“It looked like some kind of a weird ritual setup to us,” said Frost. “The chalk circle, the burned candles.”

“This certainly appears ritualistic.” Zucker looked up, and the glitter in his eyes made a chill wash up the back of Jane’s neck. “Did the perp draw this circle?”

Jane hesitated, startled by his question. “You mean-as opposed to the victim?”

“I’m not making any assumptions here. I hope you don’t either. What makes you so certain the victim didn’t draw this circle? That she didn’t start off as a willing participant in the ritual?”

Jane felt like laughing. Yeah, I’d volunteer to get my head cut off, too. She said, “It had to be the killer who drew that circle and lit those candles. Because we found no pieces of chalk in the house. After he used it to draw on that kitchen floor, he took it with him.”

Zucker leaned back in his chair, thinking. “So this killer dismembers, but doesn’t conceal the body parts. He doesn’t disfigure the face. He leaves little in the way of forensic evidence, indicating an awareness of law enforcement. Yet he hands us-so to speak-the biggest clue of all: the body part of another victim.” He paused. “Was there semen left behind?”

“None was detected in the victim’s body.”

“And the crime scene?”

“CSU went all over that house with UV. The CrimeScope picked up hairs too numerous to count, but no semen.”

“Again, characteristic of cognitive behavior. He leaves no evidence of sexual activity. If he is indeed a sexual killer, then he’s controlled enough to wait until it’s safe to enjoy his release.”

“And if he’s not a sexual killer?” asked Marquette.

“Then I’m not entirely sure what all of this represents,” said Zucker. “But the dismemberment, the display of body parts. The candles, the chalk circle.” He looked around the table. “I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing. Satanic rituals.”

“It was Christmas Eve,” added Marquette. “The holiest of nights.”

“And our killer isn’t there to honor the Prince of Peace,” said Zucker. “No, he’s trying to summon the Prince of Darkness.”

“There’s one other photo you should look at,” said Jane, pointing to the stack of images that Zucker hadn’t yet seen. “There was some writing, left on the wall. Drawn in the victim’s blood.”

Zucker found the photo. “Three upside-down crosses,” he said. “These could well have satanic meanings. But what are these symbols beneath the crosses?”

“It’s a word.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s a reverse image. You can read it if you hold it up to a mirror.”

Zucker’s eyebrow lifted. “You do know, don’t you, the significance of mirror writing?”

“No. What’s the significance?”

“When the Devil makes a deal to buy your soul, the pact is drawn up and signed in mirror writing.” He frowned at the word. “So what does it say?”

“Peccavi. It’s Latin. It means: ‘I have sinned.’”

“A confession?” suggested Marquette.

“Or a boast,” said Zucker. “Announcing to Satan, ‘I’ve done your bidding, Master.’” He gazed at all the photos laid out on the table. “I would love to get this killer into an interview room. There’s so much symbolism here. Why did he arrange the body parts in just this way? What’s the meaning of the hand on the plate? The four place settings on the dining table?”

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” Detective Kassovitz said softly. It was one of the few times she’d spoken during the meeting.

“Why do you suggest that?” asked Zucker.

“We’re talking about Satan. About sin.” Kassovitz cleared her throat, seemed to gain her voice as she sat straighter. “These are biblical themes.”

“The four place settings could also mean he has three invisible friends who are joining him for a midnight snack,” said Jane.

“You don’t buy into the biblical theme?” said Zucker.

“I know it looks like Satanism,” said Jane. “I mean, we’ve got it all here-the circle and the candles. The mirror writing, the upside down crosses. It’s like we’re supposed to come to that conclusion.”

“You think it was merely staged this way?”

“Maybe to hide the real reason Lori-Ann Tucker was killed.”

“What motives would there be? Did she have romantic problems?”

“She’s divorced, but her ex-husband lives in New Mexico. They apparently had an amicable parting. She moved to Boston only three months ago. There seem to be no boyfriends.”

“She had a job?”

Eve Kassovitz said, “I interviewed her supervisor over at the Science Museum. Lori-Ann worked in the gift shop. No one knew of any conflicts or any problems.”

Zucker asked, “Are we absolutely sure about that?” He directed his question at Jane, not Kassovitz, a snub that made Kassovitz flush. It was yet another blow to her already battered self-esteem.

“Detective Kassovitz just told you what we know,” said Jane, backing up her teammate.

“Okay,” said Zucker. “Then why was this woman killed? Why stage it to look like Satanism, if it really isn’t?”

“To make it interesting. To draw attention.”

Zucker laughed. “As if it wouldn’t already draw our attention?”

“Not ours. The attention of someone who’s much more important to this perp.”

“You’re talking about Dr. O’Donnell, aren’t you?”

“We know the killer called O’Donnell, but she claims she wasn’t home.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“We can’t confirm it, since she erased any phone message. She said it was a hang-up call.”

“What makes you think that’s not the truth?”

“You know who she is, don’t you?”

He regarded her for a moment. “I know you two have had conflicts. That her friendship with Warren Hoyt bothers you.”

“This isn’t about me and O’Donnell-”

“But it is. She maintains a friendship with the man who almost killed you, the man whose most deeply held fantasy is to complete that job.”

Jane leaned forward, every muscle suddenly taut. “Don’t go there, Dr. Zucker,” she said quietly.

He stared at her, and something he saw in her eyes made him slowly lean back in retreat. “You consider O’Donnell a suspect?” he said.

“I don’t trust her. She’s a gunslinger for the bad guys. Pay her enough to testify, and she’ll walk into court and defend just about any killer. She’ll claim he’s neurologically damaged and not responsible for his actions. That he belongs in a hospital, not a jail.”

Marquette added, “She’s not popular with law enforcement, Dr. Zucker. Anywhere.”

“Look, even if we loved her,” said Jane, “we’re still left with unanswered questions. Why did the killer call her from the crime scene? Why wasn’t she at home? Why won’t she tell us where she was?”

“Because she knows you’re already hostile.”

She has no idea how hostile I can get.

“Detective Rizzoli, are you implying that Dr. O’Donnell had something to do with this crime?”

“No. But she’s not above exploiting it. Feeding off it. Whether she meant to or not, she inspired it.”

“How?”

“You know how a pet cat will sometimes kill a mouse and bring it home to its master as sort of an offering? A token of affection?”

“You think our killer is trying to impress O’Donnell.”

“That’s why he called her. That’s why he set up this elaborate death scene, to pique her interest. Then, to make sure his work gets noticed, he calls nine-one-one. And a few hours later, while we’re standing in the kitchen, he calls the victim’s house from a pay phone, just to make sure we’re there. This perp is reeling us all in. Law enforcement. And O’Donnell.”

Marquette said, “Does she realize how much danger she could be in? Being the focus of a killer’s attention?”

“She didn’t seem too impressed.”

“What does it take to scare that woman?”

“Maybe when he sends her that little token of affection. The equivalent of a dead mouse.” Jane paused. “Let’s not forget. Lori-Ann Tucker’s hand is still missing.”