t remember the last time it happened.”
“It happened last night.”
“Well, I wasn’t here to answer it.”
“You weren’t here at two A.M., either,” said Frost. “We called then, and got your machine.”
“Where were you last night?” Jane asked.
O’Do
“At two A.M., on Christmas Eve?”
“I was with friends.”
“What time did you get home?”
“Probably around two-thirty.”
“They must be very good friends. You mind telling us their names?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t I want my privacy violated? Do I actually have to answer that question?”
“This is a homicide investigation. A woman was slaughtered last night. It was one of the most brutal crime scenes I’ve ever walked into.”
“And you want my alibi.”
“I’m just curious why you won’t tell us.”
“Am I a suspect? Or are you just trying to show me who’s in charge?”
“You’re not a suspect. At the moment.”
“Then I’m under no obligation to even talk to you.” Abruptly, O’Do
Frost, too, started to get up, then saw that Jane wasn’t budging, and he sank back down again.
Jane said, “If you gave one damn about the victim, if you saw what he did to Lori-A
O’Do
“You want the details, do you?”
“It’s my field of study. I need to know the details.” She moved toward Jane. “It helps me understand.”
Or it turns you on. That’s why you suddenly look interested. Even eager.
“You said she was dismembered,” said O’Do
“Rizzoli,” said Frost, a cautionary note in his voice.
But Jane did not need to reveal a thing; O’Do
“Tell us where you were last night.”
“Or did he leave the head at the scene? Someplace where it would elicit maximum shock? Someplace it would be impossible to miss? A kitchen counter, perhaps? Or a prominent place on the floor?”
“Who were you with?”
“It’s a potent message, displaying a head, a face. It’s the killer’s way of telling you he’s in complete control. He’s showing you how powerless you are, Detective. And how powerful he is.”
“Who were you with?” The instant the words were out, Jane knew they were a mistake. She’d allowed O’Do
“My friendships are private,” O’Do
Don’t react, thought Jane. Don’t let her see how deeply she’s dug her claws into me. But she could feel her own face snap taut and saw Frost glance at her with concern. The scars that Hoyt had left on Jane’s hands were only the most obvious wounds; there were far deeper ones. Even now, over two years later, she flinched at the mention of his name.
“He’s a fan of yours, Detective,” said O’Do
“I couldn’t care less what he thinks.”
“I went to see him last week. He showed me his collection of news clippings. His Janie file, as he calls it. When you were trapped in that hospital siege, over the summer, he kept the TV on all night. Watched every second of it.” O’Do
Jane’s back went rigid. Don’t let her do this to you. Don’t let her dig those claws in deeper.
“I believe your daughter’s name is Regina, isn’t it?”
Jane rose to her feet, and though she was shorter than O’Do
“Call me all you want,” said O’Do
“She’s lying,” said Jane.
She yanked open the car door and slid in behind the wheel. There she sat, staring at a scene that was Christmas card-pretty, the sun glistening on icicles, the snow-frosted houses decked in tasteful wreaths and holly. No garish Santas and reindeer on this street, no rooftop extravaganzas like the ones in Revere, where she had grown up. She thought of Joh
But here on Brattle Street, there were no such gaudy spectacles, only understated elegance. No Joh
“She knows more about this case than she’s telling us.”
“How do you draw that conclusion?” asked Frost.
“Instinct.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in instinct. That’s what you always tell me. That it’s nothing better than a lucky guess.”
“But I know this woman. I know what makes her tick.” She looked at Frost, whose winter pallor seemed even more pronounced in the weak sunshine. “She got more than a hang-up call from the killer last night.”
“You’re guessing.”
“Why did she erase it?”
“Why wouldn’t she? If the caller left no message?”
“That’s her story.”
“Oh man. She got to you.” He shook his head. “I knew she would.”
“She didn’t get close.”
“Yeah? When she started talking about Regina, that didn’t light your fuse? She’s a shrink. She knows just how to manipulate you. You shouldn’t even be dealing with her.”
“Who should? You? That weenie Kassovitz?”
“Someone who doesn’t have a history with her. Someone she can’t touch.” He gave Jane a probing look that made her want to turn away. They had been partners for two years now, and even though they were not the closest of friends, they understood each other in a way that mere friends or even lovers seldom did, because they had shared the same horrors, fought the same battles. Frost, better than anyone, even better than her husband, Gabriel, knew her history with Joyce O’Do
And with the killer known as the Surgeon.
“She still scares you, doesn’t she?” he asked quietly.
“All she does is piss me off.”
“Because she knows what does scare you. And she never stops reminding you of him, never forgets to bring up his name.”
“Like I’m the least bit afraid of a guy who can’t even wiggle his toes? Who can’t pee unless some nurse shoves a tube up his dick? Oh yeah, I’m real scared of Warren Hoyt.”