Rizzoli Isles 08.5 - Freaks Read online

  Also by Tess Gerritsen

  Harvest

  Life Support

  Bloodstream

  Gravity

  The Surgeon

  The Apprentice

  The Sinner

  Body

  Double

  Vanish

  The Mephisto Club

  The Bone Garden

  The Keepsake

  Ice Cold

  The Silent Girl

  Freaks is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Ballantine Books eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2010 Tess Gerritsen

  All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Ballantine is a registered trademark and the Ballantine colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  This short story originally appeared on www.tnt.tv in 2010.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-53008-0

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1

  Chapter One

  The Queen of the Dead had arrived.

  As medical examiner Maura Isles stepped out of her black Lexus, her appearance on that chilly afternoon matched the nickname that Boston PD cops had long ago dubbed her. Black car, black coat, black scarf. Appropriate for this winter’s day with its deepening shadows and the scent of impending snow.

  Detective Jane Rizzoli raised a gloved hand in greeting. “Hey, Doc!” she called out. “Hope you brought your flashlight.”

  Maura crossed the street to the front steps of the church and stared up at the arched doorways and boarded-up windows. “St. Anthony’s? This building’s been closed up for years.”

  “The victim managed to find her way in.” Jane shivered as the wind whipped her hair and flapped the hem of her coat. “Unfortunately, so did her killer.”

  “Killer?” Maura shot Jane a questioning look. “So you’ve already decided this is a homicide.”

  “When you see her body, you’ll know why.”

  Jane waited for Maura to pull on shoe covers and gloves, then she pushed open the massive oak door and they stepped inside. Though now protected from the wind, the dank interior felt colder, as if a chill radiated from the stone walls. The building had no power, and the only illumination came from a battery-operated CSU lamp glowing at the far end. In the cavernous space above, shadows hung as thick as night.

  “How was the body found?” Maura asked.

  “A passerby reported screams coming from the building and she called nine-one-one. First officer on the scene said the back door was unlocked. He came in and found the body.”

  Jane turned on her Maglite and led Maura past rows of deserted pews toward the altar, where Detective Barry Frost and three criminalists stood waiting for them. They’d formed a solemn circle around the victim, as though protecting her from any predators that lurked in the darkness. The men parted to reveal a young woman lying on the ground with head flung back, mouth agape.

  Frost said, “According to the ID, her name’s Kimberly Rayner, age seventeen.”

  No one spoke as Maura moved closer and gazed down at the swollen face. The girl’s blond hair was stringy with grease, and filth smudged her face.

  “She’s fully dressed, so it doesn’t look like a sexual assault. But see the strangulation marks?” Jane said. She aimed her flashlight at the neck, which was arched backward, the throat exposed to reveal skin bruised by pressure marks from a killer’s pitiless grip. Death had left the girl’s face bloated, but the body was almost skeletal, the clavicles grotesquely prominent, the wrists as thin as twigs. Malnutrition had forced the girl’s own body to start devouring itself, consuming fat and muscle as it struggled to keep nutrients flowing to brain and heart.

  “Want to see what really freaked us out?” Jane asked.

  “A dead body wasn’t enough?”

  “Take a look at that.” Jane turned, and her flashlight beam landed on something that gleamed in the shadows. Something that made even the unflappable Maura Isles gasp in a startled breath.

  It was a coffin. And the lid was open.

  Chapter Two

  In the darkness above, something fluttered. Jane glanced up and shuddered as she spotted a shadow swooping high overhead. “There really are bats in the belfry,” she said. “We noticed them flying around earlier.”

  “Bats?” said Maura with a startled laugh. “And an open coffin?”

  “Wait. It gets better,” said Jane, crossing to the coffin. “Take a look.”

  “Please don’t tell me there’s a vampire lying in there.”

  Jane shone her light into the coffin. On the satin pillow inside were half a dozen black strands of hair. “Someone’s been lying in here. The question is, were they dead? Or just sleeping?” Jane gave a nervous laugh.

  Maura stood over the coffin, staring at the telltale strands. Suddenly she gave herself a shake, as if to cast off the spell that this place had spun around them all. “Jane, there’s a logical explanation for this.”

  “You always say that.”

  Maura turned and pointed to puddles of melted wax on the floor. “Someone’s been burning candles. And look, there’s a big cardboard box over there, with blankets. Someone’s been camping in here, that’s all. Maybe the victim.”

  “Or the guy who slept in that coffin. Wherever he is now.”

  Maura crossed back to the body. “It’s too dark in here for me to properly examine her. We need to get her to the morgue for autopsy.” She began dialing her cell phone. “This is Dr. Isles. We have a body to transport …”

  One of the criminalists muttered: “Maybe we should drive a stake through her heart first. Just to be sure.”

  The chill had deepened, and Jane could see her own breath in the darkness, a ghostly cloud that dissipated into the shadows. Kimberly Rayner should be in high school, thought Jane, looking down at the body. A seventeen-year-old girl should be flirting with boys and applying to college and dreaming about her future. Not lying dead on an icy stone floor.

  “Detective Rizzoli?” one of the criminalists called out. “I found a shoe print.” Jane crossed to where he was crouched, his flashlight aimed at the muddy track. “Looks like a man’s size eight or nine. Too big to be the victim’s.”

  With her flashlight pointed to the floor, Jane followed the tracks backward until she reached a door—not the one the responding patrolman had entered. No, someone else had entered the building this way. The door hung ajar, and she felt icy wind seep through the opening.

  Pushing through, she found herself outside, in an overgrown side yard littered with the debris of autumn leaves. The crack of a branch made her head snap up. She aimed her flashlight toward the sound.

  A pair of eyes glowed back at her.

  Chapter Three

  In an instant Jane had her weapon out and pointed. “Boston PD! Identify yourself!” she commanded.

  A black-clad figure sprang out of the bushes and fled.

  “Halt!” Jane yelled, but the figure hurtled away. Jane took off after it, her shoes cracking through ice-encrusted mud. Her quarry was a spidery shadow, swooping in and out of sight, like something not quite solid. Not quite human.

  Behind her, she heard Frost yell: “Rizzoli?”

  She didn’t stop to answer him but kept up the pursuit. The figure ahead was moving fast—too fast. Her legs pumped harder, muscles burning. The air was so cold, it seemed to sear her throat. She saw the figure clamber over a fence and drop out of sight.

  She scrambled over it, too, felt wood splinters bite into her hand.
She dropped hard on the other side, and pain shot up her shins. She was standing in an enclosed yard. Where is he, where? Frantically she scanned the shadows, looking for some telltale flicker of movement.

  Did something just slink into that shed?

  Clutching her weapon in both hands, she approached the shed doorway. Inside was only blackness, so thick it seemed solid. She inched forward and stood on the threshold, trying to peer inside. Seeing nothing.

  A sound in the darkness raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The sound of quick, desperate breaths. They didn’t come from the shed, but behind her.

  She swung around and spotted her quarry, crouched and cowering in the shadows. It was garbed all in black. As she shone her flashlight in the eyes, the arms came up, shielding the face from the glare.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I’m nobody.”

  “Show yourself! Stand up!”

  Slowly, the figure rose to its feet and lowered its spindly arms. The face that stared back at her was an unearthly white; the hair gleamed jet black. The same color as the hairs they’d found on the coffin pillow.

  Chapter Four

  “Man, he sure looks like a vampire,” said Barry Frost, staring through the one-way mirror at the pale young man sitting in the interview room.

  The subject was eighteen years old and his name was Lucas Henry. Transpose the first and last names and it became ominously familiar: Henry Lucas. Did his mother realize she’d named her kid after one of the most prolific serial killers of all time? But the boy in the next room looked more frightened than dangerous. He sat huddled at the table, a black forelock drooping over his white brow. With his jutting cheekbones, his deeply sunken eyes, he looked like a living skeleton. Multiple studs pierced his lips, nose, and God knew what other parts of his body—so many studs that he’d set off the metal detector when they’d brought him into Boston PD headquarters.

  “Why the heck do kids poke holes in their skin?” said Frost. “I never understood that.”

  “It’s a Goth thing. You know, death, pain, oblivion.” Jane snorted. “All that fun stuff.”

  “He’s sure not having any fun.”

  “Let’s go make his night even more enjoyable.”

  As Jane and Frost walked in, Lucas snapped straight in his chair, eyes wide with apprehension. Despite his grotesque piercings and the black leather jacket with the death’s-head decal, Lucas looked like just a scared kid. A kid who may have wrapped his skinny hands around Kimberly Rayner’s throat and squeezed the life out of her.

  Jane sat down across from him. Noticed that the boy’s eyes, heavily rimmed with black eyeliner, were bloodshot from crying. “Are you sure you don’t want an attorney?” she asked.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “I take it that’s a no.”

  “She was alive when I left her. I swear it.”

  “Tell us how you came to know Kimberly Rayner.”

  The boy took a deep breath. “I first met her a few months ago, when we were both hanging out in Harvard Square. We recognized each other immediately.”

  “I thought that was the first time you met.”

  “What I mean is, I knew at once what she was. And she knew what I was.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Different. We’re different from other kids. From everyone else.”

  “Every kid thinks he’s different.”

  “I mean really different.”

  “Like how?”

  He took a breath. “We’re not human,” he said.

  Chapter Five

  There was a long silence. Frost, standing in the corner, rolled his eyes.

  “Funny,” said Jane. “You look human to me.”

  “That’s just on a superficial level. But if you examine my cells, if you look at them under a microscope, you’ll see that I’m different. Since I was just a kid, I’ve known that I wasn’t like everyone else. I don’t need food like you do. I can survive perfectly well on just air and …”

  “Wait, don’t tell me,” Jane said. “Blood?”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re mocking me.”

  Oh, you think?

  “Are you telling us you’re a vampire?” asked Frost, managing to keep his face perfectly serious.

  Lucas looked at him. “If that’s what you want to call us. We’re a subspecies of human, nocturnal and hemophagic. That means we devour blood.”

  “Yeah, I got that. So whose blood do you devour?”

  “We don’t kill people, if that’s your question. We’re the pacifist branch of our subspecies. Sometimes volunteers will donate a few tubes to feed us.”

  “Volunteers?”

  “Friends. Classmates. Or someone will smuggle out a bag or two from the local blood bank. But mostly, we consume animal blood. You can buy it, you know, from any good butcher shop.” He sat up, puffing out his thin chest. “It gives us superhuman strength.”

  Jane looked at the anemically pale face, eyes sunken in hollow sockets, and thought: What he’s got is a superhuman case of the crazies. “So Kimberly Rayner was a vampire, too?”

  “Yes. A few weeks ago, she ran away from home. I invited her to crash with me, in the church.”

  “You slept together in that coffin?”

  “No! We were, like, totally platonic. I found an old shipping carton for her to sleep in. To block out the light.”

  “I thought vampires were supposed to be immortal. So what happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. I woke up, and she was screaming. She was rolling around on the floor, saying her stomach hurt. Even though it was still daylight, I went out to get her some Pepto-Bismol. When I got back, about an hour later, there was a police car parked at the church.” His head drooped. “I didn’t know she was dead.”

  “How about telling us what really happened?” Jane said.

  “I told you.”

  Jane leaned closer, her gaze hard on the boy. “Here’s how I think it went. You wanted sex. Or maybe you wanted a taste of her blood. Or maybe something ticked you off, and you attacked her. And she started screaming.”

  “No, that’s not how it—”

  “She wouldn’t shut up, so you grabbed her by the throat, just to quiet her down. She kept screaming, and you pressed harder. And harder. And suddenly she wasn’t screaming anymore.” Jane paused and said quietly: “It was an accident, wasn’t it? Isn’t that how it happened?”

  “You’ll never get me to say that, because it’s not true.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Detective Darren Crowe stuck his head in the room. “Hey Rizzoli, the girl’s father just arrived. I’ll have him wait in—”

  A man suddenly shoved past Detective Crowe, into the room, and stood staring at Lucas Henry. “You freak,” he said. And he lunged at the boy.

  Chapter Six

  “If someone killed your kid,” said Tony Rayner, “you’d want to rip him apart, too!”

  The father of Kimberly Rayner was a powerfully built man, and it had taken the efforts of all three detectives to pull him off the boy, who was now cowering in the corner.

  “Mr. Rayner, we haven’t established that this boy did it,” said Jane.

  “Look at him!” said Rayner, glaring at Lucas. “Of course he did it!”

  Jane turned to Frost. “Could you get Lucas out of here? Have him wait in the other room.”

  “I should’ve beaten the hell out of you months ago,” said Rayner. “Back when you were sniffing around her. Maybe she’d still be alive now.”

  “You’re the reason she ran away,” Lucas shot back. “To get away from you.”

  “Oh, I had you spotted months ago, you sick—”

  “I was her only friend!”

  “Freak.”

  “She hated you!” Lucas yelled as Frost pulled him toward the door. “Her mom hated you, too!”

  Jane took one look at Rayner’s face and thought: Uh-oh. Lunging protectively between Rayner and the boy,
she felt her blouse rip, heard the boy give a yelp of terror as Frost hustled him out of the room. Jane and Crowe shoved Rayner back against the table, pinning him there until Jane could snap on the handcuffs.

  “Well, that was fun,” said Crowe as he pushed Rayner into a chair. “Not cool, man. And look what you did to Detective Rizzoli’s shirt.”

  Jane looked down at the gaping rip that exposed the top of her bra. In cold fury, she grabbed her blazer from the chair where she’d draped it. As she buttoned up, she saw Crowe smirk as he pointedly turned away.

  “You are in trouble,” she said to Rayner through clenched teeth.

  “I’m the one who’s grieving, and you handcuff me? That freak’s the one who belongs in jail!”

  “We haven’t proved he’s guilty.”

  “For God’s sake, he believes he’s a vampire.”

  “It doesn’t mean he killed her.”

  Rayner heaved out a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I tore your blouse. Can you take these handcuffs off?”

  Jane and Crowe glanced at each other. She thought of the headache of booking the man. Thought of what she’d say in court. Yes, Your Honor, I know he just lost his daughter and he was emotionally distraught. But I paid a hundred dollars for that blouse.

  With a sigh she unlocked the cuffs.

  “What about him?” Rayner asked, rubbing his wrists. “Is that kid under arrest?”

  “That’s for us to decide.”

  He looked at her. “We’ll see about that.”

  Chapter Seven

  “It sounds like a classic case of folie à deux,” said Maura. “That’s my diagnosis.”

  Of course Maura would come up with a diagnosis, thought Jane. From the instant Maura meets someone, she’s diagnosing him, like a scientist mentally dissecting a lab rat. As Jane tossed aside her torn blouse and buttoned on a new one, she saw Maura eyeing the ruined garment, no doubt analyzing the tensile strength of the threads and the force needed to initiate a rip.

  “A pity,” said Maura. “That looks like dupioni silk.”