“You saw the morgue photos. The police used far more force than was necessary.”
“So did that boy in Wyoming, Julian Perkins. He shot and killed a sheriff’s deputy. Do you consider that justifiable force?”
“Objection,” said Aguilar. “Dr. Isles isn’t the one on trial here.”
Whaley barreled ahead with the next question, his gaze fixed on Maura. “What happened out there in Wyoming, Dr. Isles? While you were fighting for your life, was there an epiphany? A sudden realization that cops are the enemy?”
“Objection!”
“Or have cops always been the enemy? Members of your own family seem to think so.”
The gavel banged down. “Mr. Whaley, you will approach the bench now.”
Maura sat stunned as both attorneys huddled with the judge. So it had come to this, the dredging up of her family. Every cop in Boston probably knew about her mother, Amalthea, now serving a life sentence in a women’s prison in Framingham. The monster who gave birth to me, she thought. Everyone who looks at me must wonder if the same evil has seeped into my blood as well. She saw that the defendant, Officer Graff, was staring at her. Their gazes locked, and a smile curled his lips. Welcome to the consequences, she read in his eyes. This is what happens when you betray the thin blue line.
“The court will take a recess,” the judge announced. “We’ll resume at two this afternoon.”
As the jury filed out, Maura sagged back against the chair and didn’t notice that Aguilar was standing beside her.
“That was dirty pool,” said Aguilar. “It should never have been allowed.”
“He made it all about me,” said Maura.
“Yeah, well, that’s all he has. Because the autopsy photos are pretty damn convincing.” Aguilar looked hard at her. “Is there anything else I should know about you, Dr. Isles?”
“Other than the fact that my mother’s a convicted murderer and I torture kittens for fun?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You said it earlier. I’m not the one on trial.”
“No, but they’ll try to make it about you. Whether you hate cops. Whether you have a hidden agenda. We could lose this case if that jury thinks you’re not on the level. So tell me if there’s anything else they might bring up. Any secrets that you haven’t mentioned to me.”
Maura considered the private embarrassments that she guarded. The illicit affair that she’d just ended. Her family’s history of violence. “Everyone has secrets,” she said. “Mine aren’t relevant.”
“Let’s hope not,” said Aguilar.
Rizzoli & Isles, In Their Own Words…
JANE RIZZOLI
Detective, homicide unit, Boston Police Department
I’m just a girl from Boston who hunts monsters for a living. Yeah, I know I’m not supposed to call ’em that, but that’s what some of them are. Monsters. If you saw what they’ve done, the lives they’ve ruined, you’d want to take them down, too.
I’ve wanted to be a cop since a police officer came to my school for career day. I saw how the other kids looked up to him, and I knew that was the job for me. I wanted the gun, the badge.
Most of all, I wanted the respect.
Felt like I didn’t get a lot of that when I was growing up. My mom’s a housewife and my dad’s a plumber–we’re blue collar all the way. I had an okay childhood, but I have to admit we were a noisy household. Lots of yelling.
After my training at Boston PD academy, I worked my way up from beat patrolman to detective (vice and narcotics) and finally ended up where I am now: the homicide unit. It’s a boy’s club. I get it.
Still, it gets old, having to prove myself again and again. I hate whiners, so you’ll never hear me complain. Whining doesn’t get you anywhere, not with the guys in my unit. Not with guys anywhere, for that matter.
My philosophy for success? Make every perp hunt personal. Get angry, never give up, and for god’s sake, wear flats to a scene. You’ll never catch anyone if you’re wearing high heels.
DR. MAURA ISLES
Forensic pathologist, Medical Examiner’s office, Commonwealth of Massachusetts
I want to believe that there is a scientific explanation for everything that happens. It isn’t fate that sends a bicyclist flying over the handlebars to her death; it’s because her front tire hit a frost heave and kinetic energy took over. Fate has nothing to do with it. Death is not a mystical process; it is organic. I find that comforting.
I knew, from an early age, that I was something of an odd duck. I was the child who hid out in her room for hours, reading, the child who dissected her dead pet mouse. I was the scholar, the accomplished pianist, the honor student. My parents understood that I was different, and although they were not people who’d crow loudly about anything, I always knew they were proud of me.
My devotion to logic and science drew me to the study of medicine. But soon after I began medical school, I realized that I wasn’t meant to work with living patients. I wasn’t good at holding their hands, at ferreting out the unspoken emotional clues in their voices when they told me of their aches and pains. I can analyze x-rays and blood chemistries, I can slice open muscles and organs, but I possess no scalpel with which to dissect human emotions.
So I became a forensic pathologist.
Boston is my home now. These cold New England winters suit me, as does my job as medical examiner. But I have little in common with the Boston PD detectives with whom I work. I think some of them may even be afraid of me, because I see their wary glances and hear their whispers as I walk past. And I know what they call me behind my back:
“The Queen of the Dead.”
Presenting a sneak peek at the script for the pilot episode of
Rizzoli & Isles
The new TNT drama based on
Tess Gerritsen’s Rizzoli & Isles novels
Premiering July 2010 on TNT
Starring Angie Harmon as Jane Rizzoli
and Sasha Alexander as Maura Isles
EXEC. PRODUCER: BILL HABER
EXEC. PRODUCER: JANET TAMARO
CO-EXEC. PRODUCER: JEFF HAYES
Rizzoli & Isles
“See One. Do One. Teach One.”
Written by
Janet Tamaro
Directed by
Michael M. Robin
“Based upon “The Surgeon” and “The Apprentice” by Tess Gerhtsen
All rights reserved. © 2009 Warner Horizon Television Inc. This script is the property of Horizon Scripted Television Inc. No portion of this script may be performed, reproduced or used by any means, or disclosed to, quoted or published in any medium without the prior written consent of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
EXT. WEST ROXBURY MANSION / INT. MAURA’S CAR -NIGHT (INTERCUT)
DET. DARREN CROWE, 30s. He has a frat boy’s insouciance and an aging ballplayer’s good looks. He stands on the lawn of a mansion as CRIME SCENE UNIT (CSU) TECHS and BOSTON P.D. UNIFORMS SWARM in and out of a renovated mansion.
Maura pulls the SL-500 into a long driveway, parks next to a van: Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. TWO MORGUE ATTENDANTS nod at her.
REPORTERS and CAMERA CREWS work the taped-off crime scene, hovering as close as COPS will let them.
ANGLE ON: REPORTER KITTY VANSEN, 30s, TV-pretty, as she SPIES Maura. She PUSHES her beleaguered CAMERAMAN.
KITTY
Go, go. It’s the coroner.
Maura, with her medical case, deftly moves away from Kitty as she shoves a mic at Maura.
KITTY (CONT’D)
Dr. Isles –What can you tell us about the murders?
MAURA
I’ll have a statement for you later tonight, Kitty.
Crowe puts out a hand to stop Kitty.
KITTY
If I was a corpse, she’d talk to me.
PATROL OFFICER CASEY JONES, 30s is stationed at the front door with a clipboard.
OFFICER JONES
Evening, Dr.
Isles.
MAURA
Hello, Casey. Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner.
He writes this down as she enters. Crowe applies chapstick and turns back to Kitty.
CROWE
C’mon, it’s your lucky day.
Kitty motions for her cameraman to set up to interview Crowe.
CROWE (CONT’D)
Can’t say this on camera, but we call Dr. Isles “Queen of the Dead.”
JANE (0. S.)
What’s that, Crowe?
ANGLE ON Jane as she POWERS toward them. She STEPS between Crowe and Kitty, BLOCKS the cameraman’s shot of Crowe.
CROWE
Jeez, take a Midol.
JANE
Commander cleared you?
CROWE
What’s it to you?
JANE
It’s my case.
CROWE
Since when? I’m up. I got clearance. Move.
JANE
Not anymore. I just talked to the Commander. Where’s Frost?
CROWE
Losin’ his lunch, where else?
ANGLE ON DET. BARRY FROST, late 20s. He’s trying to cover the fact that he’s puking into the bushes.
CROWE (CONT’D)
You two are a pair.
JANE
We ate at Ye Old Mill Grill. Probably had bad fish sticks.
CROWE
He shoulda stayed in Robbery. Hangnails make him gag. Guy gives us a bad name.
Crowe throws a bullshit-friendly WAVE at Frost.
JANE
Leave him alone.
Frost approaches, embarrassed. Crowe feigns concern.
CROWE
You okay, buddy?
FROST
Oh, yeah. Fine. Something I ate.
JANE
Where’s the crime scene?
CROWE
Follow your nose. Might bring back some memories.
JANE
What’s that supposed to mean? Crowe flashes a tight smile.
CROWE
You’ll see. Have fun, Rizzoli.
As they move toward Officer Jones, Jane RUBS her hands.
FROST
Hands hurt?
JANE
It’s gonna rain.
Jane checks in with Officer Jones.
JANE (CONT’D)
Rizzoli. Homicide 825.
OFFICER JONES
You going back for more, Frost?
INT. WEST ROXBURY MANSION -FOYER -NIGHT
Jane and Frost stand in a marble entry, stare at a vast home. Polished, old wood, cathedral-height ceilings.
JANE
Not in South Boston anymore, Dorothy.
DET. VINCE KORSAK, 50s, doughy in his shirt sleeves and breathing hard, appears from another part of the house.
JANE (CONT’D)
Korsak?
Korsak EYES Frost, not happy to see him.
JANE (CONT’D)
Thought you were on vacation.
KORSAK
Cut it short.
Korsak looks intently at Jane. She senses something more than just antipathy toward Frost.
JANE
That bad?
KORSAK
Worse.
Jane hands Frost a tin of Vicks VapoRub. He rubs some under his nose. Korsak starts back into the house.
JANE
Will you be okay this time?
FROST
Oh, yeah. Long as my upper lip smells like eucalyptus, I can look at anything.
INT. WEST ROXBURY MANSION -GREAT ROOM -LATER
CLOSE ON body of the bound man we saw earlier. No sign of the woman. His throat is SLIT, and he’s seated, propped against a wall under a comet’s tail of dried BLOOD. Frost gags.
FROST
Oh, man…
Maura MEASURES the depth of the wound with a steel M.E. ruler. Frost turns away, GAGS again.
MAURA
Almost 15 centimeters.
FROST
If you got this, I can start processing the rest of the house.
Jane nods sympathetically. Frost exits. Korsak smirks.
MAURA
Carotid artery and jugular have been transected. What’s odd is how precise it is.
JANE
Can you tell what kind of knife was used?
Maura frowns then looks up and studies Jane’s broken nose.
MAURA
Hairline fracture of the nasal bone above the lateral nasal cartilage. Not disfiguring.
Korsak looks at the corpse, confused.
KORSAK
Looks pretty disfiguring to me.
JANE
Can you pop it out?
Maura pulls off her gloves. Korsak watches, baffled.
MAURA
Can’t you do something safe like yoga? Might hurt a little –
Maura POPS Jane’s nose into place. An audible CRACK!
JANE
Ow! A ‘little'?
MAURA
Put ice on it for the next 24 hours so you don’t look like Mike Tyson.
JANE
You’ve been talking to my mother.
Jane SCANS photos of a bride and groom on a baby grand. She absentmindedly touches the piano, PLAYS a few notes of the haunting song, Falling Slowly.
JANE (CONT’D)
Needs tuning. Nobody plays.
KORSAK
Victim is Dr. Martin Yeager, 34. Wife Gail is missing.
Jane STUDIES a photo of the bride showing off a diamond ring.
JANE
Diamond was too small so she whacked him and walked out?
KORSAK
Un-uh. Got signs of forced entry.
Jane squats next to the body. Her face takes on a haunted look as she LIFTS pieces of a broken china cup and saucer.
JANE
Well-to-do couple. The man bound and posed. The woman missing. And a teacup.
QUICK POP: CLOSE ON FLASH of steel as a SCALPEL SKEWERS something to a dirt floor. It’s dark and quick. But it looks like someone has driven THE SCALPEL through a WOMAN’S HAND.
BACK TO SCENE
Jane squeezes her hands into fists, breathes hard.
JANE (CONT’D)
Is he out? Is the Surgeon out?
MAURA
Oh my God. Korsak?
KORSAK
No. He’s not out. It’s his M.O. that’s all.
MAURA
Why didn’t you warn us? Warn Jane at least.
KORSAK
I needed your unbiased assessment. It looks like Hoyt, right?
JANE
Korsak –
The air is thick with what each is biting back.
JANE (CONT’D)
We put that son of a bitch behind bars. How is this possible?
KORSAK
It’s not. I checked with prison authorities: he’s in lockdown.
Jane TRADES a LOOK with Maura. Walks to the victim. CLOSE ON red circular marks on the corpse’s skin. She GASPS.
JANE
These are stun gun marks. Like Hoyt’s victims.
KORSAK
Any sick perp could do this if he watched TV news or read a paper.
We’ve got a copycat.
JANE
We didn’t release this detail. Hoyt’s trained an Apprentice.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2001 by Tess Gerritsen
Excerpt from The Silent Girl copyright © 2011 by Tess Gerritsen.
Jacket design: Jae Song
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ballantine is a registered trademark and the Ballantine colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
This book contains an excerpt from The Silent Girl
by Tess Gerritsen. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gerritsen, Tess.
The surgeon / Tess Gerritsen.
p. cm.
1. Police—Massachusetts—Boston—Fiction. 2. Serial murders—Fiction. 3. Boston (Mass.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3557.E687 S87 2001
813’.54—dc21
2001035901
eISBN: 978-0-345-44943-6
v3.0_r3
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