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“What does she do?”
“She’s a thrill seeker. She gets a kick out of hearing a killer’s fantasies. She likes stepping into his head, taking a look around, seeing what he sees. Knowing what it feels like to be a monster.”
“You make it sound like she’s one of them.”
“Maybe she’d like to be. I’ve seen letters she wrote to Hoyt while he was in prison. Urging him to tell her all the details about his kills. Oh yeah, she loves the details.”
“A lot of people are curious about the macabre.”
“She’s beyond curious. She wants to know what it’s like to cut skin and watch a victim bleed. What it’s like to enjoy that ultimate power. She’s hungry for details the way a vampire’s hungry for blood.” Rizzoli paused. Gave a startled laugh. “You know, I just realized something. That’s exactly what she is, a vampire. She and Hoyt feed off each other. He tells her his fantasies, she tells him it’s okay to enjoy them. It’s okay to get turned on by the thought of cutting someone’s throat.”
“And now she’s visiting my mother.”
“Yeah.” Rizzoli looked at her. “I wonder what fantasies they’re sharing.”
Maura thought of the crimes Amalthea Lank had been convicted of. She wondered what had gone through her mind when she’d picked up the two sisters at the side of the road. Did she feel an anticipatory thrill, a heady shot of power?
“Just the fact O’Do
“What should it tell me?”
“O’Do
My mother, thought Maura. Is she a monster, too?
SEVENTEEN
DR. JOYCE O’DONNELL’S HOUSE in Cambridge was a large white colonial in a neighborhood of distinguished homes on Brattle Street. A wrought-iron fence enclosed a front yard with a perfect lawn and bark-mulched flower beds where landscape roses obediently bloomed. This was a disciplined garden, no disorder allowed, and as Maura walked up the path of granite pavers to the front door, she could already envision the house’s occupant. Well groomed, neatly dressed. A mind as organized as her garden.
The woman who answered the door was just as Maura had imagined.
Dr. O’Do
“Dr. O’Do
O’Do
Maura stepped into a house as coolly elegant as its owner. The only touches of warmth were the Oriental carpets covering dark teak floors. O’Do
“Thank you for seeing me,” said Maura.
“I was curious. I wondered what Amalthea’s daughter might be like. I do know of you, Dr. Isles, but only what I read in the newspapers.” She leaned back in the easy chair, looking perfectly comfortable. Home advantage. She was the one with the favors to grant; Maura was merely a supplicant. “I know nothing about you personally. But I’d like to.”
“Why?”
“I’m well acquainted with Amalthea. I can’t help wondering if…”
“Like mother, like daughter?”
O’Do
“That’s the reason for your curiosity about me. Isn’t it?”
“And what’s the reason for yours? Why are you here?”
Maura’s gaze shifted to a painting over the fireplace. A starkly modern oil streaked with black and red. She said: “I want to know who that woman really is.”
“You know who she is. You just don’t want to believe it. Your sister didn’t, either.”
Maura frowned. “You met A
“No, actually, I never did. But I got a call about four months ago, from a woman identifying herself as Amalthea’s daughter. I was about to leave for a two-week trial in Oklahoma, so I couldn’t meet with her. We simply talked on the phone. She’d been to visit her mother at MCI-Framingham, so she knew I was Amalthea’s psychiatrist. She wanted to know more about her. Amalthea’s childhood, her family.”
“And you know all that?”
“Some of it is from her school records. Some from what she could tell me, when she was lucid. I know she was born in Lowell. When she was about nine, her mother died, and she went to live with her uncle and a cousin, in Maine.”
Maura glanced up. “Maine?”
“Yes. She graduated from high school in a town called Fox Harbor.”
Now I understand why A
“After high school, the records peter out,” said O’Do
“I look at her and I see nothing familiar. Nothing of myself.”
“But I see the resemblance. I see the same hair color. The same jaw.”
“We look nothing alike.”
“You really don’t see it?” O’Do
Perplexed by the question, Maura only stared at her.
“You could have gone into any field of medicine. Obstetrics, pediatrics. You could be working with live patients, but you chose pathology. Specifically, forensic pathology.”
“What’s the point of your question?”
“The point is, you’re somehow attracted to the dead.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Then why did you choose your field?”
“Because I like definitive answers. I don’t like guessing games. I like to see the diagnosis under my microscope lens.”
“You don’t like uncertainty.”
“Does anyone?”
“Then you could have chosen mathematics or engineering. So many other fields involve precision. Definitive answers. But there you are in the M.E.’s office, communing with corpses.” O’Do
Maura met her gaze head-on. “No.”
“You chose an occupation you don’t enjoy?”
“I chose the challenge. There’s satisfaction in that. Even if the task itself isn’t pleasant.”
“But don’t you see what I’m getting at? You tell me you don’t see anything familiar about Amalthea Lank. You look at her, and probably see someone horrifying. Or at least a woman who committed horrifying acts. There are people who look at you, Dr. Isles, and probably think the same thing.”
“You can’t possibly compare us.”
“Do you know what your mother was convicted of?”
“Yes, I’ve been told.”
“But have you seen the autopsy reports?”
“Not yet.”
“I have. During the trial, the defense team asked me to consult on your mother’s mental status. I’ve seen the photos, reviewed the evidence. You do know that the victims were two sisters? Young women stranded at the side of the road.”