Jean-Claude hadn't been lying when he said his Storr-Up office had become his home. The couch by the window I'd overlooked on my first visit was pulled out to show a rumpled bed. A few dress shirts were laying on the floor, probably getting creases that couldn't be ironed out, not that I saw the mid-twenties CEO ironing any article of clothing.

He had three computers set up at his desk all connected to a single keyboard. It was an impressive set up. That was until I saw him. Dark circles were under his eyes, his neat, trimmed hair was matted in unruly angles and looked greasy- as if he hadn't showered in days. Soda cans and take out containers littered the edges of his desk.

I threw a sock onto his bed when I took a seat in front of his desk. "You look like shit, Jean-Claude."

He smiled behind the hand that rubbed his tired eyes. "Oh detective, you always give the best compliments."

"Normally I'd be joking but I'm serious this time." His blue eyes met mine. "I'm worried Jean-Claude. You shouldn't be working this hard."

He sat back in his chair and stared off in a corner of the ceiling. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone, and that's because I like you so listen up detective. Declan Ryan and I knew each other- very personally. We went to college together, that's how I knew to look him up and ask for him to be our security guard."

I snorted. "Because you met at Rent-A-Cop U?"

"We both went to MIT but Declan dropped out when his parents died- he couldn't afford tuition after their funeral expenses and he wouldn't take a dime of mine."

"And why would he have taken your money?"

There was a pause, more refusal of eye contact. "We were sleeping together. He was really torn up about it, his parents were very religious and when he found out they'd died in a freak accident the very day he planned to come out to them- well it wasn't hard for him to hate himself. And me."

"I'm sure he didn't hate you."

"Declan blamed me. I was the one who kept pushing him, I didn't want to hide anymore and I wanted to meet his family, see his boyhood room." He stopped. "I kept tabs on him and knew he'd need this job. So I offered it, told him how sorry I was. He made very certain I never met his wife or children, that way none of our homosexual past would get out. I wouldn't have done that to him, he was happy and that's all I ever wanted."

I saw the look of pain in his eyes, I'd had that same look before. When I found out about Maura and Daniel, when I'd had to live through her various boyfriends while I was too afraid to say something to her. Love wasn't easy, and anybody who said so was lying. "I'm so sorry, Jean-Claude."

He sobered up and clapped his hands. "Anyway, that's why I've been working so hard. Somebody killed him for this file and if it brings his killer to justice then I'm going to do everything I can. If you come over here I can show you what we've found."

I stood up and walked around the desk. His hands ran over the keys as he typed and open various programs and files. I was trying to pay attention to the computer speak he kept throwing at me but I wasn't computer savvy, one of our experts would check it was all legal and he'd defend himself in court. I just needed the information.

"We couldn't recover all of the hard drive, but the last two files on it weren't that compromised and those we got." He pointed to two lines on the screen. "Here they are. One is a .jpeg file meaning it's scanned photos or documents. A large one from the looks of it. And here's an .mp3 file, which is an audio file."

"Can you open the .jpeg file?" I asked, finally pulling up a chair and moving one of his screens toward me.

"Of course, give me a second to send it to your screen." A few keystrokes later and the image filled my screen.

"It's an autopsy file." I said looking at the BPD case file. From the date it wasn't recent, it was decades old. I flipped to the first page. It was Maura's first official autopsy after she'd been hired by the department. I looked at Jean-Claude, astonishment written on my face. "The audio file, play the file."

"Give me a second." He started typing.

"Now, Jean-Claude, play the file now!"

The room was filled with a voice but it wasn't the one I wanted, it wasn't Maura's.

"Did you forget me?

Did you forget me?

I wish I could say that I never left

But sorry just sounds stupid and quiet

In this house

Did you forget me?

Did you forget me?

Did you forget me?

And the letters don't talk

And my crying's too loud

Paper's no palm

And I wonder where yours are at

Paper's no palm

And I bet you'd laugh at that

Please forget me

Please forget me

Forget me

Cigarette out like our dying light

Cigarette out like our dying light

Cigarette out like our dying light

Cigarette out like our dying light

Did you forget me?

Please come get me

Please come get me"

I wasn't focused on the day, or the stares coming from my partners. I hadn't told them about my visit to Jean-Claude last night or that I had both files on a thumb drive tucked securely into the small pocket in my jeans. My brain was working a million miles an hour, why would Myrtelle Canavan's hard drive have a BPD autopsy file? Why did Maura's book say that M.C. held the key? What the hell was going on?

Was this all about her somehow? Was somebody looking for her and I was slowly picking up their forgotten pieces? I'm a homicide detective, I can't believe in coincidences- they're what break cases wide open. Maybe that's what was happening. Maybe I was breaking Maura's case open. But a voice in the back of my head was saying; what case, Rizzoli? Maura died in that explosion, accept it.

I pushed up from my desk and stormed out of the bullpen. I expected one if not both of my partners to follow me but no one came. Sighing, I took the stairs down to case storage and went all the way to the back.

The BPD doesn't keep every file on hand, that gets really crowded, really fast. There's a warehouse for evidence but most files were converted to the online database so we could pull them up on our computers. This was one of those cases, almost twenty years old that was about to be packed up and moved to the warehouse. It was definitely accessible from my computer but it was something about physically touching the evidence that I needed to do.

Saoirse Dolan was thirteen when she'd been murdered. It was Maura's first solo autopsy and one of her most difficult ones. I picked up the file, Maura's handwriting at the time had been hesitant, more girlish than it had been when we were married. There were more loops and drawn out letters, she had been carefree back then- a type of innocence and naivety. She still signed things as Dr. Maura D. Isles. Now it was clipped, Dr. Isles, or as of recent; Dr. R-Isles.

Maybe I should've resented that, she never spelled out her full last name on official documents. But part of me knew that lawyers would eat up Detective Rizzoli-Isles and Doctor Rizzoli-Isles. Instead I ran my fingers over her name and slumped to the floor, bringing the box of evidence with me.

Saoirse Dolan had been thirteen, she was a regular girl with parents who tried their best to support her. She attended a private school for girls in the city center, she was gifted at history and wanted to be an archaeologist. Her father, Peter, worked every job he could to boost their income. Her mother, Amelia, was a seamstress and from the file a good one.

One day while she walked home, young Saoirse was grabbed by a man witnesses described only as wearing a black coat. Peter Dolan got a ransom letter, demanding the payment of 20,000$ by noon the following day. He couldn't procure the money. By noon that day, a man and woman jogging through the Boston Commons found the first piece of the young girl's body. It took an entire week to put her back together again.

Maura concluded that Saoirse had died the day she had been kidnapped by a single gunshot wound to the head. Quick and painless. It brought Peter and Amelia little peace. Little forensic evidence could be pulled from the body, all pointing toward the docks in Southie. Detectives searched the warehouses until they finally found the crime scene, a business known to be run by the mob. Peter Dolan refused any involvement with the Doyle family.

The warehouse foreman confessed to the kidnapping and subsequent dismemberment of little Saoirse Dolan. The case was closed and everyone moved on. No one found a motive and one was never provided. It was a senseless act of murder. It was turning out that so was the murder of Declan Ryan.

The blue house hadn't changed much in the three weeks since I'd been there. Toys were still spread across the yard, the home was still warm and inviting, the stoop still with a clear path to the door. Claire Ryan, however, was a different story. Dark circles were under her eyes, which were bloodshot from crying. Her white blonde hair was astrew and greasy, her clothes rumpled and unmatching. This was a woman unraveling.

When she opened the door and saw me, she just blinked and then walked further into the house. I followed behind her hesitantly. "Mrs. Ryan?" I called softly behind her. We ended up at a small table in the dining room, she held an empty coffee cup in her hand and stared out the back window to a small garden. I took the empty seat next to her and pulled out my notebook. "Mrs. Ryan?" I tried again hesitantly. "We've come across some new information in your husband's murder, I have a couple more questions if you're able."

She was still staring out the window when her monotone voice spoke up. "They took my boys away." Not knowing what to say, I just continued to look down at my notebook, twisting my pen around. "Not a service or anything, but my own family. My sister took my kids because I wasn't able."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Ryan."

She flinched. "Stop calling me that. I'm Claire."

I nodded. "Okay, Claire."

She dropped the cup carefully on the table and looked at me. "You said you had questions? New information."

"I need to know more about Declan's relationship with Jean-Claude."

Her face didn't show much surprise. "I've never met the man. Declan was very...protective I guess, about their whole relationship." There was a slight pause where she picked back up the cup. "I knew about their relationship, if that's what you're hinting at."

My pen paused briefly on the paper. That hadn't been what I was expecting but it was where I'd planned on ending up. "How did you find out?"

"Declan told me everything before we got married, said he didn't want to live a lie. It was unexpected, we'd had this romantic courtship- I never would have guessed he was gay. Of course he tried to explain it, that he was gay- but only for Jean-Claude- and he loved me in every way possible." Her lips curled up in a soft smile as she recollected the past.

This wasn't anything I'd needed to write down or information that contradicted Jean-Claude's previous statement so I set my pen down. "You didn't question it at all?"

"At first, yes. It was hard to absorb but he proved himself over the years." She made tentative eye contact with me. "You have to understand detective, that my husband was vying between two great loves. It tore him apart, as much as he loved and adored Jean he was ashamed. With me it was easy. For his sake, I turned a blind eye to weekend trips and overnights at Storr-Up. I knew what was happening, I knew my husband was cheating on me. But he'd been doing that since we met, there was no point in denying him now."

Now that went against Jean-Claude's official statement. I wrote down a quick note. "What about when the boys were born?"

"He was dedicated, took time off work, didn't see Jean for awhile. Of course he understood that, Declan had just become a father. If anything, he sent more presents, he anonymously bought both cribs off our registry. Jean loved Declan, heart and soul, no matter what hatred my husband threw back in his face, he was loyal, faithful. I haven't known Jean to have had any other relationship."

"You seem so sure of that."

Her smile turned to a snarl. "I may have never met Declan's lover, but that doesn't mean we didn't talk. He emailed me shortly after we'd married, Jean was planning a birthday for Declan, was getting family info to invite everyone. We stayed in touch, he wanted to know he wasn't the only one going through loving Declan." Claire fidgeted with her cup. "I'm talking ill of my murdered husband, detective, so please listen up. Loving Declan wasn't easy. By all means Jean and I had the short end of the sticks. Every time he tried to end it for the sake of my marriage and my children, Declan became angry, violent. The truth is that I loved my husband very much, despite him having an affair with a man. We were like every couple, we fought and we loved and we did our best for our children. That's all I have left to tell you."

It reminded me of Maura and I. Everyone saw us as the perfect couple but that was so far from the truth. We had our arguments, things we didn't see eye to eye on. Cases that made me a knife too sharp for our bedroom, days that made me snap and say mean things. I've never been one to control my emotions at home, where I feel safe and in control. Maura and I fought, we took turns instigating as all couples do. But in the morning, I gathered my pride from the floor by the couch and I apologized. My wife and our relationship had always come first. Claire and Declan Ryan weren't too different than Jane and Maura Rizzoli-Isles.

I thanked her for her time and began to stand up when a thought occurred. "Where did Declan work before Storr-Up?"

Claire had to think for a moment. "A warehouse in Southie, he was only there for a couple of years- I asked him to quit. There were rumors of a mob connection but Declan always denied it."

"Do you remember the name?"

"Uhm...Canavan Ironworks I think."

"Thank you for all your time, Claire." She mumbled at me and waved her hand absently. "You'll get your boys back, just work on it."

She nodded and turned back to the window. I put my notebook away and headed toward the door. "Detective?" Claire called after me. When I turned around she was still looking outside. "What was your wife's name?"

I smiled subtly. "Maura. Her name was Maura Isles."

"Jane! We are having this discussion!" Maura yelled after me from our bedroom.

"No, we're not. You know how I feel about the whole thing." I tried to keep my voice flat and even, but she knew she'd pissed me off. I heard her feet trailing behind me as she came down the stairs.

"Don't walk away from me. This was something we should've discussed before we got married."

I was already in the kitchen pulling open the door to the refrigerator for a beer. This argument needed a beer. "What are you trying to say Maura? That you wouldn't have married me because I don't want kids?"

Her arms were up in the air in exasperation. "Of course not, Jane. But I would've pushed you more on the subject."

"There's nothing left to talk about! We've been over this. I've arrested too many, seen too many on your table. I don't feel comfortable bringing a child into that."

"You wouldn't be the one bringing a child into the world." She argued.

I set the bottle down loudly on the counter and bowed my head. It was the same argument time and time again. It didn't help that my mother brought up parenthood every chance she got. "That's not what I meant and you know it." My tone was icy.

"Jane, you know I want kids. I'm not going to change that just because you're afraid."

"Maybe you should've thought of that, Maura. I'm not going to compromise on this, you can't show me cute baby clothes and expect me to cave one day."

She sighed loudly. "What about TJ? You love him! Care for him like your own!"

"MAURA!" It was louder than it needed to be, harsher too. "I do not want to bring children into this world. I don't care how loved and cared for you keep telling me they'd be. I can not protect them, I haven't even been able to protect you. That's the end of this discussion and we won't be having it again."

Tears started streaming down her face. "I don't understand how you can be so cruel. So uncaring for anybody else except you. You knew children were always in my future, we talked about them extensively. How can you be this selfish? To actually prevent me from motherhood?" I tried to interject but she stopped me. "This is the cruelest thing you could ever do Jane Rizzoli. I'll never forgive this."

I knew she meant it. My wife would never forgive me for not wanting children and she would never understand why I felt this way. Only a handful of people really did. Maura sobbed and walked away from me, probably to the spare bedroom where she would lock herself away. Picturing the nursery we would never have. The light on the house phone clicked on and I knew she was calling Constance, telling her mother one more thing I was depriving her of.

Why the hell had we gotten married in the first place?