Die Again: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel - Softcover

Buch 11 von 13: Rizzoli & Isles

Gerritsen, Tess

 
9780345543875: Die Again: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0345543874 ISBN 13: 9780345543875
Verlag: Ballantine Books, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

Detective Jane Rizzoli and medical examiner Maura Isles are back—and they’re going into the wild to find a killer. Die Again is the latest heart-pounding thriller in Tess Gerritsen’s bestselling series, the inspiration behind TNT’s hit show Rizzoli & Isles.

When Boston homicide detective Jane Rizzoli and medical examiner Maura Isles are summoned to a crime scene, they find a killing worthy of the most ferocious beast—right down to the claw marks on the corpse. But only the most sinister human hands could have left renowned big-game hunter and taxidermist Leon Gott gruesomely displayed like the once-proud animals whose heads adorn his walls. Did Gott unwittingly awaken a predator more dangerous than any he’s ever hunted?
 
Maura fears that this isn’t the killer’s first slaughter, and that it won’t be the last. After linking the crime to a series of unsolved homicides in wilderness areas across the country, she wonders if the answers might actually be found in a remote corner of Africa.
 
Six years earlier, a group of tourists on safari fell prey to a killer in their midst. Marooned deep in the bush of Botswana, with no means of communication and nothing but a rifle-toting guide for protection, the terrified tourists desperately hoped for rescue before their worst instincts—or the wild animals prowling in the shadows—could tear them apart. But the deadliest predator was already among them, and within a week, he walked away with the blood of all but one of them on his hands.
 
Now this killer has chosen Boston as his new hunting ground, and Rizzoli and Isles must find a way to lure him out of the shadows and into a cage. Even if it means dangling the bait no hunter can resist: the one victim who got away.

Advance praise for Die Again
 
“With Die Again, Tess Gerritsen proves that she is still at the top of her game. I love this fantastically gripping story and can’t wait for more.”—Karin Slaughter
 
“Tess Gerritsen always delivers, and this is Gerritsen at her dark, addictive best. What gives Die Again its peculiar charge is the idea, never far from the surface, that we humans are predatory animals like any other. Perhaps we should not be so surprised to find hunters among us.”—William Landay

“Animal instinct turns savage—and man is an animal. A Rizzoli and Isles thriller is a guaranteed great read, but this time out Gerritsen really brings on the scary!”—Sandra Brown
 
“Tess Gerritsen once again proves her masterful dominance in stories delving into the criminal mind and forensic sciences. Die Again left me breathless as Rizzoli and Isles investigate a horrific murder, one with ties to an unsolved massacre in years past. Here is a story both harrowing and as intellectually sharp as a dagger’s edge. I dare you to try to stop reading this once you’ve started.”—James Rollins
 
“Harrowing! Seamlessly melding the gritty streets of Boston with the golden plains of Africa, Tess Gerritsen sets up a cunning predator who’s spent years perfecting his game. Now enter Rizzoli and Isles, two of Boston’s best determined to catch one of the world’s worst in a battle of wits where only the strong can survive. This is Tess Gerritsen at her finest!”—Lisa Gardner

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen earned international acclaim for her first novel of suspense, Harvest. She introduced detective Jane Rizzoli in The Surgeon (2001) and Dr. Maura Isles in The Apprentice (2002) and has gone on to write numerous other titles in the celebrated Rizzoli & Isles series, including The Mephisto Club, The Keepsake, Ice Cold, The Silent Girl, Last to Die, and Die Again. Her latest novel is the standalone thriller Playing with Fire. A physician, Tess Gerritsen lives in Maine.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

TWO
Boston
It was the mailman who called it in. Eleven fifteen a.m., shaky voice on a cell phone: I’m on Sanborn Avenue, West Roxbury, 02132. The dog—I saw the dog in the window . . . And that’s how it came to the attention of Boston PD. A cascade of events that started with an alert mail carrier, one in an army of foot soldiers deployed six days a week in neighborhoods across America. They are the eyes of the nation, sometimes the only eyes that notice which elderly widow has not collected her mail, which old bachelor doesn’t answer his doorbell, and which porch has a yellowing pile of newspapers.
The first clue that something was amiss inside the large house on Sanborn Avenue, zip code 02132, was the overstuffed mailbox, something that US postal carrier Luis Muniz first noticed on day number two. Two days’ worth of uncollected mail wasn’t necessarily a cause for alarm. People go away for the weekend. People forget to request a hold on home delivery.
But on day number three, Muniz started to worry.
On day number four, when Muniz opened the mailbox and found it still jam-packed with catalogs and magazines and bills, he knew he had to take action.
“So he knocks on the front door,” said Patrolman Gary Root. “Nobody answers. He figures he’ll check with the next-door neighbor, see if she knows what’s going on. Then he looks in the window and spots the dog.”
“That dog over there?” asked Detective Jane Rizzoli, pointing to a friendly-looking golden retriever who was now tied to the mailbox.
“Yeah, that’s him. The tag on his collar says his name’s Bruno. I took him outta the house, before he could do any more . . .” Patrolman Root swallowed. “Damage.”
“And the mail carrier? Where’s he?”
“Took the rest of the day off. Probably getting a stiff drink somewhere. I got his contact info, but he probably can’t tell you much more than what I just told you. He never went inside the house, just called nine one one. I was first on the scene, found the front door unlocked. Walked in and . . .” He shook his head. “Wish I hadn’t.”
“You talk to anyone else?”
“The nice lady next door. She came out when she saw the cruisers parked out here, wanted to know what was going on. All I told her was that her neighbor was dead.”
Jane turned and faced the house where Bruno the friendly retriever had been trapped. It was an older two-story, single-family home with a porch, a two-car garage, and mature trees in front. The garage door was closed, and a black Ford Explorer, registered to the homeowner, was parked in the driveway. This morning, there would have been nothing to distinguish the residence from the other well-kept houses on Sanborn Avenue, nothing that would catch a cop’s eye and make him think: Wait a minute, there’s something wrong here. But now there were two patrol cars parked at the curb, rack lights flashing, which made it obvious to anyone passing by that yes, something was very wrong here. Something that Jane and her partner, Barry Frost, were about to confront. Across the street, a gathering crowd of neighbors stood gaping at the house. Had any of them noticed the occupant hadn’t been seen in a few days, hadn’t walked his dog or picked up his mail? Now they were probably telling one another: Yeah, I knew something wasn’t right. Everyone’s brilliant in retrospect.
“You want to walk us through the house?” Frost asked Patrolman Root.
“You know what?” said Root. “I’d rather not. I finally got the smell outta my nose, and I don’t care for another whiff of it.”
Frost swallowed. “Uh . . . that bad?”
“I was in there maybe thirty seconds, tops. My partner didn’t last even that long. It’s not like there’s anything in there I need to point out to you. You can’t miss it.” He looked at the golden retriever, who responded with a playful bark. “Poor pup, trapped in there with nothing to eat. I know he had no choice, but still . . .”
Jane glanced at Frost, who was staring at the house like a condemned prisoner facing the gallows. “What’d you have for lunch?” she asked him.
“Turkey sandwich. Potato chips.”
“Hope you enjoyed it.”
“This isn’t helping, Rizzoli.”
They climbed the porch steps and paused to pull on gloves and shoe covers. “You know,” she said, “there’s this pill called Compazine.”
“Yeah?”
“Works pretty good for morning sickness.”
“Great. When I get knocked up, I’ll give it a try.”
They looked at each other and she saw him take a deep breath, just as she was doing. One last gulp of clean air. With a gloved hand, she opened the door, and they stepped inside. Frost lifted his arm to cover his nose, blocking the smell that they were far too familiar with. Whether you called it cadaverine or putrescine, or any other chemical name, it all came down to the stench of death. But it was not the smell that made Jane and Frost pause just inside the door; it was what they saw hanging on the walls.
Everywhere they looked, eyes stared back at them. A whole gallery of the dead, confronting these new intruders.
“Jesus,” murmured Frost. “Was he some kind of big-game hunter?”
“Well, that is definitely big game,” said Jane, staring up at the mounted head of a rhino, and wondering what kind of bullet it took to kill such a creature. Or the Cape buffalo beside it. She moved slowly past the row of trophies, her shoe covers swishing across the wood floor, gaping at animal heads so life-like she almost expected the lion to roar. “Are these even legal? Who the hell shoots a leopard these days?”
“Look. The dog wasn’t the only pet running around in here.”
A variety of reddish-brown paw prints tracked across the wood floor. The larger set would match Bruno, the golden retriever, but there were smaller prints as well, dotted throughout the room. Brown smears on the windowsill marked where Bruno had propped up his front paws to look out at the mail carrier. But it wasn’t merely the sight of a dog that caused Luis Muniz to dial 911; it was what protruded from that dog’s mouth.
A human finger.
She and Frost followed the trail of paw prints, passing beneath the glassy eyes of a zebra and a lion, a hyena and a warthog. This collector did not discriminate by size; even the smallest creatures had their ignominious place on these walls, including four mice posed with tiny china cups, seated around a miniature table. A Mad Hatter’s grotesque tea party.
As they moved through the living room and into a hallway, the stench of putrefaction grew stronger. Though she could not yet see its source, Jane could hear the ominous buzz of its supplicants. A fat fly buzzed a few lazy circles around her head and drifted away through a doorway.
Always follow the flies. They know where dinner is served.
The door hung ajar. Just as Jane pushed it wider, something white streaked out and shot past her feet.
“Holy crap!” yelled Frost.
Heart banging, Jane glanced back at the pair of eyes peering out from under the living room sofa. “It’s just a cat.” She gave a relieved laugh. “That explains the smaller paw prints.”
“Wait, you hear that?” said Frost. “I think there’s another cat in there.”
Jane took a breath and stepped through the doorway, into the garage. A gray tabby trotted...

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Verlag
Ballantine Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2015
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345543874
ISBN 13 
9780345543875
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
432
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

Friedensallee 273
Hamburg
22763
Deutschland

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