Chapter Text
.....
“Detective Rizzoli, so nice to see you.” The long lean form of the assistant medical examiner stood to his full height, his spindly limbs giving weight to the praying mantis moniker he had been given by the Homicide crew.
Jane covered her shudder and her eye roll. “Dr. Pike. What have we got?”
To his dismay, she crouched down to look at the body, and he was compelled to fold himself towards the ground once more. “We have a dead body.”
This time, she couldn’t hide her snort. She glanced around the small living room, swiftly collecting images in her mind for later retrieval. On the surface, it all seemed ordinary, apart from the half dozen people milling about in Tyvex onesies, going about the business that was required in the presence of a dead body. Photos and valuables all seemed in place, and anything hiding its secret life as a murder weapon sat innocently on an end table or bookshelf. She looked down to the body at her feet.
She pointed to the 5-inch opening on the victim’s forehead. “Cause of death?”
Pike grunted. “Seems fairly obvious, Detective.”
She nodded, but frowned. “Seemed fairly obvious the last two times, too.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She stood and slipped her hands into her pockets. Shrugging, she said, “Mindy Paulsen, 5 weeks ago. Mikel Innis 12 days later. Now,” she checked her notes, “Paige Malova.” The small spiral pad went back into her pocket, as did her hands. “Seems like once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is…” her voice trailed off, the end of the phrase abandoning her.
Pike stood beside her. “Ian Fleming said ‘Three times is enemy action’.” He glanced at the body, then back to Jane. With a scoff, he asked, “You’re not suggesting this is a serial killer?” Before she could respond, he held up his hand. “With all due respect, Detective, perhaps you returned to work too soon. You’re seeing serial killers in shadows.” He didn’t seem to notice the tension in her jaw. “I have no doubt we’ll find the same thing in Ms. Malova that we found in the other 2 souls - a higher than recommended level of alcohol or barbiturates. A loss of senses, a fall, and a tragic death.” He wrinkled his nose at the word ‘tragic’; it made Jane even more rigid.
“Still, I’d like to talk to Dr. Merrill and get his opinion.”
Pike looked like he had been slapped. “I assure you,” he said, “Dr. Merrill concurs with my findings. Now, as much as your beauty enchants me, I have work to do.”
“Yeah, must take a lot of work to be that incompetent,” a voice to Jane’s left muttered at Pike’s exit.
Jane turned sharply. “Korsak. What are you doing here?” She heard the tone of her voice and took a deep breath. “I mean, not much for you to do. Looks like it might be exactly what Pike says - blunt force trauma to the head caused by a fall.”
His shrug was casual and easy. “Hard to turn down an opportunity to see a genius at work,” he deadpanned. “Besides, your new partner doesn’t start ‘til Monday and I…” He looked away. “Anyway, just seeing if you needed an extra hand.”
She laughed without humour. “Nope. Just two new ones.” She held hers up and wiggled her fingers before quickly hiding them from sight.
“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Korsak rubbed his forehead. “I wasn’t thinking.”
She softened a little at his distress. “It’s fine, Korsak. Really. I’m just knee-jerking because of Pike. I wish Merrill hadn’t handed over M.E duties to that ass.”
He made a face. “You an’ me both. But what can you do? Merrill’s retiring at the end of the year, and the closer he gets to the end, the less he wants to do.”
“Do you think he’ll give it to Pike? The Chief position, I mean?”
“Thankfully, he can’t,” Korsak said, shaking his head. “I think the Governor has to pick or something.”
“I guess that’s some good news.”
“What are you thinking about these cases, Jane?”
“Nothing. I mean, you know, if Pike determines a fall as the cause of death, not much I can do about it, right?”
If her evasiveness offended him, he didn’t show it. “Okay. I guess we should track down the next of kin and do the visits.”
Jane pulled a frown. “I hate that.”
“I know, which is why I’m gonna do it. But you gotta do the report.”
In the past, the decision would have been immediate. She hated doing the dead knocks, but her hands twitched at the thought of filling out 10 pages of paper work. Korsak waited patiently, and she wasn’t sure if it offended her more than if he’d called her out on her hesitancy. “Deal,” she said at last.
“Great,” he replied, as if it was business as usual. “I’ll go pick up Irene. You know she’s the best one for these kinds of things. I'll bring you a coffee on the way back."
"Great." She waited until he was gone and, after a quick glance around, she clenched her fingers tightly and winced at the jolt of painful release.
.....
"Good thing we don't have those old manual typewriters, huh, Rizzoli? You'd be here all day cranking that lil' knob!"
She didn't bother to look up at the speaker. "Me and your wife would have so much more in common, Detective Crowe."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She slowly raised her head and gave a nonchalant shrug. "I'm just saying, I imagine it takes your wife all day to crank that little knob." Her eyes flicked down to his crotch, and back again.
A loud laugh from across the room drew Crowe's ire. "Yeah, well, you won't be cranking anyone's knob for awhile with those hands, will ya, Rizzoli?"
"Tell your wife to give me a call. You obviously don’t know how lady parts work."
"Hey!" a shout came from the Lieutenant's door. "The people of Boston don't pay you clowns to fuck around all day. Rizzoli, you need me to get someone to fill out those reports for you?"
She bristled. "No, sir."
"Good. So get to it. How 'bout you, Crowe? Last I heard, you were waitin' for a search warrant on the Norrie case."
"Still waiting."
"What the fuck for? That was yesterday. Get on the ADA and get the fuckin' warrant already."
"Asshole," Jane muttered as Crowe slinked away. Realizing she said it out loud, she looked sharply at her boss. "Not you, sir."
A small smirk twitched the corner of his mouth. "I know. Just... try an' ignore it, okay?" He waited for her nod before returning to his office, slamming the door behind him.
She sat back, tossing the pencils she’d been using to type onto her desk. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and made a motion to press her fingertips against them, until she realized it would expose her hands. So instead, she tucked them under her arms.
A year, she thought. It's been a fucking year. You've been back for 5 months. When are you going to get over it? Images of leering smiles and glinting scalpels flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes tighter. Charles Hoyt. The Couple Killer. A case so far-reaching that the Governor thought it best to call in the Feds. She remembered how pissed off she was when she was told she'd be sharing the case, how she took it as a personal slight. Youngest to make Detective, and a woman to boot. They clearly thought she couldn't handle it, even though she was paired with a man who had over 20 years of experience. Instead of trusting them to do their jobs, the Governor brought it the suits, the profiler, and the medical examin-
She sat up suddenly. The medical examiner. What was her name? Brought in because they said she was the best of the best. Could find a grain of sand in a haystack, they said. Six months on the case and Jane never met her. Most of her work was done from Washington, and all findings went through the suits first. Jane clicked on her e-mail folder and scrolled until she found it. Preliminary findings on Victims 1 and 2. The only e-mail she had received, before the Feds cut off the information pipeline.
Dr. Maura Isles.
She grabbed the pencils and began typing.
.....
"Yes, Agent Tressler, I'm well aware that time is of the essence. However, as I have yet found a way to manipulate time, the DNA results will take as long as they take. Yes, I agree things would get done faster if we had the technology available to the agents on CSI. Perhaps you can bring that up in the next department meeting." Dr. Maura Isles hung up without further comment and returned her attention to her laptop. There was something in the toxicology report of the Pennsylvania case that fluttered at the edges of her mind. She frowned, unable to bring it into focus. The e-mail notification bell made her blink. Knowing the answer would remain out of reach until she allowed her thoughts to clear, she clicked on the envelope icon.
A line formed between her brows as she read the message:
Dr. Isles,
You don’t know me. I mean, we haven’t met personally, but I have worked with you in the past. Well, I worked with the Feds who worked with you, but we worked a case “together” a year ago. I don’t know if you’ll remember it. Charles Hoyt. We got him on 7 counts of murder. The Couple Killer, the press called him. Anyway, despite my initial feelings about getting the Feds involved, I was really impressed by your work, and the trace evidence you found on one of the victims helped us not only find him, but prevented him from killing anyone else. Which is why I’m emailing you today.
I’ve got 3 dead people spread out over the last 5 weeks. The assistant M.E here says all natural causes, but I don’t know. My gut says there’s more going on, but my boss takes his cue from the M.E’s office, so officially, the cases are closed. I know this sounds crazy, but you’re good at things like this. Is there any chance you’d have a look? I could email you the files, the reports, whatever you need. You’re the first (and only) person I could think of.
Thanks for any help you give.
Sincerely,
Detective Jane Rizzoli
Boston Police Department
Homicide Division
Maura let her eyes skim over the message a second time, committing the information to memory as she went. Of course she remembered Charles Hoyt. In a job where horrific cases seemed endless, this was one of the more memorable ones. Usually a prolific and methodical killer, in the end, a tiny mistake was his undoing. Upon examining the duct tape that Hoyt had used to bind one of his victims, Maura had found the smallest edge of a fingerprint in the residue; it was enough to match it against the prints the Emory School of Medicine had on file. It also launched the pursuit of their former disgraced student.
She glanced at the message again. I wonder how long it took her to type it? Recovery from damage to the lumbrical muscles and median nerves could take months, not to mention extensive physical therapy. Was the sever thin enough for the nerve to regenerate on its own or did they need to use a donor nerve to repair it? Did they take it from the sural nerve in her leg or the medial antebrachial cutaneous nerve in her arm? Numbness is a common side effect. I wonder how-
Maura shook her head. “I wonder how I find the time to get anything done,” she chastised herself out loud before typing out a reply.
…..
Detective Rizzoli,
May I preface this note by saying how flattered I am that you remember me, and that you would think of me first (and only) in light of your current situation.
Unfortunately, due to the jurisdictional minefield I fear we’d be traversing, I’m afraid I must deny your request for assistance. However, should your medical examiner's office contact me, I'd be more than happy to work with you again.
Regretfully yours,
Dr. Maura Isles
…..
Jane pulled back from the monitor. “What the hell…?”
“What the hell what?” Korsak asked, entering the bullpen.
“What? Oh, nothing,” Jane replied, then shrugged. “Take a look at this. If you can decipher it into English, that would be great.”
“Have your coffee and let me see.” He handed her the steaming cup and slipped on his reading glasses. A quick perusal made him chuckle. “I remember her. Dr. Isles. No nonsense kinda gal. Bit standoffish, but can you blame her? The Feds are assholes. And to translate, she’d like to help, but jurisdiction red tape is enough to make anyone say, ‘Thanks but no thanks’.” He put the glasses back in his breast pocket. “What’s this about ‘current situation’? Didn’t know there was a case that needed an extra set of eyes outside the department.”
She held the hot cup between her hands and savoured the heat against her palms. Using the steam as an excuse to cover her delay, she blew on the liquid and finally said, “Just some old cold cases. I thought since she did such a good job with Hoyt, she might want to take a look.”
The answer seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded appreciatively. “Good thinkin’. But try not to solve all your cold cases before Monday. Gotta have something to give the new guy.”
As she watched him walk towards his desk, Jane felt a pang of guilt. Because of what had happened between them in Hoyt’s basement, she had been the one to ask for “the new guy.” She was never one for words, so how could she explain that their partnership changed that night? She wasn’t sure he’d understand anyway.
“What do you know about him?”
Korsak shrugged. “Young, up-and-coming kid from Robbery. Heard he’s a computer whiz, which immediately improves this squad of technological dinosaurs.”
“Hey!” Jane objected, pointing at her keyboard. “I’m sending a newfangled electronic letter right now!”
“I’m sure Bill Gates is knocking at your door.”
She made a face, but returned to the monitor. Opening up the reply box, she started typing.
…..
Dr. Isles,
Thank you for your quick reply. I'm sorry to hear you can't help, but I absolutely understand. I can only imagine that a woman in your position needs to be careful whose toes she steps on.
Part of the reason I'm contacting you is because of a lack of interest on their part, so don't bother waiting for a letter from the M.E. I'm sure I'll be able to figure this out on my own before anyone else is murdered. I'm probably just crazy anyway. Sorry to waste your time.
Thanks again for your reply.
Jane Rizzoli
.....
Maura pulled back, quietly amused by the detective's response.
Detective,
Considering my qualifications, I'm not sure whether to commend you for trying to guilt me into accepting, or be appalled at the amateurish attempt. I seem to be leaning towards the former, because against my better judgment, I am agreeing to let you send me the files you think are relevant to your problem. That, and I suspect I am little match for your determination, and I'm concerned all this typing is detrimental to your recovery.
Please be aware, this is strictly an unofficial discussion between two colleagues. Should I be asked, that is the answer I will be giving. I suggest you do the same.
M.I.
.....
The comment about her hands took some of the wind out of her sails, and she drew in a stuttered breath. Of course she would know, Jane told herself. It was a part of the final report, filed both by the BPD and the FBI. Just another line in the chronology of Charles Hoyt's murderous spree. A line that meant nothing to anyone but her.
Her mind pushed aside the need to find out how much the doctor knew, and the temporary flush of self-pity. If it meant unearthing injustice, her pride could be damned. She attached the files to one final email.
You’re the best. Thank you!
Jane
She was surprised to get an almost immediate response:
There isn’t nearly enough empirical evidence to support your claim.
But thank you.
M.I.
It took a moment to decipher the meaning, but when it became clear, a broad grin spread across her face. The feeling was almost foreign to her, and she wondered how long it had been since she had really smiled.
…..
"Don't you dare try to sneak in and out of here without saying hello to your mother!"
Mid-afternoon meant the station cafe was quiet, and the command rang out even louder than usual. Jane rolled her eyes and pasted a smile on her face. "Hello, mother."
"Uh-huh. Come sit down. I'll fix you a sandwich. You're still not eating enough."
Jane allowed herself to be led to a small table where she plopped into a chair. "And no man wants a skinny woman, right, Ma?"
"I didn't say that," the older woman replied. "Though that handsome guy from the Drug Unit was asking about you?"
"Martinez?"
"That's the one."
"Oh, god," Jane groaned. “How many times to do I have to say I’m not interested?”
“Well, one day you might be, so what’s wrong with keeping your options open?”
“You know I’m not interested in those options, Ma.”
Angela held up her hand. “Just a thought!” Softening her tone, she asked, “How are things?”
She didn’t miss her mother’s downward glance and immediately slid her hands under the table. “Things are fine.”
Angela clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You never talk to me anymore.”
“That’s because the department is paying a shrink to listen to me,” Jane said, her brightness fake and empty.
“You still seeing him?”
“Once a month until the end of the year. Yay.”
“And the physical therapist?”
“That ran out six months ago, Ma.” She shrugged away her mother’s surprise.
“Oh, my angel.”
Unexpectedly, she felt the tears prick her eyes at the childhood endearment. “Ma…”
“I’m gonna get you that sandwich. How about I make you a grilled cheese?”
“Tomato soup?”
Angela smiled and kissed Jane’s temple. “What else would I give you with it?”
…..