A/N: This one's a bit shorter, but it didn't fit into the previous or next chapter, so it'll have to stand on its own. Time to tie up some of those loose ends anyway. Next chapter might take until Sunday because of visitors who apparently would consider it rude of me to hide behind my computer instead of spending time with them. Meh. But to keep you busy until then - start thinking about what Jane will do or should do or what you would do in her situation, because that decision is coming up soon.
And thanks for the reviews – they're fabulotastic!

…

Chapter 10

April 4 – One Day Earlier (continued)

Half an hour later, Jane was back at headquarters and rushing to the interview room in which Korsak was already in the middle of his conversation with the latest participant in their killers' philosophical scheme.

As Jane stepped into the adjacent observation room and looked through the one-way mirror, she raised her eyebrows in surprise at the sight of a young couple sitting at the table opposite Sergeant Korsak. They were both in their mid-twenties, dressed in Harvard apparel, and could have been mistaken as models from a matchmaking agency ad — if it hadn't been for the woman's bloodshot eyes and the man's slightly disheveled appearance.

While still studying the couple's moves and gestures, Jane whipped out her cell phone and sent the sergeant a text to notify him of her presence. Seconds later, Korsak reached for his own cell, glanced at its display, and politely excused himself to leave the interview room.

"Hey…," Jane greeted him as he entered the observation room a moment later. "What's going on?"

"We might have something," Korsak smiled as he stepped next to her and watched the young couple through the mirror. "The scenario this time is almost an exact copy of a scenario that was discussed in Howell's class two years ago."

"What?!" Jane eagerly reached for her cell phone. "Then let's get our professor back here right now!"

"Slow down," the sergeant held her back. "I've already sent for him, but he's still in a lecture and will be giving a keynote speech at some faculty event this evening."

"Yeah, so what?" the brunette impatiently glared at her partner.

"He's not a formal suspect yet, Jane, so we can't just storm in there and drag him off," Korsak explained calmly. "Besides, if he is involved in this, he doesn't need to know that we've put him in the crosshairs. Plus, we have to figure out whether or not he has a partner and who that is. Maybe they've already kidnapped their next victims, and maybe they'll lead us to their hiding place. We can't risk scaring them off."

Jane nervously ran her hand through her hair but then took a deep breath. She knew that the sergeant was right. "Alright, fine. So, what exactly happened?"

"Well, looks like you were right," Korsak replied. "The game's getting more personal now. They're married… David and Julie Olson. He's a researcher at Harvard Law School, she's a post-doc fellow in Political Science." He paused as the two academics in the interview room embraced and consoled each other. "She was on her way home last night when someone in a Harvard sweater attacked her in the dark. And he was doing his evening run when another runner slowed down in front of him to tie his shoes, and when David passed him, the other guy tackled him from behind. When they woke up, she was in a tiny chamber with a glass wall, and he was in another room with our guy in the hazmat suit. He told Olson that he could either watch his wife die or break the glass to save her and kill four innocent people instead."

"And he chose her…," the brunette murmured.

"Yeah," the sergeant confirmed. "Some gas was being blown into that chamber… probably carbon monoxide. A clock showed how much time was left. And there was a monitor with a live feed from the Millers' kitchen."

Jane frowned at the thought of Olson's dilemma. "So he would see the people he'd kill…"

"Olson waited until the last minute, trying to find another way out," Korsak continued. "But looks like our killers thought of everything. So, he broke the glass and saved his wife. He just couldn't let her die."

"Can't blame him…," the brunette sighed. "And how exactly does this tie in with Howell's class?"

"David Olson audited some of Howell's lectures and discussion sections," Korsak explained. "He wasn't formally enrolled, but one of his roommates was, so Olson joined him a couple of times when he was waiting for him to give him a ride home."

"And Howell presented that same scenario, with the gas chamber and all?" Jane wondered.

"Actually, no," the sergeant shook his head. "It wasn't part of the regular lectures, but a teaching assistant brought it up in one of the discussion sections. And here's the good news: Olson is pretty sure that this scenario wasn't taken from any of the textbooks. That TA must have come up with it himself… or under Howell's guidance…"

The brunette's face lit up with new hope. "Okay, so, that reduces our list of main suspects to Howell and everybody who attended this discussion section."

"If we're lucky, yes," Korsak said. "Olson doesn't remember the name of the TA though, so we have to wait for Howell."

Jane nervously paced the room. "Can't we just call someone at his office? Have them check the system or something?"

"Jane, it's Friday afternoon… and the Sox are playing their home opener right now," the sergeant sighed. "Haven't been able to reach anybody."

"Okay, I'm…," the detective paused, thinking about how to best keep her mind busy during the waiting. "I'm gonna go through the student and faculty listings we already have. Just let me know as soon as Howell gets here."

Before Korsak had a chance to nod in agreement, Jane had already stormed out of the room, her mind frantically putting these new puzzle pieces into place.

…

…

Four seemingly endless hours later, Marvin Howell finally arrived at BPD, where Jane and Korsak promptly led him into one of the conference rooms. Even though they didn't treat him like a suspect, there was no reason to waste time with unnecessary small-talk.

"Would you care to explain why the latest scenario in our case is identical to one discussed in your class, Professor?" Jane instantly cut to the chase as soon as they had sat down.

Without batting an eyelash, the professor looked his two interrogators straight into the eye. "What do you mean, Detective?"

Though the brunette seemed to keep her cool, her voice gave away the anger boiling in her veins. "I mean that we have two witnesses sitting next door who have been subjected to a moral dilemma that one of your teaching assistants presented in class."

"What?! Who?" The professor frowned in surprise.

"You tell us," Korsak snorted.

Howell hesitatingly reached for his briefcase to get out his laptop. "I'm… I… Are you saying one of my TAs is your killer?"

"Which TA led your Tuesday discussion sections two years ago?" Jane inquired calmly.

"My TAs are some of the brightest and most accomplished students on campus," the professor asserted while browsing through the files on his computer. "I can assure you they wouldn't commit any of these horrible acts you have described."

"Maybe not…," Jane admitted. "But we'd like to double-check anyway."

"Well…," Howell found the file he had been looking for. "The Tuesday sections two years ago were led by Timothy Turner, but he—"

Before the professor could finish his sentence, Korsak got up, nodded at Jane, and hurried out of the room to get a BOLO out.

Faced with the brunette's piercing stare, Howell uneasily wiggled on his chair. "I'm serious, Detective. My TAs are outstanding students with a very promising future. They wouldn't do anything like that."

"Do you tell your TAs what to cover in these discussion sections?" Jane asked, observing every itch and gesture of the professor.

The interviewee shook his head. "No. All TAs are already well advanced in their studies and perfectly capable of leading their discussion sections without my constant supervision." When the detective didn't take her eyes off him, Howell furrowed his brow in suspicion. "Am I a suspect now, too?"

"Let's just say we'd like you to keep in touch…," Jane stated dryly.

"I see," the professor murmured to himself, dropping his polite smile. He shut down his computer, put it back into his briefcase, and locked it with a loud snap. "Well, unless you're going to arrest me, I'd like to go home now. We have an important faculty meeting tomorrow."

The brunette got up and studied him from head to toe. "Maybe it's time you got a little more involved in your discussion sections…"

Shaking his head in disdain, Howell grabbed his briefcase and marched out of the room.

As Jane was about to follow him outside, her phone rang, and her mood instantly changed for the better at the sight of the name on its display. "Hey, Maura, how's the war with the germs going?" For a few moments, she paused in the door frame and let the voice of the woman at the other end of the line distract her from her case. "Nah, looks like we're gonna have a long night… No, no, don't wait up for me… How about breakfast?" After another brief pause, she smiled. "Okay… Get some rest… Night."

Feeling much more at ease after the call, Jane rushed out of the conference room to find Korsak. Her mind already focused on the TA and on their possible break in the case, she didn't pay any attention to Howell still waiting near the elevator doors. The professor, however, was very much paying attention to her.

…

…

When the darkness of the night had already descended upon the city of Boston and the Red Sox had long won their home opener at Fenway Park, Maura was standing at her kitchen counter, dressed in a warm woolen pullover and her yoga pants, and slowly getting the upper hand in her battle against those obnoxious influenza viruses. Several more hours of sleep, a long hot bath, and her favorite soup that Jane had brought her had clearly been conducive to her recuperation. Except for her stuffed nose and her hoarse voice, she was actually beginning to feel like herself again.

Absentmindedly, she sipped at a bottle of grape juice while preparing a cup of green tea and sneaking repeated glances at her cell phone on the counter in hopes of another cheery text from Jane. When the phone remained silent, she pursed her lips and reached for the device to double-check her messages — only to realize that the battery status bar was once again almost as empty as her inbox. Silently cursing at her phone's defectiveness and hoping that its replacement would arrive soon, she let her eyes wander over the kitchen counter and couch table until she remembered that the charger was still upstairs. But before she could get it, a hesitant knock at the front door jolted her out of her thoughts.

Secretly wishing that Jane had gotten out of work early, Maura padded to the door but let out a silent sigh of disappointment as she recognized her guest through the door's viewing panel.

"Professor Howell…," she greeted the man waiting outside. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's late," Howell smiled politely. "But I have a few more videos and lecture materials. I couldn't reach Detective Rizzoli at the station, so I thought you might want to take a look…"

"Actually, I'm on sick leave," the blonde informed him, unsure what to make of his unannounced visit.

"Yes, I know," the professor stated calmly as he set down his briefcase on the doorstep.

Suddenly, Maura frowned in suspicion. "Wait, how do you know I'm—"

She didn't have enough time to finish her sentence.

Within the blink of an eye, Howell leaped forward, rammed the heel of his hand into Maura's throat, and pushed her into the house.

Gasping for air from his powerful blow, the blonde dropped her juice bottle and stumbled backwards… without balance, without defense, without a chance to escape.

And Howell seized his moment of surprise. With no holds barred, he smashed her against the cabinet and the wall — once, twice — and slammed his fist into her chest.

Out of breath, Maura sank to the floor, blindly clutching at her attacker's legs — an instinctive attempt to fend him off. But in vain.

In another swift move, the professor threw her onto her stomach, yanked her left arm to her back, and sat on top of her, pressing his knee into her pelvis.

Moaning in pain at her almost dislocated shoulder, Maura struggled and squirmed. But Howell's grip was too tight.

"Easy, Doctor Isles…," he sneered as he warningly twisted her arm further before fishing something out of his jacket's inner pocket with his free hand.

Unable to scream under the weight of the man sitting on her back, Maura gasped again and tried to break free. To no avail.

"You know I won't kill you…," Howell hissed as he revealed a syringe, pulled off its needle sheath with his teeth, then jabbed the needle into Maura's neck. "But maybe someone else will…"

"You won't… get away… with…," Maura stammered, struggling with her last ounce of strength until the professor's sedative took effect and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Sweet dreams," Howell whispered deviously.

Just as the blonde's resistance had faded away and the professor got up, a dark-haired young man in a Harvard sweater appeared at the front door.

"I told you to stay in the car!" Howell griped as he spotted his aide.

"I heard the noise…," the other man said. "Thought you need help."

"Well, now that you're here…," the professor pointed at Maura's motionless body on the floor. "Get her in the car."

As his accomplice dragged her away, Howell took a relaxed breath and let his eyes wander over the great room, whistling in admiration of Maura's interior design. Too bad she might not be able to ever enjoy it again.

…

…