CH 9: Showdown
The situation was dire. Action needed to be taken.
Barry was near the front foyer, and had watched everything unfold from the back. He was out of frame, and unseen by Casey Jones; this afforded him freedom.
Barry had worked with Jane for as long as he has been with Homicide. He knew his partner, inside and out. Jane was far too emotional for her own good. Though Barry hated everything Casey Jones stood for, if what he said was indeed true, then of the three choices, the answer was blatantly obvious.
Of all three, the imminent threat of Copley Place far outweighed the other two. Today was Black Friday, which meant the place was packed with shoppers and bargain hunters. If Jones blew the place up, the death toll would be in the hundreds, if not higher. The high death toll would be enough justification for one to choose Copley Place, in a heartbeat. But not Jane; she would refuse to choose, which was why he had to make the decision for her.
Given what Barry could observe, Casey Jones was in a confined space. It was unlikely he was anywhere near Copley Place; in fact, logic dictate he would be somewhere afar, and away from the blast zone. It likely Jones was monitoring Copley Place remotely, perhaps via its CCTV system. Barry had an idea. It was good. But he needed to act fast. Time was of the essence.
Barry exited the residence.
"Lieutenant!"
Cavanaugh was behind the perimeter border; he heard everything via live feed. "You think Jones' threat is genuine?"
"I do. But I have an idea." Barry explained, "Casey Jones isn't one site. I'm certain of it. He warned us not to evacuate Copley Place, or he'll remotely detonate the IEDs, which means he's monitoring the place. I think he hacked the mall's CCTV. If you give me enough time, I can cut a portion of the feed, and play it on a loop. Jones won't suspect a thing. And it'll give us enough time to safely evacuate the place; the last thing we need is a stampede."
"It's risky. And it can endanger Frankie and Isabelle Jones."
"I know, Sir. But it's the right call."
Cavanaugh didn't want to admit it, but Barry was right. "Do it."
Barry didn't need to be told twice.
Jane wasn't going to like this. It wasn't an easy call to make, but it was the right one.
- o -
The humidifier hummed at a low constant pitch.
Frankie could barely see through the dense vapor that clouded the room, though he was certain it wasn't water in the tray. The surrounding air smelled sweet, with a vague hint of nutmeg. Whatever the chemical was, it made him lethargic, and incredibly drowsy.
The weight of his body was supported by his wrists. The paramount of strain on his body was at its breaking point, and yet, Frankie felt not the slightest discomfort or pain. The Sandman had blessed him with his presence. Frankie could barely keep his eyes open; his eyelids weighed down heavily on him. He couldn't fight it; he wanted to let sleep consume his entire being. And he would've, too, if he didn't catch sight of something peculiar.
Visibility was low; Frankie could barely make out his feet. But there, mounted in the corner, was a camera. Frankie's tired eyes caught the infrared light that illuminated bright red. It was live. The fucker was watching him.
The dormant rage in Frankie was reawakened; his blood boiled. And it reinvigorated him with a renewed sense of energy. Frankie wanted to live. He had to live, so he can rip the fucker's face off for everything he's done, but most importantly of all, to avenge Jane.
Frankie tugged at his restraints. He hung from a rusted chain that was fastened to what appeared to be a ceiling hook. The hook was reinforced, but equally as rusted. But rust or not, it did the job. It held his weight with ease. And no matter how hard he tugged, the hook held firm.
The renewed adrenaline wasn't going to last much longer. Frankie knew he had to act fast. But his idea well had run dry. This abundant sense of helplessness infuriated him; he had so much fight in him, yet there was nothing for him to do; not a damn thing!
Frankie should've kicked the fucker in the face when he had the chance. He would ruin that smug face of his. And that's when he was suddenly struck with a eureka moment. The kick! The chain was rusted, and so was the ceiling hook. It might just work.
It wasn't common knowledge, but Frankie was a fan of Crossfit. And all that training came in handy at this precise moment. Frankie held onto the chain, and he climbed his way up like you would a rope climb, with only his upper body strength. When he got to the top, Frankie summoned whatever core strength he had, and he pulled his legs up and above his head, so that he was essentially standing upside down, with his feet pressed flat against the ceiling.
Frankie held on tight. And he began stomping on the surrounding area. The shipping container was made of aluminum. If he generated enough force, the rusted hook might give way. It was definitely worth a try.
Stomp after stomp, tug after tug, after God knows how long, it became apparent that this wasn't going to work. The reinforced hook held. Exhausted and fatigued, and unable to hold himself in this position a moment longer, Frankie dropped harder than dead weight. When 170lbs of force, combined with gravity, dropped with untamed force, the hook tore from its frame, and Frankie landed flat on his back; the wind knocked out of him.
There wasn't a moment to spare.
Frankie was one step closer to his goal: the fucker was his!
- o -
"Tick tock, Jane. Time is counting down."
Jane could not, and would not, let his monster hurt another soul because of her. "No!"
"No?"
"You heard me. I refuse to play this sadistic game of judge, jury, and executioner."
"Well, if that's the case, I'll just kill everybody then."
Maura stood out of frame. It pained her to see Jane hurt like this. It made her heart ache, terribly. She wanted to, she really did, but she held back the urge to run to Jane's side and console her. Maura knew that if she truly wanted to help Jane, she had to be practical.
And then she noticed something.
Maura closed her eyes, and she focused. From a young age, Maura realized she had perfect pitch. It came in handy, too. And this was one of those times. The sound, it was a D on the major scale. But more so, she recognized that sound from anywhere. It was extraordinarily unique. The sound originated from Isabelle Jones' live feed.
With purpose, Maura entered the frame. She eased Jane back onto her feet. She did so under the guise of a concerned friend, but Maura knew better. She had her right hand on Jane's lower back. She tapped the following message in Morse code:
Save: ••• •— •••— •
Jones: —•—• •• —• • •••
Buy: —••• ••— •• ••
Time: — •• — — •
Jane caught every single word. She couldn't believe it, though. She turned, and she stared into Maura's serene eyes. No words were needed.
Jane got the message, loud and clear. There was hope. All she needed to do was buy time. She could do that, for she had something Casey Jones wanted.
"Stop the timer, Casey. The game's over."
"Oh? Care to elaborate, Detective Rizzoli?"
"I have something you want."
While Jane engaged Casey Jones, Maura slowly backed away. When she was certain Casey Jones could no longer see her, Maura immediately grabbed Korsak.
"What's the matter?"
"I know where Isabelle Jones is, Sergeant!"
"What? How?"
"In Jones' live broadcast, I heard a distinct D note on the major scale in the background."
"Okay." Korsak asked confusingly, "So?"
"It's the hum of a Boeing 787. The twin engines are Rolls-Royce Trent 1000. They're designed to hum at an absolute pitch. I'm certain that's what I heard in there, Sergeant."
Korsak's eyes lit up at the implication, "You think she's by Logan airport."
"I do."
"But that's still a big area to cover."
Maura held up her phone. "I still have a list of all the unfulfilled work orders assigned to Casey Jones. There are at least twenty properties. But one particular property, it's only thirty miles from Logan, and well within the sound barrier of 20 khz. It's highly probable that Isabelle Jones is being held hostage there."
Korsak noticed the confidence that sparkled behind Maura's brown eyes; that was all the assurance he needed. "Okay. Let's go."
"No. I'll give you the address. But I'm of more use to Jane here."
"I'll ring you if we find Isabelle Jones."
"Not if, but when, Sergeant." Maura corrected. "And, please do."
Maura didn't want to leave Jane's side, for plenty of reasons. For one, she had a promise to keep.
- o -
"Stop the timer, Casey. The game's over."
"Oh? Care to elaborate, Detective Rizzoli?"
"I have something you want."
When Jane's worst nightmare was confirmed, she had prepared beforehand photos of Isabelle's niece, Emma, all age-enhanced to reflect her respective age. The resemblance was there. Under scrutiny, you would be able to determine the photo's authenticity, but via live stream over a web-cam, Jane had a chance; she just might be able to pull this off.
"Your wife, Isabelle Jones, she's dead. And for that, I'm sorry, Casey. But her baby, it wasn't non-viable like you originally thought." Jane held up her phone, and directed it at the web-cam. "Her pregnancy was viable at six months. And this is her, your daughter."
Casey's face just about said it all; it was a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and skepticism.
"If this is some sort of con, Jane, then it's ill-advised. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I'll cut you, bitch."
Jane said one thing, and one thing only. "Melly."
That struck a chord, and it showed. The timer stopped, right then and there.
"Melly is short..."
"...for Melanie. Yes. I know." Casey asked, "How did you know?"
"Not here. Meet me in person, and we'll settle this, once and for all."
Casey hesitated. Then he walked off screen, and never returned. But his audio remained on, "Your Glock. Drop it on the floor."
Jane did as Casey asked.
"And your ankle piece."
Jane didn't know how he knew, but he did. She complied.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal."
Jane said nothing.
"That's where you'll find me. Come alone. And, needlessly to say, don't try any funny business. I am watching you. If I find out you're lying to me, I will slice Angela's throat open, and I'll make you watch. Mark my words."
The connection ended, and the TV screen faded black.
A huge sigh of relief escaped Jane. The temporary threat of Casey Jones has been diffused, but the man was still a danger to others. This had to end. But unfortunately for her, she had no idea what to do next. She had nothing else up her sleeve.
Deep down, Jane knew this confrontation would end in death; it was only a matter of whom. But she had no choice, she had to do this. If she didn't, Casey Jones wasn't going to stop, and more people will die because of her.
"Don't even think about it." Cavanaugh accosted Jane in the driveway. "You are not going anywhere without backup."
"This may be our one and only chance to stop him."
"And how do you plan on doing that, exactly? You're unarmed. And you, literally, only have one arm, Rizzoli. This isn't a western showdown. And I sure as Hell, am not going to let you walk into an ambush."
"This has to end."
"And it will. We'll get him, Jane." Cavanaugh reasoned, "Frost has Copley Place evacuated; Korsak found Isabelle Jones; and Frankie was admitted to Boston General. You don't need to do this."
"Where's Maura?" Jane couldn't spot the doctor anywhere. "She was here a moment ago."
"Dr. Isles is fine. She got called away for an emergency."
It gave her tremendous relief to know that everybody she cared for was fine.
"I want uniforms to escort Ma to the station, and placed on lockdown until Casey Jones is in custody."
Cavanaugh could always pull rank, and order Jane to stand down. But he knew her, maybe too well; there was no way Jane Clementine Rizzoli was going to walk away from this.
"Will you at least tell me where you're going?" Cavanaugh asked, "Where was that quote from?"
"I'll be fine, Lieutenant."
Jane noticed the trunk of her cruiser was ajar. She gave it no mind when she slammed it shut. Slowly, but surely, Jane peeled out the driveway.
That verse Casey Jones recited, she recognized it.
Jane knew exactly where he was.
- o -
It took Jane twenty minutes to arrive at her destination. She was on the other side of town, at Fairview Cemetery. The lot was a public cemetery, owned and operated by the City of Boston. Isabelle's funeral was paid for by the State of Massachusetts. The truth was, in living Isabelle Jones struggled to make ends meet; in death, nobody gave a rat's ass about her.
The verse that Casey Jones recited, it was the one Jane picked for Isabelle, to be marked on her tombstone. The verse was neither religious nor cultural. In truth, Jane selected that specific verse because it felt…right.
This was where it all started. It was only fitting that this would be where it all came to an end.
It was late in the afternoon. Fairview Cemetery was deserted; there wasn't a living soul in sight.
"Don't move."
Jane put her hands up, and slowly, she turned to face her nightmare.
Jane has only ever seen photos of Casey Jones. The man before her today, it differed tremendously from his photos. For one thing, the man appeared gaunt, and weathered by stress. Casey Jones was not a well man; that much was apparent.
"I'm here, and unarmed like you asked, Casey. There's no need for that." Jane pointed at the Beretta M9. "Let's talk this through."
Casey didn't lower the gun. "That picture you showed me, she wasn't my daughter. That was Emma."
Jane flinched, ever so slightly. "So you knew?"
"I'm not stupid."
"Then why agree to meet me, if you knew I was pulling a fast one on you?"
Casey got straight to the point. "How did you know about Melly?"
"Isabelle was raised by Melanie, her grandmother. When she was pregnant with her first child, a daughter, she wanted to name her daughter after her Oma."
"I know that!" Casey jerked the gun dangerously at Jane. "What I want to know, is how the fuck do you know?!"
"Why do you think the UCMJ convicted you of manslaughter with such a speedy trial?"
Casey's voice cracked, "What?"
"When Isabelle realized just what you were capable of, she agreed to testify against you as a witness for the prosecutor in your trial. She genuinely feared for her life. She testified, under oath, about the domestic violence you subjected her to, and your violent tendencies. In exchange for her testimony, the DOJ agreed to her enrollment in Witness Protection."
Jane had always known, but it was obvious that Casey Jones had not the slightest inkling.
"Before Isabelle fully transitioned into the Program, she was tragically killed because of my negligence. An emergency C-section resulted in a live birth; your daughter, Melanie. The DOJ kept their promise; Melly was fully integrated into the Program. She's with a family that loves and cares for her, like their very own."
"Where?" Casey screamed, "Where is my daughter?!"
"I don't know." Jane answered truthfully, "But I promise you, Casey, if you turn yourself in, I will do everything within my power to arrange a meeting."
Casey said nothing, nor did he lower his gun.
"I give you my word."
"Your words mean jack-shit to me!" Casey cocked his Beretta, and he aimed the barrel directly at Jane's head, execution-style. "Tell me why I should blow your face off!"
"You're not going to shoot me, Casey. If you wanted to, you've already done so, ages ago."
"You're right. A bullet to the head would be a blessing for the likes of you."
"Don't do this, Casey. If you ever want to see Melly —"
But before Jane could even finish her sentence, Casey Jones had tackled her to the ground. Jane would've been a match for him if this was a fair fight, but it wasn't. Jane was handicapped. Casey had Jane straddled beneath him. The Beretta M9 was replaced, and in its place was a large military knife.
Jane fought Casey Jones off the best she could, but she was at a disadvantage. And regardless of how hard she thrashed, she remained pinned and immobile.
Casey raised the large military knife high above his head. "See you in Hell."
This was it.
Jane braced herself for the fatal blow.
Something caught Casey's eye in his peripheral vision. It was the familiar glare from a scope. But by the time he realized what all this meant, it was already too late.
A single shot rang out. The thunderous roar echoed in the clearing.
A 50 DTC bullet entered Casey Jones' left temple, and it exited out the right side. The high velocity impact of the bullet blew out his cranium, and his brain exploded, right then and there. There was brain matter everywhere.
Casey Jones collapsed.
It was over.
- o -
The kill shot was taken three hundred feet away.
And it was made with deadly precision.
Maura refocused her eye, and she eased her finger off the trigger.
It was done.
Casey Jones paid with his life for all the harm he brought upon Jane. He had no one to blame but himself.
Maura kept her word.
- o -
A/N: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."