The Surgeon (17 page)

"Sexual assault," said Frost. "Diana Sterling was raped,
too."
"All three were sexual assault victims," said Moore. "But
neither Elena Ortiz nor Diana Sterling reported their attacks.
We found out about Sterling's rape only because we checked
local women's clinics and gynecologists to find out if she was
ever treated for it. Sterling never even told her parents about
the attack. When I called them this morning, they were
shocked to find out about it."
It was only midmorning, but the faces he saw around the
conference room table looked drained. They were operating
on sleep deficits, and another full day stretched ahead of
them.
Lieutenant Marquette said, "So the only person who knew
about Sterling's rape was this gynecologist on Marlborough
Street?"
"Dr. Bonnie Gillespie. It was Diana Sterling's one and only
visit. She went in because she was afraid she'd been
exposed to AIDS."
"What did Dr. Gillespie know about the rape?"
Frost, who'd interviewed the physician, answered the
question. He opened the folder containing Diana Sterling's

medical record. "Here's what Dr. Gillespie wrote: `Thirty-year-
old white female requests HIV screen. Unprotected sex five
days ago, partner's HIV status unknown. When asked if her
partner was in a high-risk group, patient became upset and
tearful. Revealed that sex was not consensual, and she does
not know assailant's name. Does not wish to report the
assault. Refuses referral for rape counseling.' " Frost looked
up. "That's all the information Dr. Gillespie got from her. She
did a pelvic exam, tested for syphilis, gonorrhea, and HIV, and
told the patient to return in two months for a follow-up HIV
blood test. The patient never did. Because she was dead."
"And Dr. Gillespie never called the police? Even after the
murder?"
"She didn't know her patient was dead. She never saw the
news reports."
"Was a rape kit collected? Semen?"
"No. The patient, uh . . ." Frost flushed in embarrassment.
Some topics even a married man like Frost found difficult to
discuss. "She douched a few times, right after the attack."
"Can you blame her?" said Rizzoli. "Shit, I would've felt like
douching with Lysol."
"Three rape victims," said Marquette. "This is no
coincidence."

"You find the rapist," said Zucker, "I think you'll have your
unsub. What's the status on the DNA from Nina Peyton?"
"It's on expedite," said Rizzoli. "Lab's had the semen
sample for nearly two months, and nothing's been done with it.
So I lit a fire under them. Let's just keep our fingers crossed
that our perp's already in CODIS."
CODIS, the Combined DNA Index System, was the FBI's
national database of DNA profiles. The system was still in its
infancy, and the genetic profiles of half a million convicted
offenders had not yet been entered into the system. The
chances of their getting a "cold hit"--a match with a known
offender--were slim.
Marquette looked at Dr. Zucker. "Our unsub sexually
assaults the victim first. Then returns weeks later to kill her?
Does that make sense?"
"It doesn't have to make sense to us," said Zucker. "Only to
him. It's not uncommon for a rapist to return and attack his
victim a second time. There's a sense of ownership there. A
relationship, however pathological, has been established."
Rizzoli snorted. "You call it a relationship?"
"Between abuser and victim. It sounds sick, but there it is.
It's based on power. First he takes it away from her, makes
her something less than a human being. She's now an object.
He knows it and, more importantly, she knows it. It's the fact

she's damaged, humiliated, that may excite him enough to
return. First he marks her with the rape. Then he returns to
claim ultimate ownership."
Damaged women, thought Moore. That's the common link
among these victims. It suddenly occurred to him that
Catherine, too, was among the damaged.
"He never raped Catherine Cordell," said Moore.
"But she is a rape victim."
"Her attacker's been dead two years. How did the Surgeon
identify her as a victim? How did she even show up on his
radar screen? She never talks about the attack, to anyone."
"She talked about it online, didn't she? That private chat
room . . ." Zucker paused. "Jesus. Is it possible he's finding
his victims through the Internet?"
"We explored that theory," said Moore. "Nina Peyton
doesn't even own a computer. And Cordell never revealed her
name to anyone in that chat room. So we're right back to the
question: Why did the Surgeon focus on Cordell?"
Zucker said, "He does seem obsessed with her. He goes
out of his way to taunt her. He takes risks, just to e-mail her
that photograph of Nina Peyton. And that leads to a disastrous
chain of events for him. The photo brings the police right to
Nina's door. He's rushed and can't complete the kill, can't

achieve satisfaction. Even worse, he leaves behind a witness.
The worst mistake of all."
"That was no mistake," said Rizzoli. "He meant for her to
live."
Her remark elicited skeptical expressions around the table.
"How else do you explain a screwup like this?" she
continued. "That photo he e-mailed to Cordell was meant to
pull us in. He sent it, and he waited for us. Waited till we called
the vic's house. He knew we were on our way. And then he did
a half-ass job of cutting her throat, because he wanted us to
find her alive."
"Oh yeah," snorted Crowe. "It was all part of his plan."
"And his reason for this?" Zucker asked Rizzoli.
"The reason was written right on her thigh. Nina Peyton was
an offering to Cordell. A gift intended to scare the shit out of
her."
There was a pause.
"If so, then it worked," said Moore. "Cordell is terrified."
Zucker leaned back and considered Rizzoli's theory. "It's a
lot of risks to take, just to scare one woman. It's a sign of
megalomania. It could mean he's decompensating. That's

what eventually happened to Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy.
They lost control of their fantasies. They became careless.
That's when they made their mistakes."
Zucker rose and went to the chart on the wall. There were
three victim names there. Beneath the name Nina Peyton, he
wrote in a fourth name: Catherine Cordell.
"She's not one of his victims--not yet. But in some way he's
identified her as an object of interest. How did he choose her?
" Zucker looked around the room. "Have you interviewed her
colleagues? Do any of them trip any alarm bells?"
Rizzoli said, "We've eliminated Kenneth Kimball, the E.R.
doc. He was on duty the night Nina Peyton was attacked.
We've also interviewed most of the male surgical staff, as well
as the residents."
"What about Cordell's partner, Dr. Falco?"
"Dr. Falco has not been eliminated."
Now Rizzoli had caught Zucker's attention, and he focused
on her with a strange light in his eyes. The nutso-shrink look
was what the cops in the homicide unit called it. "Tell me
more," he said softly.
"Dr. Falco looks great on paper. MIT grad in aeronautical
engineering. M.D. from Harvard. Surgery residency at Peter
Bent Brigham. Raised by a single mom, worked his way

through college and med school. Flies his own airplane. Nice-
looking guy, too. Not Mel Gibson, but he could turn a few
heads."
Darren Crowe laughed. "Hey, Rizzoli's rating suspects by
their looks. Is this how lady cops do it?"
Rizzoli shot him a hostile glance. "What I'm saying," she
continued, "is this guy could have a dozen women on his arm.
But I hear from the nurses that the only woman he's been
interested in is Cordell. It's no secret that he keeps asking her
out. And she keeps turning him down. Maybe he's starting to
get pissed."
"Dr. Falco bears watching," said Zucker. "But let's not
narrow down our list too soon. Let's stick with Dr. Cordell
here. Are there other reasons the Surgeon might choose her
as a victim?"
It was Moore who turned the question on its head. "What if
she isn't just another in a string of prey? What if she's always
been the object of his attention? Each of these attacks has
been a reenactment of what was done to those women in
Georgia. What was almost done to Cordell. We've never
explained why he imitates Andrew Capra. We've never
explained why he's zeroed in on Capra's only survivor." He
pointed to the list. "These other women, Sterling, Ortiz, Peyton
--what if they're merely placeholders? Surrogates for his
primary victim?"

"The theory of the retaliatory target," said Zucker. "You can't
kill the woman you really hate because she's too powerful. Too
intimidating. So you kill a substitute, a woman who represents
that target."
Frost said, "You're saying his real target's always been
Cordell? But he's afraid of her?"
"It's the same reason Edmund Kemper didn't kill his mother
until the very end of his murder spree," said Zucker. "She was
the real target all along, the woman he despised. Instead he
vented his rage against other victims. With each attack he
symbolically destroyed his mother again and again. He
couldn't actually kill her, not at first, because she wielded too
much authority over him. On some level, he was afraid of her.
But with each killing he gained confidence. Power. And in the
end, he finally achieved his goal. He crushed his mother's
skull, decapitated her, raped her. And as the final insult, he
tore out her larynx and shoved it into the garbage disposal.
The real target of his rage was finally dead. That's when his
spree ended. That's when Edmund Kemper turned himself in."
Barry Frost, who was usually the first cop to toss his
cookies at a crime scene, looked a little queasy at the thought
of Kemper's brutal finale. "So these first three attacks," he
said, "they could be just the warm-up for the main event?"
Zucker nodded. "The killing of Catherine Cordell."

It almost hurt Moore to see the smile on Catherine's face as
she walked into the clinic waiting room to greet him, because
he knew the questions he brought would surely destroy this
welcome. Looking at her now, he did not see a victim but a
warm and beautiful woman who immediately took his hand in
hers and seemed reluctant to release it.
"I hope this is a convenient time to talk," he said.
"I'll always make time for you." Again, that bewitching smile.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine."
"Let's go into my office, then."
She settled in behind her desk and waited expectantly for
whatever news he had brought. In the last few days she had
learned to trust him, and her gaze was unguarded. Vulnerable.
He had earned her confidence as a friend, and now he was
about to shatter it.
"It's clear to everyone," he said, "that the Surgeon is
focused on you."
She nodded.
"What we're wondering is why . Why does he reenact
Andrew Capra's crimes? Why have you become the center of

his attention? Do you know the answer to that?"
Bewilderment flickered in her eyes. "I have no idea."
"We think you do."
"How could I possibly know the way he thinks?"
"Catherine, he could stalk any other woman in Boston. He
could choose someone who's unprepared, who has no idea
she's being hunted. That would be the logical thing for him to
do, to go after the easy victim. You're the most difficult prey he
could choose, because you're already on your guard against
attack. And then he makes the hunt even more difficult by
warning you. Taunting you. Why?"
The welcome was gone from her eyes. Suddenly her
shoulders squared and her hands closed into fists on her
desk. "I keep telling you, I don't know."
"You're the one physical connection between Andrew Capra
and the Surgeon," he said. "The common victim. It's as if
Capra is still alive, picking up where he left off. And where he
left off was you. The one who got away."
She stared down at her desk, at the files so neatly stacked
in their in and out boxes. At the medical note she'd been
writing in tight and precise script. Though she sat perfectly
still, the knuckles of her hands stood out, stark as ivory.

"What haven't you told me about Andrew Capra?" he asked
quietly.
"I haven't kept anything from you."
"The night he attacked you, why did he come to your
house?"
"How is this relevant?"
"You were the only victim Capra knew as a person. The
other victims were strangers, women he picked up in bars.
But you were different. He chose you."
"He was--he may have been angry with me."
"He came to see you about something at work. A mistake
he'd made. That's what you told Detective Singer."
She nodded. "It was more than just one mistake. It was a
series of them. Medical errors. And he'd failed to follow up on
abnormal blood tests. It was a pattern of carelessness. I'd
confronted him earlier in the day, in the hospital."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him he should seek another specialty. Because I was
not going to recommend him for a second year of residency."
"Did he threaten you? Express any anger?"

"No. That was the strange thing. He just accepted it. And
he . . . smiled at me."
"Smiled?"
She nodded. "As though it didn't really matter to him."
The image gave Moore a chill. She could not have known
then that Capra's smile had masked an unfathomable rage.
"Later that night, in your house," said Moore, "when he
attacked you--"
"I've already gone over what happened. It's in my statement.
Everything is in my statement."
Moore paused. Reluctantly he pressed on. "There are
things you didn't tell Singer. Things you left out."
She looked up, her cheeks stung red with anger. "I've left
nothing out!"
He hated being forced to hound her with more questions,
but he had no choice. "I reviewed Capra's autopsy report," he
said. "It's not consistent with the statement you gave the
Savannah police."
"I told Detective Singer exactly what happened."
"You said you were lying with your body draped over the

side of the bed. You reached under the bed for the gun. From
that position you aimed at Capra and fired."
"And that's true. I swear it."
"According to the autopsy, the bullet tracked upward
through his abdomen and passed through his thoracic spine,
paralyzing him. That part is consistent with your statement."
"Then why are you saying I lied?"
Again Moore paused, almost too sick at heart to press on.
To keep hurting her. "There's the problem of the second
bullet," he said. "It was fired at close range, straight into his left
eye. Yet you were lying on the floor."
"He must have bent forward, and that's when I fired--"
"Must have?"
"I don't know. I don't remember."
"You don't remember firing the second bullet?"
"No. Yes. . . ."
"Which is the truth, Catherine?" He said it quietly, but he
could not soften the sting of his words.
She shot to her feet. "I won't be questioned this way. I'm the
victim."