CH 1: So We Finally Meet

The autopsy room was vast and grand, in comparison to the other departments within BPD. It was also the only department that was spared the cruel fate of budget cuts. Everything piece of equipment housed in this very department was the latest, and the absolute best, that money could buy. But that didn't matter. No matter how technologically advanced the equipment was, it had to be utilized by the right person, by the right pair of hands, to be able to fulfill its functionality and maximize its potential. The word is talent. And unfortunately, the medical department lacked just that. Money can't buy talent.

The current Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was a talentless, egotistical, misogynist douche nozzle. That's right. To call him a douchebag, would be an insult to douchebags everywhere. He wasn't worthy. He was a nozzle. The douche nozzle was a complete and utter failure as a medical pathologist, and a even worse human being. But until the department could find a more suitable candidate, Dr. Thomas Pike was the best they got, whether Jane liked it or not.

Jane took several deep breaths to quell her nerves. Every time she spoke with Pike the Tyke, he would push all her buttons, and the next thing she knew, her anger would boil over and she would always be mere inches from taking her Glock, and pistol whipping him. Korsak and Frost weren't any better. Korsak would probably stab Pike in the eye with a syringe; and Frost would undoubtingly put the man in a chokehold. Jane had to take one for the team. She pushed forward. The familiar scent of disinfectants hit her lungs.

Pike didn't have the common courtesy to even acknowledge Jane's presence. Jane took the initiative to break word.

"Dr. Pike."

In his infamous monotone, Pike said, "Hello, Detective."

Jane slowly approached, "Have you completed the autopsy report?"

"Is it on your desk?" Pike asked.

"Well, no."

"Then it isn't done yet." Pike creased his forehead, "Please don't waste my time with such idiotic questions."

Jane closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and took several deep breaths to calm herself. When she was ready, she said, "Okay. Do you at least have a cause of death for us?"

"The victim does not appear to have any visible wound or trauma, so the COD is still inconclusive at this point."

"Oh, come on, Pike!" Jane gestured at the autopsy table, "The body's been there all morning, and you're telling me you can't even speculate what the cause of death may be?!"

"Speculate?" Pike the Tyke pulled his lips back, and bore his teeth. "I specialize in medical pathology and microscopic pathogens, not in speculation! And I most certainly did not get the job as Chief Medical Examiner by speculating! It is not in my capacity, nor job description, to speculate, assume, nor presume. Such words of foolishness. How on Earth did you manage to pass your detective's exam, is beyond me."

"You're right." Jane said calmly.

This was a definite first. Pike never expected Jane to concede. "I…I am?"

"Of course you're right." Jane closed the gap, and batted her eyelashes. "I wasted all that time taking that darn detective's exam, when I should have applied and taken your God damn fucking job! It doesn't seem hard, you do it! And you're a complete douche nozzle!"

Jane had been on edge, ever since this Irish-Italian turf war started, and Pike had pushed her over the edge of sanity. With no sleep, around the clock overtime, downright fatigue wearing on, Jane was not in the mood to mess around.

"You're a nit, Pike, you hear me?! A nit! The victim was found by the docks. Check his God damn fucking lungs for traces of fresh water particulates! That will tell us, definitively, if he died of drowning, or if he died elsewhere, and was then tossed into the docks. Have you done that, Pike? Well, have you?!"

Pike opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. The perspiration from his nose made his glasses slide off his nasal bridge. "No..."

"So what have you been doing all this God damn, live long day?!" Jane pointed a dangerous finger, "If you dare mention your stupid forensic vacuum cleaner, Pike, so help me God…"

"Uh. Well. I did retrieve a larva from the victim's gash."

Jane sighed heavily, "I thought you said he didn't have any visible wound or trauma."

"Ah, you see, that's the interesting thing. The gash is minor, and it's most definitely not life threatening. But interestingly enough, it appears to be inflicted post mortem. I've been trying to determine if it's class Monogenea or Trematoda. The two are quite similar and are not easily distinguishable to the untrained eye."

"Okay." Jane said evenly, "Will the larva help us determine a cause of death?"

"No."

"What about time of death?"

"No."

"Will it help us narrow the location of the first crime scene?"

Pike repeated, yet again, "No."

Jane could feel the blood boil beneath her skin, as her blood pressure undoubtingly spiked. "You're worse than a Chia Pet, and more useless than a pet rock, Pike!"

"But it's important." Pike replied timidly.

"Why is it important?! Why? What is your fascination with the larva?"

"You see, I have to catalogue every single piece of evidence I recover, Detective. And I simply cannot do so until I've correctly identified the species and the class of the larva."

"Baby Jesus, this is killing me." Jane mumbled beneath her breath. "You can have a technician do that for you, Pike. Your main job as Chief Medical —"

"I do not need you to tell me what my job description entails, Detective."

Jane held her hands up, and waved the white flag. She was done here. Ding-ding. Tag team. Either Korsak or Frost would have to deal with Pike. Her patience had been depleted by the man's incompetence. Jane hoped to Mother Mary, it was Korsak's turn to bat. That syringe in Pike's eye would be a dream come true; it could even be her birthday wish, if need be.

"Detective?"

Jane turned at the sound of her name. "Hey, Susie."

"I have the latest tox screen report you asked for."

Jane gratefully accepted the file, "Have I told you just how much I adore you, Susie?"

Pike asked sternly, "Senior Criminalist Chang, as Chief M.E, should I not get a copy of the report firstly?"

"The original copy is on your desk. The one I gave Detective Rizzoli is a photocopy."

"You hear that, douche nozzle?" Jane waved the file childishly, "Photocopy."

That seemed to shut Pike up.

Jane quickly skimmed through the report. Everything appeared normal, except one noticeable portion of the graph; it was highlighted red. "What's this, Susie?"

"It's Benzodiazepine, or Benzo, for short. We found small traces of the drug in the victim's blood; only 0.8mg, to be exact. It's a powerful psychoactive drug that's commonly used as a sedative or a muscle relaxant. Other uses include recreational abuse."

"This drug, Benzo, it's regulated, right?"

"Definitely." Susie said, "It's a class A narcotic. Licensed physicians and pharmacists keep strict categorization and inventory of the drug."

Jane's tired eyes lit up. "Our victim worked at a medical clinic. He might have gotten the drug there, five finger discount style."

"It's possible."

Jane bit her thumb, as the gears churned in her head. "Thanks, Susie. And Dr. Pike, please, the autopsy report, when you can."

Pike rudely said, "Plebs."

"Excuse me?" Jane's temper flared, yet again. "Was that a sneeze? Or did you have something to say, Dr. Pike?"

"Plebs." Susie explained, "It's Latin for 'common folk'."

"Well, in that case, folk you too, Pike!" Jane pushed the door open with her booty. "Not you, Susie, I love you."

- o -

The dial tone barely rang when the call was immediately picked up.

"9-1-1 dispatch. What is your emergency?"

The man coughed into the receiver.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

"I'm here." The man cleared his throat once more. "I think I was bitten by the love bug. I feel warm and fuzzy everywhere."

"What is your emergency, Sir?"

"I think I have a situation, in my pants. Will you be able to come take a look-see for me?"

The operator hummed in annoyance. "This line is for emergencies only. Any misuse and abuse can —"

"I'm just kidding!" The man said, "Jesus. I'm calling because I have a present for you. Listen carefully. A shipment is coming in direct from Peru. The container ID is PR #0938, via the Black Fallon Cruise Terminal, in South Boston. The manifest for the container should be marked and labeled: coffee beans."

"What is your name, Sir?"

"My name is Cocaine. And I'm overweight. I weigh approximately six tonnes, and have an estimated street worth $600 million. But I'm planning on joining Weight Watchers soon, or Jenny Craig, whichever is on sale on Groupon."

"Please stay on the line."

"Geez. You're so serious, you know that? Not even a chuckle." The man kissed his teeth, "I've said what I needed to say. Have yourself a wonderful day."

And with that, the call ended as abruptly as it began.

- o -

"Oh, come on, Frost! The thing's not your personalized toy. I want to use it, too!"

"You have to take a full seminar before you're qualified." Barry swatted Korsak's hand away. "This isn't an easy-bake oven. You don't press a few keys, and go, voilà."

"That's bullshit. How hard can it be?"

"Hey! Ho! You guys want to stop fighting like a couple of sorority girls, and help me solve a homicide?"

Frost said, "Sorry."

Korsak quietly trudged back to his desk.

"Can you pull up the victim's file?"

"Yep. I've got it right here." Barry did just that, "Christopher Mullins. Twenty eight. Single. No criminal record. Perfect credit. Ivy league graduate."

"But his prints are in the system. Where's that from?"

"Juvy. The records were expunged when he turned eighteen." Korsak answered, "But it shouldn't be anything too serious. The presiding judge only imposed a hundred hour of community service."

Jane asked, "Any connections to known criminal affiliates? The Irish mob, perhaps?"

"If there is one, we haven't found it yet. Mullins was an only child. Parents are retired, and currently residing in Essex. No immediate next of kin."

"Are there any connections that indicate our first and second victim knew Christopher Mullins?"

"Like Frost said, if there is one, we haven't found it yet." Korsak said, "Our first victim, Mario Martinez, is the cousin of Luis Martinez. Luis Martinez is a low level loan shark for the Italians. And our second vic, Elmy Boyle, his brother Elson is currently serving five years in max over at Lancaster."

Jane bit her thumb, and tapped her foot. "That's what's bugging me, too. The first two victims, their gang affiliations were so cut and dry, but this? This guy doesn't seem to fit the profile. Do you guys feel the same way, too?"

"Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to? Wrong place, at the wrong time, sort of thing." Barry suggested. "Maybe it's not even gang related. It could be a legit homicide case."

Jane's gut was telling her something: hunger; upset stomach; indigestion; and something about this case was amiss.

"Korsak, you hear back from Intelligence yet?"

"Nothing yet. You can't rush this, Jane. The CHB is Doyle's only daughter, and heir to his clandestine empire, it's only logical he'll want to protect his daughter's identity ferociously. It's going to take some time."

"It's just so frustrating!" Jane grunted. "I can't even put a face to the woman that's been wrecking havoc on Boston, and my sleep schedule."

"I've got to hand it to Doyle, he's really outdone himself. Think about it. By keeping CHB's identity under wraps, it gives her the freedom to elude surveillance, and lower the Italians' guards. It's a win-win situation for Doyle. You can't protect yourself from what you can't see. It's got the Italians on the edge of their seat, and jumping at their own shadows."

"Are you planning to start a Facebook page for Paddy Doyle?" Barry asked, "If you aren't, then enough with the ass kissing."

"Susie found minor traces of Benzo in Mullins' system. Frost, can you print up the address of the clinic he worked at?"

"Printing now."

And that's when Sean Cavanaugh came crashing into BRIC. Not only was he out of breath, but his sudden appearance caught the team off guard.

"Guys, DCU needs backup. There's a huge shipment docking to port, and the Commissioner wants all available hands on deck. If this tip is credible, this will be the biggest coke bust in Boston history. We need people in the field to man the road blocks."

"Anything you need, Sir."

"You got it, Sean."

"Great. Frost and Korsak, let's go. Jane, you man homicide. I already have Frankie on deck; one Rizzoli's enough." And with that, Cavanaugh hurried off with Korsak and Frost in tow.

Jane threw her hands up, with a look of disbelief on her face. What the fuck just happened? In less time than it takes to sign up for Netflix, BRIC was emptied, and so was half of homicide.

The time read four nineteen PM. There was still plenty of time and sunlight left. Why waste it? Jane grabbed the printout from the printer, and her jacket. If she couldn't be a part of the drug bust, at the very least, she could catch a killer. That was always fun, too.

- o -

"Another big breath."

Ashley inhaled.

"And exhale slowly."

Ashley exhaled.

Maura took her stethoscope off.

"Have a seat."

Ashley pulled her shirt back down.

Maura pulled her prescription pad out. "You have early signs and symptoms of the influenza. You have mild chest congestions, and you're a bit feverish. I'm going to prescribe you a course of Laninamivir; they're antibiotics. I want you to take them three times a day, after each meal, for one week. I cannot stress this enough, Ashley, but you have to finish the entire course. You're going to experience relief from the symptoms, but whatever you do, don't stop the regime. If you do, and the symptoms reappear, the medication won't be as effective due to drug resistance."

"Yes, Dr. Isles, I promise I'll finish them. I'm not a child anymore, you know." Ashley whined, "I'm a grown woman with a child of her own."

"Bearing an offspring has no bearing on a person's level of maturity. The youngest mother to give birth was just nine years old. Just because you have a child, does not equate to you not being a child, metaphorically, of course, in your case."

Ashley smiled at that long and awkward explanation. "You keep getting weirder and weirder every time I see you, Dr. Isles. You need to get out more."

"I get out aplenty. My vitamin D intake levels are 25mgs a day, all via natural sunlight. Plus, I garden during the weekends, and attend as many elective seminars as I can. You know, the Boston Health Public Commission has —"

"Not in the literal sense, Dr. Isles. I mean, you know, expanding your social network."

"Oh." Maura did a double take. "Well, I do mingle at these functions, so there's that."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Dr. Isles." Ashley said halfheartedly. She took the prescription and waved, "See you next week."

Maura watched Ashley go. That was that. She was the last patient of the day.

There was a knock on the door, and Samantha popped her head in. "Dr. Isles. I have your brother on line three. And I have a detective here that wants to speak with you."

"A detective?" Maura was surprised. "Regarding what, exactly?"

"I didn't ask."

"That's fine, Sam. Please, send him in. You can lock up and go. I'll clean up."

"You sure, Dr. Isles?"

"Yes. Have a lovely evening, Sam." Maura smiled sweetly.

"Thanks. You, too."

When the door closed, Maura picked up line three. "Dr. Isles, speaking."

"Doctor! Help me. I have these wicked headaches, and my chest is tight. I can't breathe. I think I'm dying!"

"The chances of you dying from Herpes Simplex One, or Chlamydia Trachomatis, is far greater than that of you dying from an infectious disease, based on your promiscuous sexual behaviors."

"Ew. Never talk to me about sex. Ever. Again."

"What do you want, Finn?" Maura's tone deepened, "I told you not to call the clinic, unless it's an absolute must."

"Oh, relax. I'm using a burner phone. It's untraceable." Finn's light hearted tone darkened, "I've called in the tip. The entire Boston police department is swarming the place, as we speak."

"Good. Let them do the leg work for us." Maura began playing with her pen. "There's a detective here at MEND. I don't know what for. But I think it might have something to do with Chris's death."

"Do you want me to handle it?"

"No!" Maura replied sharply. "I can handle it. I want you to stay put."

There was another knock at the door.

"We'll talk soon." Maura immediately ended the call. "Come in."

When Samantha initially said detective, Maura expected to see a man in his mid forties, in a tacky suit, with a big bulging gut for a stomach, a receding hairline, and a look of fatigue creased into his wrinkles. Less than 10% of the Boston Police Force were compromised of women. So imagine Maura's surprise, when she finally laid eyes on this particular detective.

The detective was tall. She was lean, but with define muscles; it gave her an athletic appearance. She had a head of luscious dark chestnut hair, that ran well past her shoulders. And her features, they were sharp and eye catching. And those deep, sharp dimples; it's every plastic surgeon's dream come true.

"Detective Jane Rizzoli."

Maura got up, and accepted the hand that was offered. "Dr. Maura Isles."

The moment their hands touched, an immediate connection was made.

- o -