A/N: I am so sorry that it took so long. I sort of lost inspiration for the plot but I am back now. And I suppose I just got lost in life itself to even try and sit down to write some more. I hope you guys are still into this story and will still be so kind and awesome to review. Enjoy. And thank you all for kicking it over 100 reviews already. I appreciate it a lot.

Chapter 14

Jane and Maura walked into the homicide department less than an hour later. Jane's hair was still damp from the shower she took after hanging up the phone. Maura was immaculately dressed as usual and her inquisitive hazel eyes scanned the room before discovering Frost and Korsak standing by the whiteboard. She briefly took hold of Jane's arm and the dark haired brunette looked up, roused from her thoughts. Seeing her colleagues looking at the collection of crime scene pictures involuntarily made her stomach turn.

"What have we got?" she said, ignoring the wave of nausea that washed over her. She glanced at Maura, who was fixated on the crime scene pictures. She did not envy the brunette's fascination with death. It was part of Jane's daily routine, the stench of death, but for Maura it was part of her life. A part Jane knew Maura couldn't live without.

"One of the patients came up as a hit in the system," Korsak said, stepping aside to reveal a new picture on the board.

Jane's dark eyes snapped up and her heart froze in her chest. In a flash she remembered everything; his eyes, his smell, the way his hands had felt when he touched her and the pain. The image of her own blood glistening against the blade sent a shiver down her spine. And now she stared into the face of evil; of the man who had intruded into her life. She swallowed hard in attempt to make the bile that rose in the back of her throat to go away.

"Meet Michael Jonathan Moore," Frost said and he held up the patient's record. "He was diagnosed with Bromhidrosis and Hyperhidrosis as a teenager and has been receiving treatment at Boston Medical Centre for several years. Marcus Johnson has been his physician for the past five."

Maura's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to the board. "And how did he come up in the system?"

Frost glanced at the pathologist. "He has a record for voyeurism."

Jane couldn't suppress a snort but an uneasy feeling crept up on her. "It's quite a long jump from being a peeping Tom to becoming a serial killer."

Frost picked up a piece of paper, walked around the desk and stuck it onto the white board. Maura curiously looked at it and she looked over her shoulder at Jane. "His mother died. Many serial killers have a breaking point. Some sort of a psychological trigger that sends them into their spiral of violence. This could be it."

"His parents divorced when he was ten," Frost said.

"How much do you wanna bet that daddy's new girlfriend was a brunette who lived in an apartment?" Korsak said and Maura turned around, clearly ready to give some scientific retort about odds and probabilities and Jane quickly stepped forward.

"Do Social Services have anything on him?" she asked, leaving Maura with her mouth open.

Frost's eyes met Jane's. "His record is sealed."

"Unseal it."

Frost sat down behind his computer and for a few seconds all they could hear was the sound of his fingers rattling across the keyboard. Jane looked back at the white board, her eyes fixed on Michael Jonathan Moore's face. She tried to remember the shadows she had seen, whether his face matched her memories. But her mind abandoned her and the frustration left her feeling uncomfortable. Maura stood beside her and briefly searched for her hand, taking it gently into her own. Jane looked down at their linked fingers and smiled kindly. She had no idea what she would do without Maura at this moment in time.

"There are reports of suspected abuse at the hands of his mother," Frost cut through the silence and Jane looked up. Her partner's eyes were focused on the computer screen. "She was a religious fanatic. Roman Catholic. According to one of the reports she made him wash himself with bleach and pray until his knees bled. Observation of the child revealed bruises consistent with abuse."

"My guess is that he holds the other woman responsible for what happened to him," Jane said, speaking out the thought that has risen in everybody's head. "And I can't say I blame him." She glanced at Frost. "Is there an address?"

"Only the place where his mother used to live. He is not registered anywhere else, claims no social benefits," Frost answered and mentioned the address.

"There is a church around the corner from there," Jane said and when Maura shot her a surprising look, she smiled. She could only imagine Maura's surprise at the realisation that Jane ever set foot in a church. "I know the priest. My bet is that that is the church where our suspect's mother used to go to. It's a Catholic church and has been there forever. They must know her."

Maura's eyes twinkled. "Come on, Jane. Time for confession."

~()~

The Church of the Sacred Heart lay in the middle of the Italian Quarter in Boston's North End and as Jane parked her car right across the street and turned off the engine, Maura looked out of the window. There were a few shops, some apartment buildings. The streets were crowded, even in the middle of the day. Women carried shopping bags, a small group of teenagers hung around outside a coffee bar. It was just another ordinary day in Boston.

"Are you all right, Jane?" Maura questioned, glancing sideways at Jane and the dark haired detective looked up.

"Yeah, fine," Jane said and opened the car door. She got out, slammed the door behind her and started across the road without really giving Maura a chance to catch up. When she reached the sidewalk the brunette pathologist caught up with her. She knew better than to ask and instead she silently followed Jane towards the church. Its oak front doors were wide open, inviting in anyone who felt the need to pray or confess; saints and sinners alike.

Jane's eyes were immediately drawn to the large statue of Jesus' crucifixion and for a moment she hesitated whether to make a cross or not. The smell of burnt candle wax and a smell that could only be described as a "church smell" penetrated Jane's nose, bringing back memories she had stored deep in the back of her mind. All the wooden benches were empty and the sun fell through one of the stained glass windows. In those few moments of hesitation, a figure appeared from one of the doors in the back and the sound of footsteps on the stone floor made Jane looked up. A smile spread across her face.

"Father Nardozzi" she said, feeling Maura stepping closer to her. She wondered if Maura had ever been in a church for any other reason than a case. She reached out her hand and the elderly man eagerly took it into his own. He had intense brown eyes, receding grey hair and a face full of wrinkles that told the story of a life filled with peace, the love for the Lord and interesting stories. "It has been a long time."

"Jane Rizzoli," Father Nardozzi smiled as he shook Jane's hand. "I never forget a face. Your mother told me you are a detective now. How is your father?"

"As reluctant as ever to set foot inside a church," Jane smiled and Maura understood it was an inside joke she was unfamiliar with. Now that Father Nardozzi let go off her hand Jane ran her fingers through her hair. "This is Dr Maura Isles." She watched as Maura shook the priest's hand. "I was wondering whether I could borrow a moment of your time?"

"Have a seat," Father Nardozzi answered, gesturing to the wooden benches.

Jane sat down, with Maura beside her and Father Nardozzi sat down in the row in front of them before turning around.

"Do you know Michael Jonathan Moore?" Jane questioned and she watched the look in Father Nardozzi's eyes changed. The look in his eyes darkened and the kindness was replaced by worry.

"Yes, I know him," the priest answered slowly and looked from Jane to Maura and back. "His mother used to be a regular here until her untimely death. May I ask what this is about?"

"An on-going investigation" Jane answered, careful not to mention anything related to the Boston Butcher. Beside her, Maura stirred uncomfortably. The wooden benches were hard and cold, as was to be expected in a church. She looked back at the priest, who was looking at her in anticipation. "What can you tell us about him?"

"I have seen him a few times. He seemed shy and submissive. His mother was a very religious and spiritual person. For many years I didn't even know she had a son," Father Nardozzi answered and Jane looked at Maura. His answers fitted perfectly into their case and the picture began to form. "His mother, Mary, was here almost every day. I found her praying here many times. Often she was seeking to find a cure for her son's illness, she said. She once begged me to tell her how she had sinned to be punished so severely."

"She considered her son's illness to be a sin?" Maura said sharply and Jane hoped her lover would refrain from saying anything else. "She did not believe it was a genetic failure?"

When Father Nardozzi shook his head, Jane swallowed. "Have you ever known Michael to get angry?"

"I have barely known him to speak."

"What about his father?" Jane inquired.

"I have never seen him. When I asked about him Mary told me he was dead. He had died when Michael was little. Something about a car accident," Father Nardozzi said and he looked at Jane. "Jane, you never once told a lie inside the house of God. Would you please tell me what this is all about?"

"We believe Michael may be involved in one of the cases I am investigating. I can't say too much, I am afraid," Jane answered and Father Nardozzi nodded. "But the story Mary told you about her husband is a lie. He left the family for another woman when Michael was ten. It is about that same time that she started coming here."

"I see," the priest replied. "I'm sorry I can't be of any more help."

"You have helped us a lot, Father," Jane answered and stood up. Maura followed and started for the door. They were about half way down the path when the priest called Jane back and the raven haired detective looked over her shoulder. For a second it was as if she was being thrown back in time and she was a little girl again, looking up at Father Nardozzi because she had forgotten to say goodbye.

"Jane," he said and their eyes met across the length of the path. She knew he expected a reply and she rubbed her hands together. The scars hurt. "How is your faith these days?"

Jane swallowed and she averted her eyes, staring at the black tiles of the church floor. "Things change."

When they walked out of the church and stepped out into the daylight, Maura got hold of Jane's arm and forced the detective to turn around and look at her. Their eyes met and Jane sighed, knowing that Maura wanted to know how she knew the priest.

"What was all of that about?" Maura asked, searching Jane's face.

"Do you know where we are, Maura?" Jane asked and made a gesture. Maura's eyes darted around the street, the shops, the church and the parked cars but she failed to see what Jane meant. "This is the Italian Quarter, Maura. I was born and raised not far from here. I went to a Catholic school and was taught by nuns. Whenever we had church services, this is where we went. Father Nardozzi has been here for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I think he is as old as the church itself."

Maura nodded in understanding. "Why did he ask you about your faith?"

"One day after Sunday school I asked him why God doesn't love everybody," Jane said and a sad look filled her eyes. "Father Nardozzi always said that if we ever felt challenged by our faith we should come to him with our questions. We had read a passage of the Bible that condemned homosexuality. I was fifteen and had a crush on another girl. I asked him why some humans were better than others."

Maura glanced over her shoulder at the church, its door still wide open; inviting in any and all who felt the need. And there lay the contradiction. It invited in all who felt the need for prayer, for safety, for a sense of belonging and at the same time it was so eager to cast out all of those who did not fit the rules to which it obeyed. Gone was the safety offered. Gone was the sense of humanity that all people craved. "What did he say?"

Jane shrugged. "That one day I would understand."

"And do you?"

"No," Jane answered firmly and turned her back on the building they had just visited. She looked to make sure no traffic was coming and started across the street, back to the car. "There was a time I wanted to. But like I said, things change. And people change too."

"Do you believe in God?" Maura asked unexpectedly before stepping into the car and Jane looked up, holding the door handle in her hand. Their eyes met over the roof of the car and Jane almost drowned in Maura's hazel eyes.

"No."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Jane pulled a face, not quite sure whether she understood what it was Maura was trying to achieve. She sighed.

"Why don't you believe in God?" Maura questioned. She showed no intention to get into the car.

Jane glanced over her shoulder, back at the church where she had spent so many hours. A sense of sadness washed over her, filling a tiny, empty space in her heart she didn't even know she had. "Because, frankly, I don't think He believes in me."

~()~

"I think we've got our guy," Jane said as she and Maura walked into the department. Frost looked up and stood up, waving a piece of paper in Jane's face when she reached him. She took it from him, unfolded it and smiled. "Arrest warrant."

"I suppose this means you want me to stay here," Maura said and Jane smirked.

"When was the last time you chased after someone in those heels whilst holding a gun?" she asked and Maura grinned. "I'll pick you up tonight, OK? Dinner at my parents' place."

"Ooh," Maura said and Jane arched an eyebrow. "When did that happen?"

"It happened when Ma sent me a text message about half an hour ago," Jane answered and shook her head. Maura nodded and turned around, leaving Frost and Jane behind. The dark haired detective followed her lover with her eyes and when she eventually caught Frost looking at her, she rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm. "Shut up."

"When are you going to tell your parents?" Frost asked and Jane sighed.

"I don't know," Jane sighed and shook her head. "Ma is always going on at me about having to find a husband. And now I am dating Maura. God knows how she is going to respond to that. Don't get me wrong, she won't mind but..."

Frost patted her on the shoulder. "I'm just glad it ain't me, Jane."

"So, you ready for this?" Jane asked, waving the arrest warrant in Frost's face. Frost grabbed his gun from his desk, slipped it into his holster and rearranged some of the paperwork on his desk. Jane placed her hands on her hips in frustration. "Come on slow coach, we have a serial killer to catch!"

~()~

Jane found herself only a block away from the church she had visited earlier that day and when she stepped out of the car she felt all her senses go into overload. She checked whether she still had her gun, it was a compulsion, and glanced at Korsak, who was doing exactly the same thing at the same time. Her heart rate increased as they stepped onto the sidewalk and walked down towards the old house a few hundred yards away.

"It looks like it could do with a little TLC," Jane said as they reached the front door. The paint had started to flake off and the wood had begun to splinter. The windows were covered in a thick layer of grime and the curtains inside looked like they had not been washed for several decades. Weeds had found their way through the cracks in the pavement and even through the dark front door windows Jane could see the pile of mail accumulated on the doormat.

She glanced at Frost before knocking on the door. When she lowered her hand she brushed it along her slacks. "Somehow I don't think he's going to be home."

As expected there was no answer and Jane did not bother knocking again. She stepped back, allowing Frost to have a good aim before his foot landed perfectly against the door. The wood splintered even further and the poor lock gave way immediately. The door swung open inwards, revealing a dark hallway covered with rotting carpets and piles of mail. Jane covered her nose with her sleeve as she stepped into the hallway, and searched her belt for her torch. She flicked it on and the beam of yellow light cut through the dark shadows.

"It smells like a skunk died in here," Frost said with a muffled voice and even Jane had to suppress her gagging reflex. She pushed past the untouched mail and tried not to think about the mould sticking to the bottom of her boots as she walked. The hallway led to another wooden door and she opened it, revealing the entrance to what was supposed to the living room. Most of the furniture was covered in dirty white sheets, like someone had once intended to paint it. The windows were covered in thick layers of grime and dirt, the curtains were torn and mould was growing on the walls. The wallpaper was peeling off and it looked like nobody had been here for a very long time. The smell was even more intense and made Jane's stomach turn.

"Are we sure he still lives here?" Jane asked, looking over her shoulder to find Frost leaning against the doorframe. The ceiling and lamps were covered in cobwebs.

Her partner met her gaze. "If he doesn't we just risked our own lives for nothing."

"I don't think I even want to go near the kitchen," Jane pulled up her nose. She had images of rotting food, dirty washing and other things that would pose a biological hazard for anybody entering the house. "Let's try upstairs."

"We're probably going to fall right through the stairs," Frost said and turned in the door. Jane closely followed him and they reached the wooden staircase to the second floor. Jane tentatively looked at it; the beam from her torch followed it all the way to the second floor. It felt like they were about to climb up into the unknown. She looked at her partner.

"It was nice knowing you, Frost."

She was the first to step onto the wooden stairs and it creaked under her weight. She pulled a face and quickly, without too much hesitation, made her way up to the second floor. Three doors lead to three separate rooms. The third one was open and revealed the bathroom. The tiles were a dirty shade of green and the bathroom suite looked like it had once been part of sixties decor. Jane turned away and focused on the other two doors. Even in the weak light of her torch she could see the difference between the two door handles. One was covered in dust and grime, the other was clean.

"I think we've got something," she said as Frost appeared behind her and she took a deep breath before her hand closed over the door handle. The door opened with a high pitches squeak and Jane gasped as the room behind it was revealed. It was the only room in the house that wasn't dark and mouldy. If anything it seemed to be bathing in light. Dozens of candles were placed around the room, lighting it up. The flames created off shadows on the wall and Jane lowered her gun and her torch. She pushed the door open further and stepped inside. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her mouth became dry.

"My God."

Along the far side of the room stood a single bed covered in dirty sheets. It looked like it had seen better days. On the bedside table lay a Bible, its leather cover torn and quite obviously used a lot. A small crucifix lay on top of it. But Jane's eyes were drawn to the other wall and she gasped. Her torch almost slipped from her fingers and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

The wall was covered in pictures. Faces that had become so familiar to Jane stared back at her. The faces of all their victims were plastered over the dirty walls, combined with what appeared to be pages ripped from that very same Bible. Bright red paint had dripped over the victim's faces. The word was clear and it was a final insult. JEZEBEL. The drops of paint made it look like the victims were covered in blood.

"Jane," Frost said as he approached the bed and looked at each of the woman's faces.

"I know," she said. Her mouth was still dry and her eyes were stinging with tears. "They're his victims."

Her partner shook his head and pointed at the picture at the end. He looked over his shoulder and met Jane's eyes.

"Jane, this is you."