Free The Surgeon by Tess Gerritsen

different universes. They shopped at different
stores, ate at different restaurants, and had no friends in
common. How does our unsub find them? Where does he find
them? Not only are they different from each other; they're
different from the usual sex crime victim. Most perps attack
the vulnerable members of society. Prostitutes or hitchhikers.
Like any hunting carnivore, they stalk the animal who's at the
edge of the herd. So why choose these two?" Zucker shook
his head. "I don't know."
Rizzoli looked at the photos on the table, and an image of
Diana Sterling caught her eye. It showed a beaming young
woman, the brand-new Smith College grad in her cap and
gown. The golden girl. What would it be like to be a golden
girl? Rizzoli wondered. She had no idea. She'd grown up the
scorned sister of two strappingly handsome brothers, the
desperate little tomboy who only wanted to be one of the
gang. Surely Diana Sterling, with her aristocratic cheekbones
and her swan neck, had never known what it was like to be
shut out, excluded. She'd never known what it was like to be
ignored.
Rizzoli's gaze paused on the gold pendant dangling around
Diana's throat. She picked up the photo and took a closer
look. Pulse accelerating, she glanced around the room to see
if any of the other cops had registered what she had just
noticed, but no one was looking at her or the photos; they
were focused on Dr. Zucker.
He had unfurled a map of Boston. Overlaid on the grid of
city streets were two shaded areas, one encompassing the
Back Bay, the other limited to the South End.
"These are the known activity spaces for our two victims.
The neighborhoods they lived in and worked in. All of us tend
to conduct our day-to-day lives in familiar areas. There's a
saying among geographic profilers: Where we go depends
upon what we know and what we know depends on where we
     ,
go. This is true for both victims and perps. You can see, from
this map, the separate worlds in which these two women lived.
There's no overlap. No common anchor point or node in which
their lives intersected. This is what puzzles me most. It's key to
the investigation. What is the link between Sterling and Ortiz?"
Rizzoli's gaze dropped back to the photo. To the gold
pendant dangling at Diana's throat. I could be wrong. I can't
say anything, not until I'm certain, or it'll be one more thing
Darren Crowe will use to ridicule me.
"You're aware there's another twist to this case?" said
Moore. "Dr. Catherine Cordell."
Zucker nodded. "The surviving victim from Savannah."
"Certain details about Andrew Capra's killing spree were
never released to the public. The use of catgut suture. The
folding of the victims' nightclothes. Yet our unsub here is
reenacting those very details."
"Killers do communicate with each other. It's a twisted
brotherhood, of sorts."
"Capra's been dead two years. He can't communicate with
anyone."
"But while he was alive, he may have shared all the
gruesome details with our unsub. That's the explanation I'm
hoping for. Because the alternative is far more disturbing."
"That our unsub had access to the Savannah police
reports," said Moore.
Zucker nodded. "Which would mean he's someone in law
enforcement."
The room fell silent. Rizzoli couldn't help looking around at
her colleagues--all of them men. She thought about the kind
of man who is drawn to police work. The kind of man who
loves the power and authority, the gun and the badge. The
chance to control others. Precisely what our unsub craves.

When the meeting broke up, Rizzoli waited for the other
detectives to leave the conference room before she
approached Zucker.
"Can I hold on to this photo?" she asked.
"May I ask why?"
"A hunch."
Zucker gave her one of his creepy John Malkovich smiles.
"Share it with me?"
"I don't share my hunches."
"It's bad luck?"
"Protecting my turf."
"This is a team investigation."
"Funny thing about teamwork. Whenever I share my
hunches, someone else always gets the credit." With