The Rizzoli & Isles Series 11-Book Bundle

by Tess Gerritsen

  “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.

  “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.”

  “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.”

  “I got it on sale, too.”

  “Even sadder.” Maura turned toward Jane’s kitchen. “I brought us take-out Chinese. Shall I put it on the plates?”

  “What’s wrong with eating out of the cartons?”

  “Jane. Really.” Maura opened cupboards and pulled out dishware.

  “So tell me about this folie à deux thing.”

  “It’s a delusion shared by two people,” said Maura.

  “In this case, their delusion was that they were vampires. And it sounds like they carried it to extremes. Avoiding daylight. Sleeping in a coffin.”

  “Which is where he’ll probably slink back to, since we didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.” Jane shook her head. “He swears they were living only on air and blood. Is that possible?”

  Maura considered this as she dished out spoonfuls of kung pao chicken and stir-fried pea shoots. “Blood has plenty of iron, but it lacks essential vitamins. And since it’s seven hundred calories per liter, you’d have to drink three liters of blood a day.” She set a plate of food in front of Jane. “Bon appétit.”

  “You know, I really didn’t need to know that.”

  “It does explain why Kimberly Rayner was so malnourished. I’ve seen dead anorexics with more body fat. If she’s been eating only blood, she could hardly fight off a strangler.”

  “Heck, she couldn’t fight off the common cold virus.”

  Expertly wielding chopsticks, Maura delicately plucked up a morsel of chicken. “Scientifically speaking, the common cold isn’t caused by one particular virus. It’s a constellation of symptoms that …” She suddenly stopped, frowning.

  “What?”

  “Jane, you just raised a very good point.”

  “I did?”

  “About her lack of resistance to disease processes.”

  “How is that relevant? She was strangled.”

  “It looked like strangulation.” Maura set down her chopsticks. “But the autopsy just might reveal something else entirely.”

  Through the viewing window, Jane and Frost could see the dead girl lying on the table in the next room. The naked body looked even more wasted than Jane remembered, the hip bones jutting out, every rib shockingly visible. But above the neck, in grotesque contrast with the skeletally thin body, the face was bloated, the eyelids swollen almost shut.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Jane asked Frost.

&nb
sp; “I’m fine. I’m okay,” he insisted.

  “That’s what you said the last time,” Jane muttered as she pushed into the autopsy room, where Maura and her assistant had already assembled their knives and scalpels, bone-cutters and tweezers. Jane avoided looking at that frightening array of instruments and focused instead on Kimberly Rayner. Once she might have been a pretty blue-eyed blonde who’d turned boys’ heads. Now with so much fat and muscle stripped away, she was a skeletal husk. Had months on a self-imposed diet of “air and blood” caused this?

  “No surprises in her X-rays,” said Maura as she flipped on bright lights. “Let’s take a closer look at the neck.”

  “Still looks like strangulation bruises to me.” Jane glanced at Frost, who was standing yards away from the table, strategically placing himself near the sink. “You should get a closer look at this.”

  “I can see it fine from here,” he said.

  “And see how her face is swollen,” Jane added. “That happens when you constrict the neck, right?”

  “It’s one mechanism,” said Maura.

  “So what else would cause a swollen face?”

  “An allergic reaction. Anaphylaxis.” Above the surgical mask, Maura’s forehead suddenly wrinkled into a frown. “Or Latrodectus facies,” she said softly.

  “Come again?”

  Maura didn’t answer, but reached for a magnifying glass. Bending close, she turned the girl’s head to expose the side of the neck. Staring at the skin, she murmured: “My God, it’s so small I almost missed it.”

  “What?”

  “A puncture mark.”

  Frost’s cell phone suddenly rang.

  Maura’s focus remained glued to the corpse’s throat. She turned the head the other way to examine the opposite side of the neck. “There’s another one here.”

  “You mean, like needle marks to draw blood?”

  “No, like—”

  “Rizzoli, we gotta go!” yelled Frost. “St. Anthony’s Church.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The girl’s father. He’s taken Lucas Henry hostage, and he’s threatening to kill him!”

  Four Boston PD cruisers were parked in front of St. Anthony’s, rack lights flashing as Jane and Frost scrambled out of their car and ran toward the church.

  “He’s got the boy inside,” a patrolman reported.

  “We have all the entrances covered, and we’ve been trying to talk him out, but he’s not cooperating.”

  “Let me talk to him,” said Jane, pulling on a Kevlar vest.

  “Ma’am, he’s already fired off a few rounds. That’s how we got the call, when someone in the neighborhood reported gunfire.”

  “Is the boy okay?”

  “He was able to answer us. Other than that, I don’t know.” The patrolman looked her up and down, as though questioning her ability to deal with the situation. “There’s a team on the way. I don’t think you should—”

  “I know Rayner. I’m the one who should do this.” Jane started toward the church entrance. “Mr. Rayner!” she yelled through the door. “It’s Detective Rizzoli. I want to talk to you!”

  From inside came Rayner’s shout: “Don’t bother! It won’t make a difference!”

  At least he wasn’t issuing threats. “I’m opening the door now,” she announced. “I’m coming in alone.” There was no answer. She took a breath and stepped over the threshold.

  It was gloomy inside, lit only by the distant flicker of a burning candle. She could not see Rayner or Lucas, but she could hear the boy’s terrified whimpers somewhere in the shadows. Bat wings flapped overhead.

  “He’s crazy!” Lucas sobbed. “He broke in here while I was sleeping. Says he’s going to kill me.”

  Jane’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see them now. Lucas sat huddled against a pew, and Rayner stood over him, his weapon pointed at the boy’s head.

  “Let him go,” said Jane. “This doesn’t help anyone.”

  “It’s justice,” said Rayner. “That’s worth something.”

  “Is it worth your own life?”

  “Someone has to pay. We both know he killed her.”

  “I didn’t!” wailed Lucas. “I keep telling you that!”

  Jane said, “If the boy’s guilty, let the courts prove it.”

  “They won’t,” said Rayner. “You said last night there’s no proof. There’ll never be enough proof. My girl’s gone, and he’ll walk away free and clear.”

  Even in the gloom, Jane could see Rayner’s arm straighten as his hand tightened around the grip. As she drew her own weapon, her cell phone rang. All three of them froze, caught on the threshold of violence. She let the phone keep ringing as she kept her gaze on Rayner.

  “If Lucas killed her,” Jane said, “I swear I’ll find a way to prove it. And he will go to prison.”

  She and Rayner stared at each other in the gloom. Now another phone began to ring, but this time it wasn’t hers—it was Rayner’s. Without breaking eye contact, he answered it. “Hello?” There was a long silence, then he bent down and slid the phone across the floor toward Jane. “It’s for you.”

  Baffled, Jane picked it up. “Rizzoli.”

  Maura answered. “Jane, I’m standing right outside. The boy didn’t do it!”

  “Then who did?”

  “The killer’s inside that church. With you.”

  Maura’s footsteps echoed across the stone floor as she approached them through the shadows. “I’m alone,” she called out. “And I’m not armed. All I have is a flashlight, and I’m going to turn it on.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Rayner demanded.

  “I’m Dr. Maura Isles, the medical examiner. I performed your daughter’s autopsy, and I can prove that Lucas Henry didn’t kill her.”

  “How the hell can you prove that?”

  “By showing you the real killer.” Maura’s flashlight came on, and Jane squinted at the sudden glare of the beam. “Lucas, tell me where Kimberly was sleeping.”

  The boy’s voice was shaky in the darkness. “I couldn’t find a coffin for her. So we dragged in that cardboard box. Over there.”

  Maura’s flashlight beam swept the shadows and came to a stop on a giant appliance carton. She approached it and read the shipping label. “This box was sent from North Carolina.”

  “So what?” said Rayner.

  She bent down and stared into the carton. “Jane, do you want to come take a look?”

  Jane crouched down beside her and whispered: “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

  “I told you. Identifying the killer.” Maura aimed her flashlight beam into the box, scanning past rumpled blankets and a stained pillow, to focus on the corner above. “There’s our perp.”

  Jane stared at the gossamer web, and the creature that had woven it. “A spider?”

  “Genus Latrodectus. A black widow. It probably hitched a ride from North Carolina and bit the victim while she was sleeping in this box. She may not have even felt the bite. In most healthy adults, the poison’s not fatal, but Kimberly was not a healthy adult. She was malnourished and medically fragile.” Maura’s voice dropped so that only Jane could hear her next words. “Death would have been excruciating. Muscle spasms, abdominal pain, followed by respiratory arrest. No wonder passersby heard her screaming.”

  Jane rose to her feet and turned to Rayner. “Your daughter wasn’t murdered, sir. It was a spider bite. A freak death. And the killer’s right here, in this box.”

  Slowly the man lowered his weapon. Even as Jane took it away and handcuffed him, Rayner stood motionless, his head bowed. “I only wanted justice,” he said. “Justice for my little girl.”

  “And you’ll have it, Mr. Rayner,” said Jane. “In this case, all it takes is the heel of a shoe.”

  “What Doesn’t Kill You”

  Episode 301

  #2M5901

  Written By Janet Tamaro

  Directed By Michael Katleman


  PRODUCTION DRAFT

  February 28, 2012

  BLUE FULL REVISED

  March 4, 2012

  PINK PAGES REVISED

  March 7, 2012

  P. 5, 15, 22, 23, 33, 33A, 41, 41A YELLOW PAGES REVISED

  March 11, 2012

  All rights reserved. © 2012 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.

  R&I 301

  24 INT. MEDICAL EXAMINER’S OFFICE - MAURA’S OFFICE - DAY 2

  Maura packs up a few files as Jane enters.

  JANE

  You’re back …

  MAURA

  Did you ever return my book, Soothing Paint Choices for the Home?

  JANE

  Yeah, a long time ago. So … you are back …

  MAURA

  (ignores question, looks)

  How odd. I can’t seem to find it …

  JANE

  Did you give me back my “Guns of the World Digest”?

  MAURA

  (… unlike other people)

  I always return things that I borrow.

  Jane looks at Maura’s shelf suspiciously.

  JANE

  You sure?

  MAURA

  Of course I’m sure. Maybe you lost it. You do lose things.

  (inspects chair)

  Has Dr. Pike been sitting in my chair?

  JANE

  (sarcastic)

  Could be. Is it broken? Hey, want me to find out if he’s been sleeping in your bed, too?

  Pike enters after hearing his name.

  PIKE

  Were you looking for me?

  JANE

  And what about your food? Dr. Pike, have you been eating Maura’s porridge?

  PIKE

  Of course not.

  MAURA

  I’m glad you think you’re so funny.