"I'll be brief." Maura Isles tried in vain to hide her bewilderment. The prosecutor had refused her hostess's request to sit down. With suppressed anger, she stood leaning forward, her forehead resting slightly against the glass, at the window, staring out at the city's slow-moving traffic with her Hazel eyes. The mood in the office of Daniela Castella, chief of Police and Jane's successor, could hardly be more depressing.

"This guy is killing faster than you can pin the crime scene pictures to your flipchart. Three kills in four days, we're under siege from the press around the clock, and all we've got are a few blurry shots from surveillance cameras."

Castella scratched the back of her head, embarrassed. She sat tensely in her executive chair as if she were a small employee caught stealing by her superior. The determined woman was known in the Boston Police Department for maintaining control in any situation, no matter how critical. But now, in the hail of subliminal accusations from the senior prosecutor, even she was reluctant to make excuses.

"We'll --" she began cautiously but was immediately interrupted by Maura.

"If you would please let me make my comment. You can discuss the details with your coworkers." Maura turned away from the window and turned her gaze to the pictures of the young man whose burned body had been found in the wrecked car that night. "He grilled that adolescent like a fucking steak!" She walked briskly over to the flipchart on which the pictures of the two other victims who had so far been claimed in the mysterious series of murders were also displayed. "He brutally executed them all!" she exclaimed as she looked at the horrifying pictures of the bodies.

Norman Roberts was charred to the bone. The flesh around his lips was wholly burnt, exposing his teeth, which seemed to be grinning at the prosecutor in a horrible way from the pictures.

The heat had tightened Robert's tendons so that the dead man had been found huddled in a kind of riding position. The synthetic material of his jacket had literally melted into his skin in the fire.

"You will intensify your efforts, no matter what. This murderer seems in a hurry, so you're in even more of a hurry. Isn't there another expert you can call in?" Maura hid her hands in her trouser pockets. Castella nevertheless noticed that they were clenched into fists when the lawyer added. "Whatever that maniac is doing, it's got a system. Crack it, damn it!"

The captain seemed about to launch into an objection. Maura noticed and beat her to it. "I don't care how you do it. This guy kills brutally, purposefully, and quickly. Stop him." The prosecutor looked piercingly at Castella before concluding. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have enough to do in Boston."

Daniela Castella breathed a sigh of relief at having survived the speech, as she was usually the one to set her staff straight. Then she looked over at the pictures of the victims and shook her head in disbelief as she picked up her cell phone and typed in a message.

xxx

"This story with the Frenchman was basically just the prelude. Although admittedly a pretty spectacular one," Elizabeth Rizzoli told the tastefully dressed lady she was having lunch with. While she looked at her cell phone again, she continued. "A man from the security service discovered him on his routine rounds in a disused warehouse. The good man's name was Pierre La Maire. He'd been living in Boston for a year for business reasons, but he was from Périgord." She noticed the questioning look on her companion's face. "That's in the southwest of France," she explained. "La Maire had a stand at a trade fair, as he does every year with his small family business. I can't tell you any more details, but the public information is enough," she continued while her companion sipped her white wine with growing tension. "After the third day of the fair, the poor guy went to a supposed prospective buyer. The two of them had arranged to meet in the hotel lobby. The Detectives of BPD looked at the videos from the surveillance camera, and they showed that La Maire was waiting in the hotel lobby. Until a call came in, he went into the underground parking garage."

"You can trace the call," the woman interjected.

"That would be nice, but the perpetrator didn't make it that easy for them. A burner phone, I hate those things. There weren't many cameras in the parking garage, so they'll have to speculate about what happened. Our Pierre was overpowered down there; that much is clear." Elizabeth didn't tell her companion that the perpetrator had used a stun gun. This information was one of the details the BPD withheld from the public. The ME, Dr. Adrian Reynolds, had found unmistakable traces of the device on the body. "The Frenchman's car was seen driving out of the parking garage on a video. But at that point, the man was already in the trunk."

"So the perpetrator was recorded at the wheel?"

"No, you can't see the driver on the video. You can only see his arms and the back of his head." Elizabeth reached for her wine glass, which, unlike her companion, she lifted by the stem, not the goblet. As was her wont, she swirled its contents when she realized again that only water was in it.

"And how do you know that this ... uh --"

"Pierre La Maire."

"Exactly. Like he wasn't at the wheel?"

Elizabeth Rizzoli smiled mischievously. She had been hoping for that question. "For one thing, the driver's seat was very far forward when the Homicide detectives found the car. La Maire was 6'3"; he wouldn't have set his driver's seat that way. But more importantly, it is the moment when the car stops the barrier. The vehicle stops, then the driver's hand briefly goes to the door, only then towards the center console. Two seconds later, the window goes down, and the driver inserts the exit ticket into the slot." Elizabeth's companion looked at her questioningly. "The driver was looking for the window regulator," she explained. "They're sometimes hidden in rather original ways in French cars. La Maire had owned his car for many years. So, by now, he should have gotten used to where he had to reach. Moreover, the colleagues found La Maire's skin scales, blood, and hair in the trunk."

At that moment, the waiter approached the table and served a Caesar salad for the lady and boiled beef for the cop. Elizabeth had arranged to meet her coffee shop acquaintance that day for a casual get-together. They wanted to eat together during her companion's lunch break.

Elizabeth and Maggie split up amicably a year after the case in Florence, after their differences grew and grew and eventually became irreconcilable. Nevertheless, if only for Benjamin's sake, the two women were still very close friends. That was now three years ago.

While the two of them turned to their food, Elizabeth continued impassively. "But the story doesn't really get interesting until now," Elizabeth said, cutting into her meat. To her relief, it was as tender as butter. "The kidnapper secured his victim's hands and feet with handcuffs, around which he wound tear-proof ropes. He then wrapped them quite tightly around two concrete pillars. When our Frenchman was barely able to move, his captor strapped a narrow-meshed metal casing to his bare stomach and placed two rats inside."

While Elizabeth was enjoying her meal, she noticed that her companion had put her fork down on her plate at the mere mention of the word rats. Undeterred, she continued her report. "The culprit made a charcoal briquette glow on a small garden barbecue. You know those things, they're still used in some old apartments to heat tiled stoves. When the briquette was fully glowing, he placed it on the metal cage with barbecue tongs. It got boiling, of course."

"My God, the poor man!" the companion exclaimed. "He must have totally panicked." Her actually attractive face was now covered in deep lines of worry.

"The man?" Elizabeth replied in astonishment. "The rats panicked. They wanted to get out of the cage immediately! But they couldn't get to the sides. So the poor animals only had one escape route: through Pierre La Maire's stomach."

Elizabeth's companion was not expected to say another word by the end of the day. As if paralyzed, she followed the investigator's words with her mouth open while her delicious salad was utterly forgotten.

"The ME has reconstructed the whole thing: The rats started gnawing first through the victim's skin, then shortly afterward through the abdominal muscles. This exposed the small intestine and allowed the animals to burrow effortlessly through the network of loops to the large intestine. The rats then gnawed a hole through which they finally escaped to freedom via the Frenchman's anus. Liberté! The whole thing is called rat torture, by the way, and there are whole treatises about it." Elizabeth grabbed a slice of bread, tore off a piece, and pulled it through the horseradish sauce. "The rats survived the whole thing surprisingly well; they were still found in the warehouse. Even the man was still alive, quite remarkable. Unfortunately, he was no longer able to describe his murderer to the investigators. He was baffled, in incredible pain, and had an infection from the animals. He only shouted Les rats! He died the next day of multiple organ failure. Would you like another sip?"

A cell phone suddenly rang while Elizabeth was reaching for the bottle with the water. Although the investigator's companion didn't recognize the ringtone, she spontaneously reached for her handbag in the silent hope that a call would save her from her date. The woman was relieved to discover that it was, if not her cell phone, then at least Elizabeth Rizzoli's cell phone that had rung. This was another way to break off the unsuccessful acquaintance.

"I can't believe this," the investigator said after listening for a few seconds. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

While the other woman's heart seemed to drop, Elizabeth ended the call, wiped her mouth, and looked at her companion in disappointment. "I'm terribly embarrassed," she apologized. "There are a few things I need to sort out at the BPD. I'm afraid I have to leave immediately. Is that bad?"

The woman looked at Elizabeth as if she didn't know what to say. Finally, she came up with an answer:" It's a shame, but if it's absolutely unavoidable ... go ahead."