"Okay, sunshine!" Roger laughed as he watched his daughter Sarah run around the Boston playground, swinging across the monkey bars and sliding down the spiral slide. "Time to go home." The little girl pouted noticeably, a large frown spreading across her face. "But Daddy," she whined, "I'm not done playing!" To prove her point, she ran towards the swing set and hopped on one of the swings, rocking back and forth to get it going.

Roger chuckled, walking over to stand beside Sarah, his hand reaching forward to hold onto the chain of the swing, slowing it down and eventually stopping it. "C'mon, sweetie. Mommy's gonna be home from work soon." His daughter pouted again, her bottom lip sticking out quite obviously. Roger knelt down, putting on a serious face. "You shouldn't stick that out. A bird might come and poop on it!"

A look of panic passed across the child's face as she sucked in her bottom lip and immediately looked to the sky, fearing a bird might be passing over her at that very moment. When she was sure there was no threat of bird poop falling on her, Sarah looked at her father, who was laughing again. "Daddy! That wasn't funny!" She paused, kicking at the ground in thought. Then an idea occurred to her. "Can we play Hide-n-Seek one more time? Please?" She bat her eyelashes and gave her father her biggest, cheesiest smile.

Roger paused, watching his daughter for a moment. He then smiled, closing his eyes. "One... two... three..."

Sarah squealed and darted off to the trees surrounding the playground, searching for the perfect place to hide from her father.

"... eight... nine... ten! Ready or not, here I come!" shouted Roger, opening his eyes and standing up. He glanced around the playground and, when he couldn't spot his daughter, looked to the trees. Smiling to himself, he began to walk towards them. "Sarah!" he called, his eyes moving from tree to tree. "Where are you?" Roger hardly expected her to respond; he certainly didn't expect to hear a scream not twenty feet from him. His face paled, fearing the worst, and he darted over to where the scream came from. "Sarah? Sarah! Baby, are you okay?" he yelled as he ran. Roger spotted his daughter at the side of a large tree, staring down at the ground, her body rigid.

Skidding to a stop and kneeling down to take his daughter in his harms, Roger looked her over. "Are you okay sweetie? You're not hurt, are you? What were you screaming abou-"

And then he saw it. A body was lying at the base of the tree, pale and lifeless, bound in duct tape, cut in dozens of places – and the face completely gone, the skull clearly visible. Roger maneuvered Sarah away from the body, pressing her face into his chest so she couldn't see it. He looked around for any other people, then back to the dead woman on the ground. Pulling out his cell phone, Roger dialed 9-1-1.

"H-Hello? Police? There's a... a dead body in Myrtle Street Playground. Yeah, a dead body."

"Maura, tell me again why I'm doing this."

Jane looked at herself in the mirror again, a mix between a pout and a scowl on her face. She did not like wearing dresses. Maura knew that. So why was she wearing one now?

Maura, who had been busy looking through her mail, answered without even looking up. "Because it's for you, Jane. It's a 'Welcome Back' party for a reason. If you don't go, what is the point of having one?" She glanced over at Jane, giving her a small smile. The detective added more pout to her expression, turning to look at herself more fully. "But... I mean, this dress – "

"You don't like it?" asked Maura, walking over to Jane.

The detective shrugged. "I don't know. It's nice, I guess. I just, I don't see why I have to wear one. Why can't I just wear my normal day clothes?" She looked at Maura's reflection, her pout growing more and more pronounced.

Maura just stared back. "Your normal day clothes would not be appropriate for the occasion, Jane. This party isn't 'normal' and it isn't in the day." She paused, looking at the outfit in its entirety. "Besides, I think the dress looks fantastic on you. It's better than that black dress your mother got you, and that looked great." She smiled, her eyes moving back up to look at the detective's face. A smile twitched at Jane's lips as she stared at herself in the mirror, running her hands down her front and sides. She sighed. "Fine. But I don't want anyone to get all mushy or anything," she muttered, sending a warning glance to Maura.

The medical examiner tilted her head curiously. "Mushy?"

Jane turned to face her friend fully. "You know, mushy. I don't want everyone acting all nice just because I got shot."

"You shot yourself, Jane."

"Oh whatever!" retorted the detective, dismissing the comment with a wave of her hand. "You know what I mean. It was all part of the job. I don't want people getting all gooey about it."

Maura rolled her eyes. "Jane, remember who these people are. They're your colleagues, men who respect you and what you did. You can't expect them not to get at least somewhat emotional over what happened."

Jane's stare made the medical examiner shift uncomfortably. She cleared her throat, opening her mouth to say something more, when her phone rang. A second later, Jane's phone followed. Maura darted over to hers, answering it with a succinct "Dr. Isles," her eyes glancing up just in time to see the detective gesture something to the effect of we're going to finish this later before answering her phone in a similar manner. "Rizzoli."

The two women looked at one another, knowing they were both getting the same message. Homicide at a nearby playground. Great.

Jane pointed at Maura once they were both off the phone. "Help me outta this dress. I think now's the appropriate occasion for my day clothes, don't you think?"

Dr. Isles frowned. This was a nasty case. Literally. She knelt down to take a closer look at the body, her eyes unable to avoid the face, or lack thereof. "Female," she said to the detective, who was standing beside her. "Mid- to late-twenties." Maura glanced at the rest of the body, looking over the obvious cuts and bruises. They stopped on the fingers. "Jane, look."

The detective tilted her head and knelt down beside the medical examiner. Maura pointed at the tips of the fingers. "Her finger pads have been burned... burned beyond recognition. No chance for fingerprints." She looked at Jane, who furrowed her brows.

"Damn. No I.D. on her, either." Jane groaned in frustration, standing back up and looking around. "Let's get this body out of here. I don't want any more kids seeing this." She turned to Frost, clenching her jaw, her hands on her hips. "Get a sample of her DNA from Maura and run it through the system. See if anything shows up."

"And if it doesn't?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't know."