Free The Surgeon by Tess Gerritsen Page A

photo in
hand, she walked out of the room and immediately regretted
making that last comment. But all day she had been irritated
by her male colleagues, by their little remarks and snubs that
together added up to a pattern of disdain. The last straw was
the interview that she and Darren Crowe had conducted of
Elena Ortiz's next-door neighbor. Crowe had repeatedly
interrupted Rizzoli's questions to ask his own. When she'd
yanked him out of the room and called him on his behavior,
he'd shot back the classic male insult:
"I guess it's that time of month."
No, she was going to keep her hunches to herself. If they
didn't pan out, then no one could ridicule her. And if they bore
fruit, she would rightfully claim credit.
She returned to her workstation and sat down to take a
closer look at Diana Sterling's graduation photo. Reaching for
her magnifying glass, she suddenly focused on the bottle of
mineral water she always kept on her desk, and her temper
boiled up when she saw what had been shoved inside.
Don't react, she thought. Don't let 'em see they've gotten to
you.
Ignoring the water bottle and the disgusting object it
contained, she aimed the magnifying glass on Diana
Sterling's throat. The room seemed unusually hushed. She
could almost feel Darren Crowe's gaze as he waited for her to
explode.
It ain't gonna happen, asshole. This time I'm gonna keep
my cool.
She focused on Diana's necklace. She had almost missed
this detail, because the face was what had initially drawn her
attention, those gorgeous cheekbones, the delicate arch of
the eyebrows. Now she studied the two pendants dangling
from the delicate chain. One pendant was in the shape of a
lock; the other was a tiny key. The key to my heart, thought
Rizzoli.
She rifled through the files on her desk and found the
photos from the Elena Ortiz crime scene. With the magnifying
glass, she studied a close-up shot of the victim's torso.
Through the layer of dried blood caked on the neck, she could
just make out the fine line of the gold chain; the two pendants
were obscured.
She reached for the phone and dialed the M.E.'s office.
"Dr. Tierney is out for the afternoon," said his secretary.
"Can I help you?"
"It's about an autopsy he did last Friday. Elena Ortiz."
"Yes?"
"The victim was wearing an item of jewelry when she was
brought into the morgue. Do you still have it?"
"Let me check."
Rizzoli waited, tapping her pencil on the desk. The water
bottle was right there in front of her, but she steadfastly
ignored it. Her anger had given way to excitement. To the
exhilaration of the hunt.
"Detective Rizzoli?"
"Still here."
"The personal effects were claimed by the family. A pair of
gold stud earrings, a necklace, and a ring."
"Who signed for them?"
"Anna Garcia, the victim's sister."
"Thank you." Rizzoli hung up and glanced at her watch.
Anna Garcia lived all the way out in Danvers. It meant a drive
through rush hour traffic. . . .
"Do you know where Frost is?" asked Moore.
Rizzoli glanced up, startled, to see him standing beside her
desk. "No, I don't."
"He hasn't been around?"
"I don't keep the boy on a leash."
There was a pause. Then he asked, "What's this?"
"Ortiz crime scene photos."
"No. The thing in the bottle."
She looked up again and saw a frown on his face. "What
does it look like? It's a fucking tampon. Someone around
here has a real sophisticated sense of humor." She glanced
pointedly at Darren Crowe, who suppressed a snicker and
turned away.
"I'll take care of this," Moore said and picked up the bottle.

"Hey. Hey! " she snapped. "Goddamnit, Moore. Forget it!"
He walked into Lieutenant Marquette's office. Through the
glass partition she saw Moore set the bottle with the tampon
on Marquette's desk. Marquette turned and stared in Rizzoli's
direction.

Here we go again. Now they'll be saying the bitch can't
take a practical joke.
She grabbed her purse, gathered up the photos, and
walked out of the unit.
She was already at the elevators when