"This will be a purely private conversation. Do you understand?" Senior prosecutor Maura Isles smirked, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. Her host, Nick Simms, would have missed it if he hadn't known her so well. "Our Sherlock Holmes seems to have found his Professor Moriarty," she said quietly, her gaze wandering over the prints of Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci's paintings that adorned the walls of Nick Simm's house.

The property in the Chestnut Hill neighborhood, where the new homicide lieutenant and his wife Katherine Isles resided, was a testament to their refined taste. It was generously proportioned and furnished with assured Italian chic. The couple had flown in an interior designer from Florence after Katherine's visit to Italy, a fact that seemed much less pompous when you discovered he was a distant relative. Flavio Rizzoli had managed to stage a much smaller replica of Michelangelo's David and numerous high-quality prints of portraits of important figures from the Italian Renaissance, contributing elegantly and tastefully to the upscale ambiance.

The lieutenant took the opportunity to use the three-group coffee machine to make a double espresso for his guest from the public prosecutor's office.

Among her colleagues, Maura always took advantage of every opportunity to point out that Isles/Simms had the best coffee outside Italy.

"She found Moriaty sixteen years ago. And never said a word about it," Nick added.

"I spoke to Elizabeth's former partner Rupert Mardas on the way here. He's already on his way over."

Nick blinked a few times and frowned a little. "Nick got up from his chair and walked along the fireplace to the bookshelf.

Maura took a deep breath. "Why did you ask me to come to your house?" she inquired as she stirred the sugar into the espresso, the scent of which now filled half the room.

He licked his lips. "The whole case is rather piquant. Maura, it would be better to talk about it in private first. Because I'm not at all sure that Liz is the right person for this investigation," Nick admitted. "She's far too personally involved."

Maura closed her eyes briefly, exhaled profoundly, and bowed her head. "I understand your concern, Nick. But what alternative would you prefer? You have to realize that Liz won't just let herself be pulled off this case. After all, when she was investigating back then, it was a treacherous murder - but after today, she knows that the whole thing has something to do with her. And who knows if it wasn't the same back then?"

Nick grabbed the back of his neck and massaged it with gentle pressure. "We'll also reopen the case from back then in this direction," he announced. "Maybe we should just give Liz a special position in the investigation. Something that allows her to play to her strengths."

"Whatever you think is the right method," the prosecutor conceded. "The main thing is that this story doesn't turn into a fiasco like it did back then."

Nick couldn't disagree. "We know this is less about Dr. Praetorius than Elizabeth herself," she stated. "The absurd appearance of this Ishmael makes that clear."

"What do you think of this story anyway?"

"It's as abstract, enigmatic, and incomprehensible as the rest of the affair. The guy seems very sure of himself, which worries me."

Maura crossed her legs calmly, saying, "We've got a great sketch. The databases are already being searched for Ishmael. Do you think he's already gone abroad?"

"It would be the smartest thing he could do in his situation," the lieutenant said. Then his brow furrowed as a thought crossed his mind. "Who is telling us that Ishmael is the murderer from back then? Why wouldn't he be someone who was told everything by the perpetrator back then? Someone who wants to continue someone else's work? Or finish it?"

"I agree with you on that point," Maura agreed, holding her espresso in her left hand while gesturing with her right. "We're dealing with a carefully planned production here. Ishmael's grand entrance, the car, the wine, the crime scene - someone is playing a game with their sights wide open. But the game doesn't end this time with a dusty file in the cellar."

"And that's exactly why we should think about taking Elizabeth off the case," Nick admitted, almost reluctantly. "Maura, I hate to say it, but considering the circumstances, it looks like this Ishmael guy knows Elizabeth. Well enough to know how to trick her, anyway. I'm worried that he's playing cat and mouse with Liz. Because then other innocent people might have to pay for this game with their lives."

"And what if our Moriaty discovers that his Sherlock isn't hunting him? Don't you think that would make him angry? Do you want to provoke a man who eviscerates and scalps people just for the sake of the game?"

"I'd like to catch a man like that," Nick replied. "And I'm worried about whether Liz will succeed."

Maura looked at her son-in-law long and hard, frowning a little. "And who, may I ask, do you think should manage to play a game designed solely for Elizabeth?"

Nick left his position, walked towards the couch, and sat beside Maura. Without a word, he grabbed her espresso and took a sip. "You're right," he then groaned. I'll think of something good for her."

xxx

Elizabeth Rizzoli wasn't sure what made her more uncomfortable. The sweet smell of death or the almost ghostly emptiness in the doctor's office now that the body had been removed and the investigative team had left. The swiftly assembled task force took up the investigation and launched the search for Ishmael. In contrast, Elizabeth calmly took in the scenario that her mysterious Wisersacher had created, especially for her that day.

Elizabeth squinted into the room where the gruesome spectacle had taken place.

Praetoruis was an angler. There are pictures of fish all over the house and books about the sea - Call me Ishmael.

Elizabeth could not stop comparing the image she saw in this house with the memories of the time when she had stood in front of the dissected and scalped corpse of a doctor whose intestines had been suspended in a plastic skeleton.

The copy differs in part from the original. You weren't able to recreate your work precisely from back then. The two doctors' practices are too different for that, but it's remarkable how many details you could copy accurately after all this time.

"It looks to me as if Ishmael was afraid," Elizabeth was suddenly torn from her thoughts.

The voice was familiar.

"Mike, you're still here?" she wondered without turning away.

Mike Fisher had returned to the BPD a good three years ago and had joined the homicide squad directly, also accompanied by Elizabeth Rizzoli. But although his work and his colleagues in Boston were very close to Mike's heart, he would be saying goodbye to the city for some time. The FBI in New York had recruited him as a liaison officer. His job there was to work with cops and agents from various states on cases where the criminal investigation department couldn't initially establish any connections.

Mike smiled wryly. "Strictly speaking, I'm already halfway on the plane to New York. The moving boxes are on their way, and as you know, Nikki isn't exactly keen on the idea of a long-distance relationship," Mike replied. His girlfriend Nikki O'Laighin had, after much toing and froing, come to terms with the idea of having a long-distance relationship with Mike for a while.

"So, what do you think Ishmael is afraid of?" the captain asked without getting up from her chair.

"At first glance, you'd think he was afraid of you," claimed Mike. "That's why he's looking for a duel with you again. But that fear is only on the surface."

"He had me on my heels back then and left me behind. What should scare him about that? That seems illogical to me."

Mike grinned. Then he pulled a chair towards him and sat down next to Elizabeth so he could now

have the same view of the room as his captain. "Your logic is the anchor you throw out when your sea gets choppy,"he replied. "What logic is to you, intuition is to me. I admit I wouldn't have noticed the missing dust under the shelf so quickly, But while you conclude factual circumstances, I try to empathize with him emotionally. To understand what he felt in this practice."

"Take a look at the floor,"Elizabeth asked her future son-in-law, as she suspected."Small scuff marks are from the victim's rubber sole on the PVC. The murderer carefully lifted Praetorius and carried him to his designated place. That is a meticulous and attentive procedure. I don't see any fear in that. He was sure of himself. He even taunts me by saying I can't touch him. Call me Ishmael."

Mike knew what Elizabeth was alluding to. "That's the line from Moby Dick. Call me Ishmael."

"Yes, Herman Melville's great tale of wrath and revenge. Once wounded by the white whale, Captain Ahab has wanted nothing more since then to take revenge on him. Regardless of himself and others."

"Ahab's blind thirst for revenge drags everyone to their deaths,"recalled Mike, who had read the classic at school. "Except for the whale."

"And Ishmael."

The two were silent for a few seconds.

"I once had a school friend who had a crush on me,"Mike finally began to say. "She kept passing me notes asking if I wanted to be with her and if we wanted to meet up after school."

"Did you like her?"

"I was eleven, Liz. But I thought she was nice."

"Nice as apple pie, or nice as..."

"I thought she was nice,"Mike cut in. "But I didn't want to meet her for the life of me."

"Because you were afraid of her? What would happen if you were alone? Nasty things like holding hands and kissing on the mouth?"

"Yes, I thought that for a long time. But my fear of her was only on the surface. At some point, I realized I was just afraid of myself. What would happen if I liked holding hands and kissing on the lips. They would have been more than just nice if I had found them. Afraid of the consequences."

Elizabeth nodded in understanding. "So you mean Ishmael is primarily afraid of me not finding him?"

"He proved today that you're the only person who can catch him. And he forgives you for your failure back then. He's giving you a second chance."

"That's a callous way to honor me."

"Does a cat think bringing its owner a dead mouse is cruel? He drew a picture for you today. Like children do for their parents when they want to be loved, he didn't mock you with the limousine and the wine. He showed you his respect! But he's also threatening you at the same time."

"You mean he'll paint more pictures for me if I don't stop him? Mike, he covered his tracks back then more ingeniously than any other perpetrator I've ever heard of."

"And you're better at deciphering clues than any investigator he's ever heard of. That's why he followed you. And if you don't find out again what he might be trying to tell you with his gruesome scene, then maybe he's traveling to Timbuktu after you.Perhapshe can hold back the evil inside him for another sixteen years. Or this time, he's determined to see it through to the end.

12with an unequal fight against the resistance that has already let him down once?"

"He doesn't see you like that,"Mike disagreed. Then he leaned over to Elizabeth and asked her: "What happens when an elephant fights an ant?"

"The elephant wins."

"So what would be the attraction for the elephant in such a fight?"

Elizabeth understood. "He assumes that we're evenly matched. That it's a pure game of chance as to who triumphs in the end."

"Although he couldn't help but be a little condescending,"Mike added. "He showed you his face in the limousine. A move so arrogant that it should give you pause for thought."

The captain agreed. Then she stated dryly, "After my flop back then, he probably thinks he needs to give me a bit of a leg up."

"What he did for you today expresses a deep longing. A deep desire to finish something that won't let him or you rest until it's finally over. I know what I'm talking about."

Elizabeth was aware of what her detective was alluding to. It had taken Mike Fisher almost ten years to catch his arch-rival Tassilo Michaelis and put him behind bars. The thorn of never having proved that Tassilo, who was as intelligent as he was sociopathic, had sunk so deeply into Mike's flesh that he had almost broken.

"When is Tassilo getting out again?"Elizabeth asked.

"Stop it,"Mike rebutted while his conversation partner continued to look at the doctor's surgery almost uninterruptedly. "He's had five years, and he's behaving like a confirmand. He could be out again in a year or two."

"And then?"

Mike shrugged his shoulders. "I think we're done with each other. But to be honest, I don't even want to think about it yet. Let me cross that bridge when I get to it."

With those words, Mike rose and headed for the door but turned back to Elizabeth again. "Whoever this was, he doesn't see you as his enemy,"he declared without a hint of doubt. "On the contrary, you're his only hope! But you know yourself - we can do anything when hope dies!"