The Keepsake

“The police have a forensic psychologist consulting on the case. They’re already covering that territory.”

“And they’re using the conventional approach. He behaved this way before, so that’s the way he’ll behave again. But this abduction is completely different from the earlier ones, the ones we know about.”

“Different how? He started by crippling this woman, and that’s precisely his pattern.”

“But then he deviated from that pattern.”

“What do you mean?”

“Both Lorraine Edgerton and Kelsey Thacker vanished without a trace. Neither abductions were followed by taunts of find me. There were no notes or souvenirs sent to law enforcement. Those women simply disappeared. This victim is different. With Ms. Pulcillo, the killer seems to be begging for your attention.”

“Maybe he’s asking to be caught. Maybe it’s a plea for someone to finally stop him.”

“Or he has another reason to want all this publicity. You have to admit, courting publicity is exactly what he’s done by staging high-profile incidents. Putting the bog body in the trunk. Committing the murder and abduction in the museum. And now the latest-leaving a souvenir in your backyard. Did you notice how quickly the press showed up in your neighborhood?”

“Reporters often monitor police radios.”

“They were tipped off, Maura. Someone called them.”

She stared at him. “You think this killer’s that desperate for attention?”

“He’s certainly getting it. Now the question is, whose attention is he seeking?” He paused. “I’m concerned it’s yours he wants.”

She shook her head. “He already has mine, and he knows it. If this is attention-seeking behavior, it’s directed at a far larger audience. He’s telling the whole world, Look at me. Look at what I’ve done. ”

“Or he’s aiming it at one person in particular. Someone who’s meant to see these news stories and react to them. I think he’s communicating with someone, Maura. Maybe it’s another killer. Or maybe it’s a future victim.”

“It’s his current victim we need to worry about.”

Sansone shook his head. “He’s had her for three days now. That’s not a good milestone.”

“He kept his other victims alive far longer than this.”

“But he didn’t cut off their hair. He didn’t play games with the police and the press. This abduction is moving along its own unique time line.” The look he gave her was chillingly matter-of-fact. “This time, things are different. The killer’s pattern has changed.”

THIRTY

The Cape Elizabeth neighborhood where Dr. Gavin Hilzbrich lived was a prosperous suburb outside Portland, Maine, but unlike the well-kept properties on the street, Hilzbrich’s house was set back on a lot overgrown with trees, and the patchy lawn was slowly dying for want of sunlight. Standing in the driveway of the large Colonial-style house, Jane noticed peeling paint and the green sheen of moss on the shake roof, clues to the ailing health of the doctor’s finances. His house, like his bank account, had almost certainly seen better days.

At first glance, the silver-haired man who answered the door had the appearance of prosperity. Though he was in his late sixties, he stood unbowed by either age or economic travails. Despite the warm day he wore a tweed jacket, as though on his way out to teach a university class. Only when she looked more closely did Jane notice that the collar tips were frayed and the jacket hung several sizes too large on his bony shoulders. Nevertheless he regarded her with disdain, as though nothing his visitor might say could possibly interest him.

“Dr. Hilzbrich?” she said. “I’m Detective Rizzoli. We spoke on the phone.”

“I have nothing more to tell you.”

“We don’t have a lot of time to save this woman.”

“I can’t discuss my former patients.”

“Last night, your former patient sent us a souvenir.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, what souvenir?”

“The victim’s hair. He hacked it off her head, stuffed it into a grocery bag, and hung it on a tree, like a trophy. Now, I don’t know how a psychiatrist like you would interpret that. I’m just a cop. But I hate to think of what he might cut off next. And if the next thing we find is a piece of her flesh, I fucking promise you I will be back on this doorstep. And I’ll invite a few TV cameras to come along with me.” She let that sink in for a moment. “So now do you want to talk?”

He stared at her, his lips pressed together in two tight lines. Without a word, he stepped aside to let her come in.

Inside, it smelled of cigarettes-an unhealthy habit made more so in that house, where she saw stuffed file boxes lining the hallway. Glancing through a doorway into a cluttered office, she spotted overflowing ashtrays and a desk covered with papers and even more boxes.

She followed him into the living room, which was oppressively dark and cheerless because thick trees outside blocked the sunlight. Here some semblance of order had been maintained, but the leather couch she sat down on was stained, and the finely crafted coffee table bore the rings of countless cups set carelessly on unprotected wood. Both had probably been expensive purchases, evidence of their owner’s more affluent past. Clearly Hilzbrich’s circumstances had gone terribly wrong, leaving him with a house he could not afford to maintain. But the man who sat across from her betrayed no hint of defeat, and certainly no humility. He was still every inch Doctor Hilzbrich, facing the minor a

“How do you know that my former patient is responsible for this young woman’s abduction?” he asked.

“We have a number of reasons to suspect Bradley Rose.”

“And those reasons are?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal the details.”

“Yet you expect me to open up his psychiatric files to you?”

“When a woman’s life is at stake? Yes, I do. And you know very well what your obligations are.” She paused. “Since you’ve been through this situation before.”

The sudden rigidity in his face told her he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“You’ve already had one of your patients go off the rails,” she said. “The parents of his victim weren’t too happy with that whole patient-confidentiality thing, were they? Having their daughter sliced and diced can do that to a family. They grieve, they get angry, and finally they sue. And it all shows up in the newspapers.” She glanced around the shabby room. “Are you still treating patients, by the way?”

“You know I’m not.”

“I guess it’s hard to practice psychiatry when you lose your license.”

“It was a witch hunt. The parents needed someone to blame.”

“They knew exactly who to blame-your sicko former patient. You were the one who pronounced him cured.”

“Psychiatry is an inexact science.”

“You had to know it was your patient who did it. When that girl was killed, you must have recognized his handiwork.”

“I had no proof it was him.”

“You just wanted the problem to go away. So you did nothing, said nothing to the police. Are you going to let that happen again with Bradley Rose? When you can help us stop him?”

“I don’t see how I can help you.”

“Release his records to us.”

“You don’t understand. If I give them to you, he’ll-” He stopped.

“He?” Her gaze was fixed so intently on his face that he drew back, as though physically pressed against the chair. “You’re talking about Bradley’s father. Aren’t you?”

Dr. Hilzbrich swallowed. “Kimball Rose warned me you’d be calling. He reminded me that psychiatric records are confidential.”

“Even when a woman’s life is in danger?”

“He said he’d sue me if I released the records.” He gave a sheepish laugh and looked around at his living room. “As if there’s anything left to take! The bank owns this house. The institute’s been shuttered for years and the state’s about to foreclose on it. I can’t even pay the damn property taxes.”