The Mephisto Club: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel: A Novel
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Evil exists. Evil walks the streets. And evil has spawned a diabolical new disciple in this white-knuckle thriller from New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen.
The Latin word is scrawled in blood at the scene of a young woman’s brutal murder: I HAVE SINNED. It’s a chilling Christmas greeting for Boston medical examiner Maura Isles and Detective Jane Rizzoli, who swiftly link the victim to controversial celebrity psychiatrist Joyce O’Donnell–Jane’s professional nemesis and member of a sinister cabal called the Mephisto Club.
On top of Beacon Hill, the club’s acolytes devote themselves to the analysis of evil: Can it be explained by science? Does it have a physical presence? Do demons walk the earth? Drawing on a wealth of dark historical data and mysterious religious symbolism, the Mephisto scholars aim to prove a startling theory: that Satan himself exists among us.
With the grisly appearance of a corpse on their doorstep, it’s clear that someone–or something–is indeed prowling the city. The members of the club begin to fear the very subject of their study. Could this maniacal killer be one of their own–or have they inadvertently summoned an evil entity from the darkness?
Delving deep into the most baffling and unusual case of their careers, Maura and Jane embark on a terrifying journey to the very heart of evil, where they encounter a malevolent foe more dangerous than any they have ever faced . . . one whose work is only just beginning.
From the Hardcover edition.
Lotta cooking, lotta garbage.” “So we’re looking at a time of death between six and ten P.M.” “That’s right.” “And the last time Detective Kassovitz was seen alive by her boyfriend?” “About three this afternoon. Just before he headed to his shift.” “So he has an alibi.” “Airtight. Partner was with him all evening.” Tripp paused. “You need to take a body temp or something? ’Cause we already got the ambient temperature if you need it. It’s twelve degrees.” Maura eyed the corpse’s heavy
did not waste time with pleasantries. “You need to be more respectful of Anthony Sansone,” he said. In the kitchen, she could hear Korsak laughing, and the sound suddenly irritated her. If you’re going to flirt with my mom, for God’s sake, take it somewhere else. “I hear you’ve been giving him and his friends a hard time,” said Marquette. “Maybe you could define what you mean by hard time?” “You questioned him for nearly two hours. Grilled his butler, his dinner guests. Then you went back to
record of ATM withdrawals during that period from banks in Rome, Florence, and Sorrento. But she doesn’t use her credit card very much.” “Eight months as a tourist? How does she afford that?” “She travels on the cheap. And I do mean cheap. Fourth-class hotels all the way. Plus, she may be working there illegally. I know she had a brief job in Florence, assisting a museum curator.” “She has the training for that?” “She has a college degree in classical studies. And when she was still a
walls, originally?” asked the German man. Lily had pegged him as a businessman. In his sixties, he spoke excellent English and wore an expensive Burberry coat. But his wife, Lily suspected, was not so fluent in English, as the woman had said scarcely a word all morning. “These are the foundations of homes that were here in Nero’s time,” said Lily. “The great fire of A.D. 64 reduced this neighborhood to charred rubble.” “Is that the fire when Nero fiddled while Rome burned?” the American man
flanking him. These people were taking no chances that she might escape. She had no choice but to go with them. She stepped out, her legs stiff from the ride, and followed the German up stone steps to the terrace. A cold wind swept leaves across her path, scattering them like ashes. Even before they’d reached the entrance, the door swung open and an elderly man stood waiting to greet them. He gave Lily only a cursory glance, then turned his attention to the German. “The room is ready for her,”