Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Note: This story is not in the "Supernatural" category/genre for a reason. I'm actually lifting the general idea of this story from an episode of an old cop show (a Mighty Marvel No-Prize to the first one who guesses which old cop show). What can I say - talent borrows, genius steals; I get it off the back of a truck, no questions asked.
I'm relatively new to R&I, and I haven't seen every episode, so I hope I'm getting these characters right.
Shirley Beckwith never expected to die in such a ludicrous manner.
She walked quickly across the parking PO on the last night of her life, grumbling about another late night at the office instead of having a drink with friends in one of the many nearby bars. Company cutbacks meant fewer people to handle more work for the same money, if they were lucky.
Shirley didn't feel lucky. She felt watched.
In spite of the lights from the Boston skyline, the parking lot could have been a lot brighter for Shirley's taste. As she walked, she fumbled in her purse for her keys and the pepper spray she wasn't sure she packed in there that morning.
Finally. Her old-but-trusty Nissan appeared out of the gloom. Her keys finally in hand, she gave up in the pepper spray and concentrated on getting the correct key in the door, cursing herself for the hundredth time for not springing for one of the automatic unlocking button thingies. She had the door key in the lock when she spotted the reflection in the window that wasn't hers.
Spinning around with a gasp, she froze - not merely because the figure was charging towards her, but because it was wearing some kind of long coat... Or cape.
Shirley's last coherent thought before the hand closed on her throat was Are you kidding me?
Jane Rizzoli knew she was in for a rough day as soon as she saw the UPS truck in front of Maura's house.
"Ohhh, brother." For a fleeting second, she contemplated just putting the car in reverse and just heading straight to BPD headquarters. Before the impulse fully formed, however, Jane had already parked and was walking to the front door. No use putting off this dentist trip.
After a perfunctory knock, Jane opened the door and called out, "Maura?" Hearing her friend answer with a greeting, Jane walked into the living room - and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight.
Maura Isles, M.E., stood holding a samurai sword. Strewn around the living room were several other lethal implements: bo staffs, short swords similar in style to the samurai; nunchakus, sais, even a brace of throwing stars. The remnants of several cardboard boxes also littered the living room.
Jane forced a smile on her face as Maura beamed at her like a kid on Christmas morning (in Japan, maybe). "Good morning, Jane," Maura said, warmly enough but subdued In that certain way that only Jane could discern. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."
"For what? An attack from Sonny Chiba?"
Maura frowned. "I don't know anybody by that name." She swung her sword in a slow arc, releasing a hah! of air. Jane stepped back, semi-seriously fearing for her life. "There's coffee made already," she continued, altering her stance and swinging the sword over her head, apparently preparing to decapitate an invisible enemy.
Keeping a wary eye on her best friend, who had evidently gone over the Brink of Madness into the Abyss Below, Jane found the travel mug she favoured in the cabinet. Thankfully, Maura had already performed her morning coffee porn ritual with her Rube Goldberg devices; Jane was therefore not obligated to fill her mug from the instant coffee she kept putting in Maura's cupboards on the sly.
"Uh, Maura?" Jane began, trying to sound casual as she saw the medical examiner put down the sword and pick up the bo staff. "What's with the Bruce Lee collection?"
Maura shrugged as she experimentally twirled the staff like a spastic majorette. The fact that she was in her usual dressed-to-kill outfit (minus her high heels) made her fighting stance just that much more ludicrous. "I just thought I'd upgrade my home defense a little," she offhandedly answered.
"Who are you expecting to rob your place," Jane replied, caught in the twilight zone between bemusement and exasperation, "the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"
"Tortoises," Maura corrected by rote, but Jane could tell her heart was not in the badinage. As if the slightly manic-depressive shopping spree was not already a clue, the detective knew her friend was upset.
It had only been a couple of weeks since Maura had been accused of murder, arrested by her best friend, "ratted out" by the woman she thought of as a second (or third?) mother, and clocked by a vengeful inmate. This, coupled with the impending trial of her biological father on RICO charges, and the strained relationship Maura had with her biological mother and half-sister, had been wearing down the M.E.'s joi de vivre.
Jane had done her level best to cheer Maura up, be the sympathetic ear and the shoulder to cry on. Her love for this woman, this sister she had never had and had not known she had wanted until she came skidding into Jane's life, was unabated; nevertheless, her cheerleader pom-poms were getting a little frayed. Despite her wealthy upbringing, Maura's life had never been easy, relationships had never been her strong suit, and she seemed to carry an underlying conviction that she was unworthy of love and affection. Sometimes, Jane felt she was rolling an ever-growing boulder up an increasingly-steep hill.
Taking a deep breath, Jane pushed away her irritation. How many times had Maura picked her up and glued her back together? How many wounds, professional and personal, had Maura put Band-Aids and kisses on? Way too many for the detective to count.
Leaving her travel mug on the kitchen counter, Jane walked back over to Maura (though keeping a prudent distance from the swinging bo staff). "Honey, look, when we have a little time, we'll put on our sweats and review some self-defense techniques. But really…"
"Jane!" Maura glared, throwing down the bo staff, causing Jane to leap back hurriedly. "I've done self-defense training, and I still got punched in the face by an inmate!" She unconsciously brushed her cheek where she had had to apply extra foundation for two weeks until the bruising went away.
"You got sucker-punched, Maura. It happens," Jane said, trying to keep a sympathetic tone in her voice. "You think it hasn't happened to me? I'm a trained, experienced police officer, and I still sometimes get taken by surprise! I know Korsac, Frost and Frankie have, too. Hell, between Hoyt and Dominic, I may never climb into an ambulance or a van as long as I live!"
Her attempt at self-directed humor may as well have been directed at the Statue of Liberty for all the results it brought. Maura picked up the nunchakus and twirled them dangerously (though not actually, deliberately at Jane, who backed up another step). "That inmate, the one who 'sucker-punched' me… it didn't matter to her that I graduated college while most people my age were still in high school! My degrees, my knowledge, my skills – they were useless when it came to stopping a blow to my zygomatic arch!" Maura's voice rose, her eyes growing wide as she twirled the nunchakus faster. Jane wasn't sure who she was more worried about.
"She probably never graduated high school, and couldn't name all the bones in the human body to save her life," Maura continued in full rant mode, "but she sure as hell was able to take down a Qualified Medical Examiner with one punch!" At the end of her spiel, she blindly swung the nunchakus – right into an alabaster sculpture. The abstract piece was made much more abstract as it disintegrated into abstract little pieces.
Jane stifled the squeal that came unbidden behind the cupped hand over her mouth. She feared that, any second, she was going to start laughing, which would be disastrous for her relationship with Maura.
For her part, Maura stood gazing at the result of her ire, spread out over her hardwood floor. After about ten seconds, she carefully set the nunchakus down on the table. Looking at Jane, she shrugged and said wryly, "I never liked that piece anyway."
The detective nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can see that. So, are you going for your black belt in feng shui?" She waggled her eyebrows and grinned at Maura.
"No," Maura replied, the corners of her mouth twitching upward, "but I do have a brown belt in broom-and-dustpan."
The laughter between the two friends was interrupted by Jane's phone buzzing. At nearly the same time, Maura's phone buzzed from the kitchen counter.
And our day begins… Jane thought as she pulled her phone off her belt. "Rizzoli," she answered, absently noting Maura answering her phone as perfunctorily. It was Frost, telling her that there was a woman found dead next to her parked car, COD unknown at present. He sent her the address via text message. Jane replied that she would be there ASAP.
Parking her phone back on her belt, Jane saw Maura, once again all-business, grab their travel mugs and her handbag, and walk over to Jane. "Let me get my shoes on. Do you mind if I ride over with you? I don't feel up to driving right now."
"Not at all," Jane said, shrugging. "After all, I may need you to protect me from a surprise attack by Jean-Claude Van Damme."
"Funny, and not at all inappropriate."
"Sarcasm, Doctor Isles?"
"Sarcasm? Moi?"
The uniforms had cordoned off the crime scene expertly, leaving the more technical aspects of the investigation to be done by "the big money" as Jane would sardonically put it. Frost and Korsac were already there; the latter waggled his eyebrows as the two women approached.
"Ah, the star pupil!" Korsac cooed affectionately as his former protégé and partner. Jane's answering jab to his solar plexus was equally affectionate. Maura exchanged greetings with both men and knelt down to look at the body.
"Shirley Beckwith, age 31, apparently worked in that building there," Korsac indicated by pointing, "this car here is registered to her. Doesn't look like she made it inside. Unmarried, no kids."
Jane frowned. "That was a fast I.D."
Frost held up the woman's purse, already in an evidence bag. "Purse was right next to the body. Cash, credit cards, all still inside. Also pictures, but none are of kids, so…"
"So much for robbery-gone-bad," Jane mused. "Huh. Even if this was a murder for personal reasons, you'd think the perp would have snagged the cash or whatever to make it look like a robbery."
Korsac nodded. "Spouse is usually the first suspect. In this case, boyfriend, or maybe girlfriend. Hmm. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"Right." Jane took a quick look at the body laying on the ground beside Maura. Strangely, it looked rather peaceful; if not for the unhealthy pallor of the skin, it looked as if the woman just decided to take an impromptu nap. "So, find anything?"
Maura's usual all-business demeanour was underscored by genuine puzzlement. "Liver temperature indicates time of death between 10 and 11 PM last night. Ordinarily I would say she was killed here, but…"
"…But?"
"Here, turn her over." Jane, having already put on gloves, helped Maura turn the body on its side. Lifting up the blouse, Maura pointed to the back. "There's no lividity."
Jane's brow furrowed at this. Blood should have pooled at the lowest point; the back should have been purple. But it was the same pale color as the woman's face. "So she was killed elsewhere and brought here?"
Maura shook her head. "I don't know. All I know is, I can't find any lividity anywhere on the body."
"So she bled out?" Jane looked around at the crime scene, the pavement, the car next to them. "Well, then, where's the blood? And where did she bleed out from?" Even the woman's clothing seemed to be free of blood.
"Five quarts of human blood just does not disappear, Jane," Maura admonished absently as she closely examined the body for wounds that she might have missed before.
"Gee, that goes in the Duuuuuhh! Category."
Maura was too busy to really register Jane's quip, moving the collar of the woman's blouse aside to reveal… "Hello…"
"'Hello' what? 'Hello' who?" Jane leaned over to peer at what Maura found on the victim's neck.
"Two puncture marks," Maura announced, for the benefit of absolutely no one, as Jane was looking right at them, "approximately five centimeters apart, which appear at first glance to pierce the carotid artery." Maura sat back on her heels and looked over at Jane in amazement. "This type of wound…"
"Maura…" Jane looked at her friend sternly. "Do not even say the 'V' word!"
"What 'V' word are you two talking about?" inquired Frost, who sauntered over to see what the detective and the doctor were discussing so intently.
"I think she means 'vampire', Detective Frost," Maura supplied helpfully, leaving Jane wanting to bang a head (not necessarily her own) against the pavement.
"You have got to be kidding me," Jane moaned, to no one in particular.
So? Like it so far? I hope to have the next chapter up soon!