Korsak watches, as a dog sniffs a blue baby blanket. The cadaver dog sucks in the smell. He sits back, and watches. The dogs handler looks to Korsak.
"Where should we start?" he asks.
"The back yard," Vince answers.
The officer leads the dog into the backyard. It's fenced in, and the handler lets the dog off the leash. The dog takes a sniff, at the fountain, but quickly moves on. He moves on, to the play house, in the corner of the yard. It's a wooden playhouse, worn by weather, and the love of a few children. The dog starts to bark.
Korsak makes a phone call. The handler collects the dog. Maura arrives, less than half an hour later. The CSRU techs follow her over to the play house. Vince looks to her, for advice.
"It his just sitting there, can we move it?" she questions.
Vince looks at the four foot, by four foot play house, that stands four and a half feet tall. He nods, and motions for some officers to help him. They come over, and lift the house. They move it towards the middle of the back yard.
Vince quickly notices that Maura is wearing scrubs. She squats the ground, and motions for the techs to join her. She gives explicit instructions, and they slowly begin to dig. Korsak hovers, nearby. Maura drops a trowel full of dirt into a bucket, and looks up at Vince, who stands at her side.
"You're blocking my light."
"Sorry, is there anything I can do to help?"
"Coffee would be nice, we're probably going to be here awhile," she tells him two feet down.
He nods, and leaves the scene. He's barely gone fifteen minutes. When he returns Maura is zipping up the body bag. He moves towards her, with the cup of coffee. They carry the body out, on a stretcher. He offers Maura the cup, and looks at the hole.
"That's not a very deep hole."
"Buried far less than six feet. Around sixty six centimeters we encountered fabric."
"He was wrapped in something?"
"A blanket. I am not certain that it is Thomas."
"How old?"
"I will know more once I get the chance to begin the autopsy."
"How old?"
"He wasn't an infant," Maura replies.
"So she buried him, in the backyard, in a shallow grave?"
"Yes," Maura confirms.
"Maura, I want to find out what happened to this kid, as much as you do,"
"But?"
"I made a couple of phone calls, and I got the go ahead for ground penetrating radar. I was hoping that you would stay."
"You should talk to Michael, make sure there isn't anything else buried in this backyard."
"Like what?"
"Fluffy, or Fido."
"Ok."
"If you find anything, I'll come back, but I want to start on this autopsy."
"Ok," he agrees.
Jane enters autopsy, as Maura is finishing her exam. It's late, and they've both been there, far too many hours, for one day. Jane stares silently at the body, as Maura zips it back into the body bag. Jane looks at her watch.
"How long have you been back?" Jane questions.
"About an hour."
"You're done?"
"I collected all of the evidence that I can. I did a preliminary exam."
"But?"
"I am going to send the body to a forensic anthropologist."
"Oh."
"Have you eaten?"
"No," she shakes her head.
"Do you want to grab a bite?"
"Not after the day I've had."
"Ok."
"How old was he?"
"I am not one hundred percent certain," she responds.
"Give me a ballpark, Maura."
"Somewhere between sixteen, and twenty months."
They both soon leave. Jane heads to her apartment, and Maura heads to her house. Jane lies awake, in her bed, for a while, but eventually drifts to sleep. She wakes up, to the sound of the alarm.
She climbs out of bed, and into the shower. After a few moments with the hair dryer, a pass at her teeth, with a toothbrush, she leaves the apartment, and heads to work. She doesn't make a beeline for the squad room, or even autopsy. Instead she stops outside of Cavanaugh's office. She knocks on the door, and pushes it open.
"Do you have a minute?"
"Sure, Rizzoli, come in."
She steps in, and closes the door behind herself. He sits behind his desk.
"Have a seat," he tells her.
"I would rather stand," she admits.
"What's going on?"
"I need to be taken off this case."
"Why?"
"You didn't hear?"
"Hear what? That you got a confession, to at least one kidnapping?"
"I want her to go to prison, and rot in jail. The death penalty would be too good for her."
"Ok."
"Which, is why I can't stay on this case."
"I don't understand."
"I don't like to talk about it."
"About what?"
Jane pulls a worn business card out of her pocket. She hands it to him. He takes it from her. He looks at it. There is a crease down the middle, where it has been folded. The edges are worn. The paper has yellowed slightly with age. He flips it over, and finds a number on the back, written in, what he recognizes as, Jane's handwriting.
"Call him. Have those case files faxed over. Then you'll understand."
"Is it something we need to talk about?"
"Absolutely, but I can't, not now."
"Rizzoli..."
"Please," she begs, on the verge of tears.
"Ok," he nods, in agreement.