They watched the van drive away, carrying the already desecrated corpse to further indignities beneath the bright lights of the autopsy suite. Gabriel Dean’s response had reminded her, with punishing clarity, just how unimportant were matters of jurisdiction. Gail Yeager did not care who took credit for the capture of her killer. All she demanded was justice, whoever might deliver it. Justice was what Rizzoli owed her.
But she’d known the frustration of watching her own hard work claimed by her colleagues. More than once, she had seen men step forward and arrogantly assume command of cases she herself had painstakingly built from scratch. She would not allow it to happen here.
She said, “I appreciate the Bureau’s offer of help. But at the moment, I think we’ve got all bases covered. I’ll let you know if we need you.” With that, she turned and walked away.
“I’m not sure you understand the situation,” he said. “We’re part of the same team now.”
“I don’t recall asking for FBI assistance.”
“It’s been cleared through your unit commander: Lieutenant Marquette. Would you like to confirm it with him?” He held out his cell phone.
“I have my own cell phone, thank you.”
“Then I urge you to call him. So we don’t waste time on turf battles.”
She was stunned by how easily he had stepped aboard. And by how accurately she had sized him up. This was a man who’d not stand quietly on the sidelines.
She took out her own phone and began punching in numbers. But before Marquette answered, she heard Patrolman Doud call out her name.
“Detective Sleeper’s on comm for you,” said Doud, and handed her his walkie-talkie.
She pressed the transmit button. “Rizzoli.”
Through a burst of static, she heard Sleeper say: “You might want to get back here.”
“What have you got?”
“Uh… you’d better see for yourself. We’re about fifty yards north of where the other one was found.”
The other one?
She thrust the walkie-talkie back at Doud and charged into the woods. She was in such a hurry, she did not immediately notice that Gabriel Dean was following her.
Only when she heard the snap of a twig did she turn and see that he was right behind her, his face grim and implacable. She didn’t have the patience to argue with him, so she ignored him and plunged on.
She spotted the men standing in a grim circle beneath the trees, like silent mourners with heads bowed. Sleeper turned and met her gaze.
“They’d just finished their first sweep with the metal detector,” he said. “Crime scene tech was heading back to the golf course when the alarm went off.”
She moved into the circle of men and crouched down to inspect what they had found.
The skull had been separated from the body and lay isolated from the rest of the nearly skeletonized remains. A gold crown glinted like a pirate’s tooth from the row of dirt-stained teeth. She saw no clothing, no remnants of fabric, only exposed bones with leathery bits of decomposing flesh still adhering. Clumps of long brown hair were matted to leaves, suggesting that these remains were a woman’s.
She straightened, her gaze scanning the forest floor. Mosquitoes lit on her face and fed off her blood, but she was oblivious to their sting. She focused only on the layers of dead leaves and twigs, the dense underbrush. A deeply sylvan retreat that she now regarded with horror.
How many women are lying in these woods?
“It’s his dump site.”
She turned and looked at Gabriel Dean, who had just spoken. He was crouched a few feet away, sifting through the leaves with gloved hands. She had not even seen him pull on gloves. Now he stood up, his gaze meeting hers.
“Your unsub has used this place before,” said Dean. “And he’ll probably use it again.”
“If we don’t scare him off.”
“And that’s the challenge. Keeping it quiet. If you don’t alarm him, there’s a chance he’ll come back. Not just to dump another body, but to visit. To recapture the thrill.”
“You’re from the behavioral unit. Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer her question but turned to survey the array of personnel standing around in the woods. “If we can keep this out of the press, we might have a chance. But we’ve got to clamp down on it now.”
We. With that one word, he had stepped into a partnership with her that she had never sought, had never consented to. Yet here he was, issuing edicts. What made it especially galling was the fact that everyone else was listening to their conversation and understood that her authority was now being challenged.
Only Korsak, with his customary bluntness, dared step into the dialogue. “Excuse me, Detective Rizzoli,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?”
“FBI,” she said, her gaze still fixed on Dean.
“So could someone explain to me when this turned into a federal case?”
“It hasn’t,” she said. “And Agent Dean is about to leave the site. Could somebody show him the way?”
She and Dean gazed at each other for a moment. Then he tipped his head to her, a silent acknowledgment that he was conceding this round. “I can find my own way out,” he said. He turned and walked back toward the golf course.
“What is it with these fibbies?” said Korsak. “Always think they’re king of the hill. What’s the Bureau doing here?”
Rizzoli stared at the woods into which Gabriel Dean had just vanished, a gray figure blending into the dusk. “I wish I knew.”
Lieutenant Marquette arrived on the scene a half hour later.
The presence of brass was usually the last thing Rizzoli welcomed. She disliked having a superior officer look over her shoulder as she worked. But Marquette did not interfere and simply stood among the trees, silently appraising the situation.
“Lieutenant,” she said.
He responded with a curt nod. “Rizzoli.”
“What’s with the Bureau? They had an agent here, expecting full access.”
He nodded. “Request came through OPC.”
So it had been approved at the top-the Office of the Police Commissioner.
She watched as the CSU crew packed up their kits and headed back toward the van. Though they were standing within Boston city limits, this dark corner of Stony Brook Reservation felt as isolated as the deep woods. The wind tossed leaves into the air and stirred the smell of decay. Through the trees she saw Barry Frost’s flashlight bobbing in the darkness as he untied the crime scene tape, removing all traces of police activity. Tonight, the stakeout would begin, for an unsub whose craving for a whiff of decay might draw him back to this lonely park, to this silent grove of trees.
“So I don’t have any choice?” she said. “I have to cooperate with Agent Dean.”
“I assured OPC we would.”
“What’s the Bureau’s interest in this case?”
“Did you ask Dean?”
“It’s like talking to that tree over there. You get nothing back. I’m not thrilled about this. We have to give him everything, but he doesn’t have to tell us squat.”
“Maybe you didn’t approach him the right way.”
Anger shot like a poison dart into her bloodstream. She understood the unspoken meaning of his statement: You’ve got an attitude, Rizzoli. You always tick off men.
“You ever meet Agent Dean?” she asked.
“No.”
She gave a laugh laced with sarcasm. “Lucky you.”
“Look, I’ll find out what I can. Just try to work with him, okay?”
“Does someone say I haven’t?”
“Phone call says. I hear you chased him off the site. That’s not exactly a cooperative relationship.”
“He challenged my authority. I need to establish something right off the bat here. Am I in charge? Or am I not?”
A pause. “You’re in charge.”