He sat on the couch in his living room and watched the TV show A Great Story Teller.

The things they said about him.

Things he didn't want anyone to know.

But things he knew were true.

How the hell did this Detective Elizabeth Rizzoli know all this? That ... Bitch.

Hadn't it been enough?

Hadn't he done enough to gain respect?

Maybe he shouldn't have beaten the kid out of that redhead, this Maggie Ross, but cut it out like he had done to that dirty whore Vanessa.

He heard the voices from the TV. And his brain, which he couldn't switch off, was repeating all these insults.

Kemper wanted to know what it was like to shoot his grandmother ...

Silvio strangled the child because it squealed. And he had to work.

And this man kills women because he can't kill his mother. Even if he had wanted to, he killed to feel less weak, less submissive, and less useless in front of his mother, who was always bigger, stronger, and more dangerous than him.

And the worst thing she had said: ... that he had always peed the bed ... Or maybe he still did.

He could feel the anger boiling up inside him. He realized how he could barely control himself.

His mother ... strong.

He ... weak.

He had killed the women. But not his mother.

At least that's what they said.

And the worst thing about it was ... they were right.

But there was a law in Todd Quimby's life. Something he called the law of the BodyCount.

No one was allowed to say such a thing and survive.

He got up from the couch and reached for his keys.

Now he knew what he had to do.

xxx

Elizabeth had been waiting.

She hated waiting. The waiting dragged on in a monotonous infinity and eventually became a sheer, dusty eternity. Or the waiting that was abruptly interrupted by something much worse. The waiting, the lurking, the gasping for air before the jump. The explosion replaced the silence. The quick knife that was suddenly drawn and severed an abdominal artery.

Elizabeth knew this waiting. And she knew that this kind of waiting was never rewarded. This waiting always ended in the worst. Good things take time, they said, but bad things take time, was even more fitting. Because after the long, long wait, only two things happened: either nothing happened at all, or the worst thing imaginable happened. But sometimes, rarely enough, something terrible happened, but it was what everyone wanted: The bubble that finally burst, the redeeming shot, the plug that was pulled.

This time, it was the phone call.

A man.

A man who desperately wanted to speak to Max Arellano himself. He had called Channel 8. He had been put through.

I want to make something clear, he had said. It's about the ... BodyCounter.

Do you have any information about the BodyCounter? The BPD officer had asked.

I am the BodyCounter, the voice had replied.

Then everything happened very quickly.

The listening circuit was set up.

Elizabeth, Jane, Nick, and Katherine sat in Jane's office. The phone was on speaker. Elizabeth had a chat window in front of her, which she used to help Max Arellano ask the right questions and give the correct answers. Because the person who was now speaking was no ordinary interlocutor, if he was the BodyCounter, then it was a man who had killed two girls and, as far as the investigators knew, at least two women. He had also murdered a policewoman and injured a woman. Alexis Beasley and Maggie. And he would have killed Nada, too, if the investigators hadn't been on to him. So, the killer had to be kept on the line as long as possible to give investigators enough time to trace the call as best they could.

If he was using a cell phone, the mobile phone cells covered by a transmission mast were crucial. The approximate position of a cell phone could be determined using the coordinates of this transmission mast. The radius was about nine hundred and eighty-five feet. That wasn't good. But the closer the masts were, the more accurate the location was. So, it was much easier to locate cell phones in the city than in the country. That was good. Nevertheless, the investigators needed time to determine the location as accurately as possible. To do this, the caller had to be given precisely the time the investigators needed. And he had to be treated appropriately: With reverence, but by no means overly sycophantic because that's what the perpetrators see through.

A second passed.

Another.

Then they heard the voice.

It was a little cold and nasal, but it was the voice of a human. Not that of a devil, a demon, a supernatural, evil being. It was the voice of a human being.

The voice was normal, even if the man behind it was evil.

"You seem very important and intelligent, don't you?" The voice was icy cold. But also a little uncertain and sluggish. As if he, who owned it, hoped people would believe he was serious. Even if maybe he wasn't. "You and your detective. Elizabeth ... Rizzoli!"

Elizabeth typed something into her laptop. Who am I talking to? And then: Engaged in a conversation ...

"Who am I talking to?" asked Max's voice.

A malicious laugh. "You know that. And who I am is none of your business ... not yet ..."

Elizabeth's gaze switched to Nick, who was listening to the conversation.

"He's calling from a cell phone," Nick said.

Elizabeth's eyebrows drew together. Could that be? It wasn't the killer. He would never be that stupid ...

The man continued. "... Not yet, anyway." He paused. "I ... Took your new friend Elizabeth Rizzoli's … child away from her." He laughed softly.

Elizabeth felt a stab in her heart, which was now beating faster.

Nick looked at his sister-in-law and shook his head. "This wasn't going public. No one can know except us and the murderer. If he knows at all."

Elizabeth's head was buzzing. That could only mean one thing: It was him, or there was someone else who knew. And the murderer had followed Maggie to the hospital! She didn't have time to ponder the horror of this realization for long because the following thoughts were already pounding at the door in her brain. Maybe it was another one of those junkies? But they had barely been able to speak coherently.

The all-important question eclipsed the pain of losing their child: Was it him? Or was it not him?

Then the voice continued. "It's none of your business yet. But when it is your business, you'll know."

Elizabeth typed into her laptop. What will I notice?

"What will I notice?" Max wanted to know.

Silence at the other end of the line. Had he hung up?

Nick shook his head and stared intently at his monitor.

"You'll notice ... that what you feel then ..." The man on the other end took as much time as he could.

Listen to him, Elizabeth typed into her laptop.

"Hyde Park," Nick said with a deep frown. "We have three cell towers." He looked at Elizabeth and Katherine.

"You think I'm weak," the voice said without elaborating on what he meant by feeling. "You think I'll never be as strong as my mother --"

Elizabeth typed again. Keep listening. Don't say anything.

The voice rang out again. "...Then this is what I'm going to tell you --"

Another pause.

Continue listening.

"... when I have begun with you," the voice continued, "... then you will curse your mother. For ... bringing you into this world."

A click.

The connection was ended.

Elizabeth's head jerked left to Nick. "Where?"

"Nine hundred and eighty-five-foot radius. Two poles make the shortlist. Near Fairview Cemetery."

Elizabeth jumped up from her chair. "Well, here we go!"