Jane enters the interview room. She takes a seat next to her partner. She stares at the face of James Gabriel. He's tall, and well muscled. He has blue eyes, and grey hair. His skin in pale, and tired looking. Jane makes mental notes, as her partner kicks off the interrogation.
"Mister Gabriel, where were you last night?"
"I was in my hotel room."
"Can anyone attest to that?" Frost grills him.
"No. I was in my room, alone."
"Did you order any room service, or pay-per-view?" Frost inquires.
"No. I did not."
"Mister Gabriel, I have to be perfectly honest here, you make a great suspect. You don't really have an alibi. You have motive..." Jane begins.
"What motive?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Is it true, that Abbie is not your biological daughter?"
He grits his teeth, and cracks his knuckles, "Yes. The DNA test was just confirmed, last week."
"I see."
"My wife had an affair, nearly seven years ago. That is not a motive to kill her."
"Really? You just found out that your little girl, your little princess, who you fell in love with, the moment that you laid eyes on her, does not belong to you. You have been under a lot of stress. Lots of hours at work, to pay for fertility treatments, and for the surrogate, not to mention the stress of preparing for a new baby. Arguing about everything, including your will. I can see how you might have snapped," Jane paints the picture.
"All of that is true. I was angry. I was pissed, but I didn't kill my wife. I love my daughter. It doesn't matter to me, that she isn't my biological child."
"Did it make you wonder?" Frost probes.
"Wonder what?" he questions.
"If the new baby belonged to someone else, too?"
"No. I never once considered that. Before we had Abbie, my wife and I were going through a very rough patch. It was hard on both of us. Both of us did things that we are not proud of."
"Do you know who Abbie's father is?" Jane inquires.
James clenches his jaw. He looks at her, with disgust. He nods, "He was Hannah's personal trainer. Ryan Branson."
"Do you know how we could get a hold of him?" Jane quizzes.
"Hold a séance," he replies.
"He's dead?" Jane guesses.
"That's what brought all of this on. We went to his funeral. I always attributed Abbie not looking like me, to the fact that we used a donor egg. But, when I saw him, I knew. She's got his ears, his nose. It was like a slap in the face."
"That must have pissed you off," Jane goads.
"I didn't kill my wife," he maintains his innocence. He stops wringing his hands, and looks at Jane. His expression changes. He shakes his head.
Frost notices the change, "Something wrong?"
"My daughter looks just like you. She has more in common, with a total stranger, than she does with me."
"Did you use the same donor for the new baby?" Jane queries.
"We did. We haven't even started his nursery yet. Hannah was supposed to have the painters in next week. Now what am I supposed to do? I work seventy hours a week. I am fifty years old, I am a widower, and in six weeks I am supposed to welcome my son into the world. How am I supposed do this?" he begins to break down.
Jane finds herself in the basement, with Maura, in her office. She paces the floor. She twirls her hair. She taps her foot on the floor, as she paces.
"Jane, you being a basket case is not going to make the DNA results come in any quicker."
"I know."
"Did you find the surrogate?"
"She lives in Ohio. She's been at home for two weeks, on bed rest. I talked to her on the phone. She can't fly. She's not a suspect."
"Jane?"
"Hm?"
"What's really bothering you?"
"Nothing," she lies.
Maura looks up from her computer, at the anxious cop, standing in front of her, wearing a hole in her rug. She gets out of her chair, and moves towards Jane. She points to the couch.
"Sit," she insists.
Jane takes a seat on the couch, next to her. Her leg jiggles, as she sits. She chews on a cuticle.
"Jane, talk to me."
"About what?"
"Ever since you found that little girl, in the closet you have been on edge. What's going on? What is bothering you, about this case?"
"Everything."
"Specifically?"
"All of it. The dysfunctional family dynamic. The fact that we have no real suspects. The fact that I haven't figured out who did this yet. The fact that a little girl has no mother, or father. Then there is the fact that there is an unborn child out there, who is never going to meet his mother, or whatever she is..." she rambles.
The computer dings. Maura rises to her feet. She moves over to her desk. She studies the computer screen. She looks up at Jane.
"So?"
"She's not his daughter."
"Obviously."
"She is not the biological daughter of the victim, either."
"Which confirms what I already knew."
"Which is what?"
"They used a donor egg."
"It doesn't prove that the victim had an affair."
"How do you figure?"
"There could have been a mix up, or a number of other explanations."
"No, that child was conceived in a semi-old-fashioned way."
"Jane what is it that you're not telling me?"
"Why do you think that there is something that I'm not telling you?"
"You're doing all of the things you do, when you're anxious."
"I am just anxious about finding this killer."
"That's not it. It's something else."
"We can talk about this later, right now I have murderer to find."
"You have two minutes, sit down, and tell me what's going on," Maura demands.
Jane sinks into one of the chairs in front of Maura's desk. She looks Maura in the eye. Maura waits, patiently. Jane exhales.
"Ok, I'll tell you."
