He watched the camera zoom in on Katherine's face while the chick who was in charge of the investigation, he couldn't for the life of him not remember her name, but it didn't matter, kept talking. She had started with a wonderful gift: The news that his work had succeeded in luring Victor Palmer out of hiding after all these years filled him with nothing less than pure joy.
And then they twisted the knife in his stomach. To describe Palmer as van Gogh and himself as an impostor whose work was no more good than the scrawl of preschoolers? As a bungler? An amateur?
Who the hell did these goofy cops think they were, anyway? Who did they think they were dealing with? Well, they would soon find out!
He picked up the antiquarian porcelain lamp next to his bed and hurled it across the room so that it shattered into a thousand pieces. Then he grabbed his alarm clock that his mother had bought him when he was seven, with the Roman numerals, the gold-colored case, and the twin bells on top. He threw the alarm clock with everything he had in him, with all the anger, all the dislike, and all the unbearable jealousy into the TV. Into Katherine Isles' face.
The screen shattered where her head was, the inside of the TV spraying sparks until it grew darker and darker, as dead as Rosa Castillo.
Although this captain, who he didn't give a damn about, had spoken the words, Katherine's presence told him everything he needed to know. The idiot at the lectern was only the vessel. Katherine had put all her words in her mouth. His beloved Katherine. His heroine. The object of both his undying love and his boundless hatred.
For she had done it. She knew about it. She had somehow figured it out. And that meant he had failed. She was smarter than he ...
Which meant he had to be even smarter.
We'll see how smart she is, he thought. She's wrong about me. Just like the medical schools were wrong about not admitting me.
He could still show her. He would show everyone.
He approached the large grid pattern on his wall. Picked up his pen, the sword he would use to kill the dragon lady Katherine. Like out of his mind, he wrote the name in the grid, above, below, and next to the names he had already written in:
ROSA CASTILLO
JAMES FRANKLIN
ROBERT NEWMAN
He took a few steps back and admired his work. And then he realized that he had left out the most important name of all, and he went back to the wall and wrote slowly and thoughtfully in the crossword grid:
KATHERINE ISLES
She would rue bitterly the day she had dared to outdo him. For now, it would not do to be better than her.
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The thunder of a summer storm pierced through the brick walls of the BPD, almost drowning out Jane's words as she walked into the homicide bullpen with Katherine and Elizabeth. It was busy, all the desks were occupied, all the detectives were on the phone. "You really have put our Mr. Anagramist on his toes with that one, Kate," she said. "Great job. You even looked like one of us when you were standing in front of the BPD."
It was just before eight p.m., and though Katherine herself was exhausted, she watched her sister walk hunched over; lack of sleep and the effects of her concussion left her half-collapsed. And Katherine wasn't the only one to notice.
"You, on the other hand, look like a pile of shit," Jane observed.
"Jeez, thanks a lot," Elizabeth waved it off, trying hard to keep a chipper face. "I'm fine."
"The hell you are," Jane replied in a friendly tone. "You're going home."
Elizabeth would have none of it. "There's still a lot to do." And then she nearly tripped over a chair leg. Jane grabbed her by the arm. "It's okay," she said, shaking off her hand.
But Jane brooked no argument. "That's an explicit order, detective." Seeking help, she looked at her other daughter.
"You need to rest," Katherine said. "Otherwise your head won't heal properly."
Jane grunted in amusement and pressed her lips together as the other two women looked at her questioningly.
Her sister was right, but Elizabeth wouldn't admit it. "I'm not going anywhere until this is over," she countered.
"It's over for you, at least for now," Jane said firmly. "You're not the only cop here. And there's not much we can do anyway, since we don't know who the hell Mr. Anagramist is. So we'll all meet up again in the morning."
"Are you sure?" tried Elizabeth one last time.
"I'm sure I'll take you back to the hospital unless Kate takes you home," Jane said firmly, without raising her voice. "We'll just have to hope that this madman doesn't go off tonight. We couldn't stop him either way." She turned to Savarese, who was on the phone. "How far along are you, Savarese?"
The man covered the receiver. "We're informing all precincts that any death that looks the least bit suspicious will be reported to us immediately. Billy Vernon and I are setting up our laydowns here in the bullpen and taking over phone duty."
"See," Jane said to Elizabeth with a frown. "It's all taken care of. And Kate, have you got your stuff ready by morning?"
"Yep," Katherine replied. "The Anagramist's profile will be done by tomorrow."
"Good," the captain agreed with a sideways glance at Elizabeth. "Then get the totally done woman here to our house now."
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Katherine fiddled with her key chain until she found the key that opened the door to her parents' house. She had barely opened the door when Elizabeth, ignoring the tail-wagging Max approaching, made a beeline for the sofa in her parents' living room and dropped onto it with the last of her strength.
Maura, sitting in her personal chair, looked up from her tablet and frowned while her two daughters ignored her.
"Maybe you should stay home tomorrow," Katherine suggested, taking a seat in the other chair normally reserved for Jane so her sister could stretch out on the couch. Which she did, while Max settled on the floor in front of his owner.
"That's a hell no," Elizabeth replied with a slight slur.
Katherine recognized her mother's worried look and got up from the chair again, leaning directly over her sister. "Open your eyes."
"Why," Elizabeth grumbled before obeying.
Katherine leaned over the other woman, shining her cell phone light into both eyes.
"Ouch!" said Elizabeth louder, and Maura rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to go blind?"
"I want to make sure your pupils aren't unnaturally dilated."
"And," Elizabeth replied impatiently. "What's the verdict?"
"In my line of work, it's called a diagnosis," the doctor replied impassively. "You'll live -"
"Mama!" cried Nikki, who came running in wearing an oversized T-shirt with pop singer Adele on the chest to give her mother a kiss. She stopped abruptly when she saw the now day-old Band-Aid on Elizabeth's head. "Are you okay, Ma?" she asked, turning to her grandmother without waiting for a response. "What happened?"
"She got hit on the head while arresting a murderer," Maura said. „Your mother is a hero once again."
"But she doesn't know when to stop," Katherine added.
"That's because Liz is as stubborn as mule just like Jane," said Maura as she got up from her chair, walked into the kitchen, and put the tea kettle on the stove.
"You do know I can hear you, right?" asked Elizabeth without opening her eyes. "And besides, Kate is the heroine. I did nothing but pass out. Your aunt arrested the guy."
Nikki snorted impatiently and braced her hands on her hips. "Will someone please tell me if Ma's going to be okay?"
"I'm fine," the detective waived.
Maura looked toward the living room and slowly shook her head. She knew this kind of discussion inside and out. But it was usually conducted with her wife Jane.
"When she's resting," Katherine objected.
"I can still hear you," Elizabeth said, trying to sit up. "I can speak for myself."
Nikki pushed her mother back down. "Slow down, ma. Just listen to Aunt Kate. Listen to someone for a change."
Katherine looked first at her niece and then at her mother. "I can stay if you want."
"You must be exhausted yourself," Maura said, coming back into the living room with her teacup. "I'll take care of your sister."
"Where's Ash?" asked Elizabeth, dazed.
"She's asleep," Maura replied before giving her older daughter a kiss on the forehead and sitting back down. "I told her you were working on an important case. She didn't ask any questions."
Katherine was eager to stay. She felt responsible for her sister's condition and inwardly slapped herself for not insisting that her sister take it easy after Elizabeth's discharge from the hospital. On the other hand, she knew Elizabeth had never listened to her. "I'll come by first thing in the morning."
Maura nodded, got up from her chair again, and escorted the doctor to the front door. "Are you sure you won't stay?"
Katherine gave her a long look, sniffed her blouse, and made a face. "I think I should shower at length and then lie down for a couple of hours."
Maura nodded and took her daughter in her arms, wrinkling her nose as the two women disengaged. "You really do need a shower."
Katherine grinned widely. "Call me if anything happens with Liz, or if you need anything."
"I will. Now go home and get some rest," Maura replied, saving the comment for Katherine not to worry about her sister. "I'll see you in the morning."
The doctor took a deep breath and headed for her Jeep. "Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, honey," the lawyer replied with a slight frown before closing and locking the door. She walked back into the living room and sighed softly when she saw that her granddaughter had sat down next to the sleeping Elizabeth, who was eyeing her mother with a worried expression. "Come on, Nikki," she said softly and the girl looked at her with wide eyes, "let's go upstairs and see if there's anything on Netflix that might interest you." She waited patiently for the hesitant girl until Nikki got up to leave Elizabeth's side, and put her hands on her shoulders from behind as the two slowly climbed the stairs. "You'll see, your mom will be much better in the morning, she just needs a little rest."
Nikki looked up a little to make eye contact with Maura. "You sure?"
Maura opened her mouth and raised her brows. "Well, your mom inherited Jane's pighead," she paused and nodded with a smile, "so yeah, I'm sure."
Nikki chuckled and asked no more questions.
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Katherine entered the floor on which her apartment was located, looking forward to spending a night in her bed in a long time, if not ever, albeit alone, as she felt her energy reserves running low as well. She searched her purse for her keys and came to the conclusion that she needed to get in the habit of getting smaller purses that couldn't hold half a household good. She froze when she saw a man standing in front of her apartment door with his back turned to her and her breath involuntarily caught in her throat, her heart began to race and without meaning to, her instinct to flee kicked in until the moment he turned to face her and she could breathe again as she recognized his face. "Detective Simms," she breathed in relief.
Simms realized that he must have startled the doctor and immediately a frown appeared on his forehead. "Hey, doc. Um, I didn't mean to startle you."
Katherine finally had her keys in hand and looked up at the man with a smile. "Well, you'll have to work on that," she replied, and Simms lowered his head to his chest with a grin. But Katherine grew serious again when she realized that a BPD detective who had no way of knowing where she lived was standing outside her apartment, and the fear that the Anagramist had struck again so soon after all, or that a similar case had surfaced in another borough, sprouted in her and she said goodbye to the idea of sleeping in her own bed one night or at least showering in her shower. "Did something happen, detective?"
Simms looked at her for a long moment and opened his mouth before closing it again and appearing to find a suitable answer. "Um ... well ... no. Captain Rizzoli insisted that we keep an eye on her house as well as yours. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in my car watching the street and the front entrance."
She nodded slowly and crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking at him almost challenged. "My family and I are considered to be under police protection and you volunteered to be my personal bodyguard?"
"Well," he replied, clearing his throat, "I wouldn't call it police protection." He rolled his eyes as she raised her brows. "When the captain gives orders to protect her family, you don't question it." He smiled a little wryly. "And yes, I volunteered because I'm not cut out for phone duty."
Katherine nodded slowly with a smile. "Who's watching my parents' house?"
"Officer Danny O'Brian," the detective answered without mincing words.
She nodded again while unlocking the apartment door. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Coffee sounds good, thanks," Simms replied with a nod, but he frowned as she stood waiting in the doorway. "You mean at your apartment?"
"Well, I certainly don't keep coffee makers in my purse," she replied, slightly amused.
"Given the size of the purse, you could assume that," he muttered more to himself and entered Katherine's apartment with a grin as she looked at him admonishingly but with a smile.
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The next morning, Katherine got out of the shower, decided on jeans, a brown blouse, and flat shoes, and laid a gray blazer on the bed. Simms and she had agreed the night before over coffee and wine, he drinking coffee, she wine, that it would be unnecessary for him to spend the night in his unmarked car. She had come up with the good argument that it would be more sensible for him to keep his guard up on the couch, and much more likely to protect her in case the Anagramist actually got the insane idea to come near her.
The two of them talked about all sorts of things. Katherine about the reason she had moved back to Boston and how she had lost her fiancé, and Simms had told her how he had joined the police force and that he had divorced her after his wife had cheated on him with a colleague, which in turn had led to him being transferred to Jane's precinct, or more to the point, that he asked for that transfer. At one point, the two had come to the realization that it was silly to continue to adhere to formalities and had addressed each other by their first names from then on, though neither had gone a step further, even though they felt a certain bond.
Katherine came out of the bedroom and saw Simms standing in the kitchen, eyeing the coffee maker questioningly, and cleared her throat.
He whirled around and pointed at the device. "I was going to make coffee," he said with a frown, "but I think I need a degree in rocket science for this thing."
Katherine chuckled in amusement. "What do you say we grab breakfast and coffee on the way to BPD."
"That sounds like a damn good plan," Simms replied before grabbing his jacket from the armchair and service weapon and badge from the coffee table.
Katherine rolled her eyes before, the two left the apartment.
They emerged from the apartment complex and Katherine suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her Jeep was gone, and in its place was a VW Beetle.
Simms immediately noticed her confusion. "You okay?"
Easy. You were overtired last night. Are you sure this is where you parked your car? She searched the street in all directions with a deep frown until her eyes fell on the streetlight in whose glow she had gazed at her reflection yesterday.
She checked the parking signs and found that she had parked legally and the Jeep could not have been towed.
"Hey, lady," a male voice rang out. Simms and Katherine wheeled around. A doorman from the nearest building looked at them. "Did you lose something?" the young man asked.
Katherine looked first at the detective and then at the doorman, pointing to where the Jeep had been parked. "I think my car was stolen. I parked it here last night."
"What kind of car was it?"
"A red Jeep Cherokee."
"I can't say I've seen it since I've been here," the doorman said in a distinct New York accent. "I guess you better call the cops. I wish I could help you."
Simms noticed Katherine's look and had an idea, taking his badge from his belt and holding it up. "Maybe you even can. Detective Nick Simms, BPD," he said now with an authoritative tone. "Are there any surveillance cameras on your building facing the sidewalk?"
"Maybe I'm just wrong and parked around the corner, Nick," Katherine whispered. "I was overtired last night."
"If they exist?" the other man laughed. "You'd think the friggin' CIA would be based here, that's how many cameras there are. Do you want to watch the video?"
"I'd love to."
The doorman, who introduced himself as Carl, said he would show it to them as soon as he found someone to take his post, which took exactly thirty minutes.
"At least I'm not crazy," Katherine said as Carl played the surveillance video on a small monitor in a tiny room behind the building's reception desk.
"I never assumed that," Nick Simms replied with furrowed brows. The doctor could clearly be seen looking at her reflection in the windowpane. "Were you on your way to a date?" he quipped, grinning.
But Katherine didn't hear him at all. "Who's that?" she asked, staring at the monitor, where a darkly dressed man with a wide-brimmed hat covering his face was approaching the Jeep. Without hesitation, he took out a narrow metal tool, slid it between the driver's side window and door, and pried open the lock. He got in, reached under the dashboard, and appeared to insert a key into the ignition, then drove off with the headlights off. The whole thing took no more than twenty seconds.
"Good grief, this guy's a pro," Carl said.
Nick pressed pause and froze the image of the Jeep in the middle of the road, getting deadly serious. "Go get your boss, Carl. I need that DVD. It's evidence in a case."
"Sure, detective," Carl said, adding in a mutter, „A real crime of the century."
"Carl's closer to the truth than he believes himself to be," Nick said.
"What are you talking about?" whispered Katherine.
Nick glanced briefly at the door as if to make sure they were alone. "You don't think that was a coincidence."
A dark thought surfaced in Katherine's mind. "He showed up there immediately after I parked my car. Like he was waiting for me."
Nick had already thought the same thing. "I can't argue with that," he said. "And if it is, he must have known what kind of car you were driving, and he must have followed you."
"Or he must have been watching the house I live in."
The detective shook his head vigorously. "No, that can't be. I've been standing outside your house for two hours before you came home, and I haven't noticed anything suspicious." He took a deep breath and frowned deeply. "But let's not blow this out of proportion. We have more important things to worry about."
She nodded slowly. "What are we going to do about the DVD?"
That was a good question. "I'll call the police department in charge and have them send someone to watch it until the formalities are sorted out. In the meantime, you and I need to go to the BPD."
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"The Chief of Police would be very grateful if we could catch this sick son of a bitch sometime in the next two weeks before he retires," Jane told the detectives gathered around her in the homicide bullpen. Now that the copycat crimes were public knowledge, there was no reason to keep the cops involved to a minimum. Right now, the team hunting the 'Anagramist,' whose self-chosen nickname was kept secret from the press, was nineteen detectives strong. "Finding this madman is our top priority," Jane continued, looking at each one, "and that comes straight from brass. We have every freedom in this matter. Unlimited resources. All we have to do is ask for something and we'll get it. And we're going to need it," she added, "because unfortunately, the only tangible clue to this asshole is the way he dismembered Rosa Castillo. Not a thing was found to identify him, prints, DNA, nothing, no car, no tire tracks or other, absolutely nothing. This guy is not just lucky, he's good. And the fact that his M.O. keeps changing is just icing on this pile of shit because we can't even tell what we're looking for."
Behind the serious, observant detectives, Katherine stood leaning against the wall next to Nick Simms. She took a deep breath. She was up next, and she was nervous. At least she hadn't had to speak at the press conference.
"What we're looking for, folks, is a ghost," Jane continued with a deep frown. "We all know how hard ghosts are to find. And now that we've been on TV, he knows we're after him. Lest anyone be mistaken, he's a step ahead of us, and it's high time we overtake him in this perverse little game." She made a sign to her daughter, and Katherine came forward. "I know that each of you knows who Dr. Katherine Isles is, but she has been an indispensable help so far, and she is working with us in an official capacity to bring this madman to justice. She profiled him, which the city won't pay her a dime for, not that she asked for it anyway. Please, Dr. Isles."
Katherine had arrived on the front side, but she had not been prepared for the spontaneous thunderous applause of these detectives. She noticed herself blushing with embarrassment and didn't know how to respond.
Jane saw her predicament and came to her daughter's rescue. "Okay, you morons," she yelled over the applause, "now give it a rest before the Doc here gets her panties in a bunch." Over the laughter of her people, she said to Katherine, "You seem to have some fans here, and you deserve them."
Katherine straightened up and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Captain. I'm touched."
"So is the captain," an unfamiliar voice rang out from the back rows, making everyone laugh again and relaxing Katherine enough to feel ready to continue in this room full of experienced cops.
"Okay," she said as the laughter died down. "Be glad you're laughing now because I don't think our friend The Anagramist, is going to be easy to catch." She made eye contact all around, and the looks of those present confirmed that they were all listening. "Our guy is someone who studies serial killers, and largely unknown ones. Other than me, who met William Edward Hickman in the 'Introductory Seminar on Serial Killers,' hardly any of you are likely to have heard of him. To make a long story short, Hickman murdered a little girl in Los Angeles in the 1920s and bled her to death. Just as our perpetrator tried to do in exactly the same way to an as yet unidentified male victim in Boston Harbor."
"What about Victor Palmer?" asked Savarese. "We didn't know he was dismembering women until recently, so how could the Anagramist have known?"
"He couldn't have known unless he knew Palmer," Katherine agreed, nodding. "Most likely, he just pulled grisly murders off the Internet, came across information about the two cases from twenty years ago, and copied them."
"And the Rosa Castillo murder retroactively put us on the trail of Victor Palmer," Elizabeth said, standing off to the side. "At first we thought Palmer killed Rosa, but then we realized the Anagramist just made it look like it was Palmer's doing. In a twisted way, we have the Anagramist to thank because he helped us draw Palmer out of cover and nail him."
"And don't forget that the man is a master at copying things. Not only does he copy old serial killers, but he also poses as a cop," Katherine added with a slight frown. "That's how he got Rosa Castillo to go with him." She collected herself for a moment. "So. As you may have seen last night, the captain gave a great performance on television. She did it following a script we wrote for her. The whole purpose of it is to push the right button on our target and hopefully get him to make mistakes. It's probably too early to tell if it worked. Calling him an amateur should address his serious lack of self-esteem. The Anagramist is looking for ways to feel good about himself, but he finds it very difficult, especially now that we have challenged him. He admires and copies the work of his predecessors, serial killers who came before him, and I suspect he seeks out the unknown ones because he himself can't think of anything more creative than what he has already seen. It's like plagiarism in art. He's a wannabe. But he probably congratulates himself on his superior intelligence because he copies the unknown masters, and he thinks he can do it better than they can."
"Has anyone done this before him?" a female voice asked from behind.
"Not as a deliberate course of action," Katherine replied. "As far as we know. There are plenty of murders where someone wants to get rid of their wife, girlfriend, or business partner and make it look like the work of a currently active serial killer. But I don't know of any cases like this."
"What about the puns?" asked Nick Simms suddenly. "What does he need them for?"
"The fact that he's given himself a name, The Anagramist, suggests he's after fame, the front pages of newspapers and lead stories the news channels. Much like David Berkowitz when the Daily News started calling him Son of Sam."
"Maybe Berkowitz is his great role model," Jane now exclaimed. "Go ahead, Doc."
"I'm almost done, Captain," Katherine said. "One last thing about the puns, and this is perhaps the most important point: people like our target often make up for their low self-esteem by telling themselves they're smarter than the rest of us. Please don't take it as an insult, but such an individual believes a, in his mindset, 'hoof moronic cops', would never be able to decipher his anagrams."
"Maybe he's right," Jane said in a regretful tone, "because we didn't decode them. You did."
Katherine didn't want the briefing to end with such an aftertaste. "But you were smart enough to call me in, Captain," she replied with an innocent voice, earning the laughs she hoped for in return, while Jane was now blushing. "Isn't that enough?"
Jane could stand to become the target of a well-placed joke. "When we finish the story, the doc will switch us to comedy," she replied. "You all know what you have to do. We work twelve-hour shifts, midnight to noon and noon to midnight, and stay flexible for unexpected happenings. Now, let's get to work so we can catch this guy who's been such a colossal pain in the ass around town."
Katherine was glad there was no further applause before the meeting broke up. Most of the detectives filed out of the room, but one remained standing, Nick Simms.
The handsome young African-American had been on the phone at the end of the briefing. Only now he slipped his cell phone into his pants pocket and gave Jane a thumbs up.
"What is it, Nick?" the captain asked, hurrying over to him.
Jane called Elizabeth and Katherine over so Simms could inform them. "His name is Robert Steven Newman, forty-three, from Spring Lake, New Jersey," Simms reported, pulling up Newman's driver's license on his computer screen. A handsome, dark-haired man in a gray suit with a conservative red tie filled the screen.
"Nothing special, really," Jane muttered. "How did he get from the New Jersey Coast to the Boston Harbour?"
"Good question, because the last time he was seen was three days ago in the morning, getting into his canary yellow Porsche convertible in front of Monmouth County Superior Court and driving away."
"Superior Court?" asked Elizabeth. "Do we know why he was there?"
Simms looked at her briefly and frowned. "His colleagues in New Jersey say he was an attorney specializing in personal injury, part-time public defender, and he was there to have one of his private cases moved. Newman's wife called the police when he didn't come home that evening. They put a BOLO out on him and his vehicle in New York, Massachusetts and Connecticut."
"Have the description distributed to our people," Jane ordered. "Canary yellow Porsche, we should have a chance of someone seeing it -"
"The car has already been seen by someone," Simms interrupted. "Yesterday, in the Logan Airport parking lot."
"I'm guessing there's no record of the poor guy getting on a plane or even buying a plane ticket," Jane said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fantastic. Whoever is the first to figure out how the poor devil got into Boston Harbor, I'll put them up for promotion." The case was unmistakably getting to Jane. "I guess we should illuminate Newman's life, see if any clue to this story turns up -"
"The New Jersey police is already on it -" Simms retorted.
"I want our people on it, though," Jane barked, annoyed.
"Liz!" a detective named Stark called across the room. "Line three."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Can you take it?" she asked.
"It's your daughter's school," Detective Stark replied, "and it sounds urgent."
Elizabeth sought out the nearest phone and plucked the receiver off the phone. "Rizzoli."
"Hello, Detective Rizzoli, this is Dawn Frandon, I'm the assistant principal of -"
"I know who you are, Ms. Frandon," Elizabeth interrupted, remembering Nikki's high school teacher. The woman had been very helpful in the weeks following Sarah's suicide. "Is everything okay with Nikki?"
"Well, I was going to ask you that, actually," the teacher said. "Because Nikki has never skipped a class before, and when she didn't show up for history class today -"
"Do you know where she went?" asked Elizabeth as her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. Her colleagues turned their heads in her direction when they heard the fear in her voice, and Katherine rushed to her sister.
"No, but her friend Marnie told us that Nikki got a call from her sister Ashlyn and ran out of the school."
"Thank you for calling," Elizabeth said in a strained voice. "Please let me know when Nikki returns."
"Nikki's missing?" asked Katherine as her sister hung up and could see old memories welling up in Elizabeth. Memories they had both tried to forget.
"After Ash called her," Elizabeth said, pulling out her cell phone and pressing speed dial for Nikki. She ended the call after a few seconds, and Jane straightened in alarm. "It went straight to voicemail," she explained, trying Ashlyn's number. Again, she ended the call quickly; panic flitted across her face.
"What is it?" her mother asked.
"Something's wrong with Liz' kids," Simms replied, and Jane's eyes grew as big as saucers.
Elizabeth looked up Ashlyn's school in her phone contacts and used the landline to dial the number. "Hello, this is Elizabeth Rizzoli, Ashlyn Rizzoli's mother," she said quickly with a deep frown. "Do you know what class Ashlyn is in right now?"
"Everything's okay, Mrs. Rizzoli," a voice said. "Everything's taken care of."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, we gave Ashlyn to that detective you sent."
"What?" said Elizabeth aloud, looking at the others with wide eyes. "I never sent a detective to pick up my daughter!"
At these words, Jane ran to her daughter's desk, and everyone stopped what they were doing and stood up. "What's wrong?" she asked anxiously.
Katherine reached out and pressed a button on Elizabeth's telephone set, and the female voice came over the speaker. "Oh, we checked, of course, when he said he was a friend of yours, and Ashlyn said she didn't know him. But then the man said your sister lent him her car so he could pick up Ashlyn, and we went out with her, and she said, yes, it was her Aunt Kate's car, so we thought that was all right -"
At that, Elizabeth dropped the phone. "Mrs. Rizzoli? Are you still there? Mrs. Rizzoli?"
Katherine disconnected the call. "That's him," she said.
Jane gritted her teeth and tried to remain as calm as possible. "You think so?" the latter replied, her hand on Elizabeth's arm in case she threatened to topple over.
For her part, Elizabeth looked at the faces of her colleagues, for whom nothing else mattered now, she knew.
Elizabeth gave Katherine a look of fear.
This was not the first time she had seen her sister like this, but she did not know how to reassure the detective.
Almost at the same moment, Jane began barking orders. "Put out a BOLO on Dr. Isles' car!" she said, and her detectives looked at her nodding while the captain could only hear blood rushing in their ears. "The occupants are likely two teenage girls and a suspected armed man who should be approached with caution. Roadblocks at all tunnels and bridges leading out of this city. Precautionary officers on all subway platforms and bus stations." She looked at Elizabeth to reassure her. "We have to assume he has both of Liz's daughters in his custody," she said, addressing everyone, "and I want every cop in Massachusetts to know it. Stark, you take over phone duty. I want the night shift here immediately on overtime, all of you on the streets, two at a time in an unmarked car, to report it immediately if we find the girls." She emphasized the 'if' so as not to leave any doubt and repeated it again clearly for Elizabeth. "This fucker is not leaving town with the girls. GO! GET TO WORK!"
A flurry of activity broke out in the bullpen.
Katherine put a hand on Elizabeth's back, who was leaning on her desk in a daze, and she didn't resist. Katherine was silent, there was nothing to say that could help Elizabeth. Telling her everything would be all right would only have made it worse.
"You two!" barked Jane, pointing to her daughters, "come with me, I'm going to need you."
"Where to?" asked Elizabeth as if in a trance.
Jane was already on her way to the elevator. "To Ash's school," she said over her shoulder. "I'll send the CSRU there, have them dust anything the son of a bitch might have touched."