A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I wish you all health, love and laughter in 2014. For us all, I wish that the new show runner, Jan Nash (who shepherded Ellen out of the closet), will bring us RIZZLES.

Jane peered through the two-way glass at Artie Ortiz speaking quietly with his legal aid attorney.

Shit. Elissa Kaufman. The woman could have plead Hitler to a misdemeanor, not that she was that good, just that rigid and annoying; she wore you down until you cried uncle to be rid of her.

"What's the plan, Lou? You know Elissa's not going to let him say anything without immunity." Korsak shook his shaggy grey head. "We're lucky if we only get immunity on the table. We may have to buy him a steak and send him home in a limo."

"Play it by ear, Rizzoli. I'll get the DA down here if I have to and let him make the call. Frost is digging through Ortiz's record, maybe there's something we can use to trade."

"All right. Let's do this, Vince."

The two detectives entered the room and casually sat at the interview table.

"Elissa, good to see you again. I want to be clear that your client is not charged with any crime. His name came up during the course of an investigation and we merely want to ask him a few questions. He is not a suspect and he came here of his own free will. Isn't that right, Mr. Ortiz?"

The man opened his mouth to answer, but Kaufman was quicker, laying a restraining hand across his forearm and shaking her head.

"Before Mr. Ortiz answers any questions, he would like assurance that his statements will not result in his being charged with any offense tangential to the one you are currently investigating."

Korsak smiled politely. "Elissa, you know we don't have the power to grant a blanket immunity to Mr. Ortiz. We are, however, prepared to listen to everything he says and make a recommendation to the District Attorney on your client's behalf should he admit to an indictable offense."

"Blah, blah, blah, Vince." Kaufman rolled her eyes behind her rimless glasses and leaned forward. "No immunity, no answers."

"Listen, Artie..." Jane looked directly at the small man. "Did you kill anyone?"

"No!" The answer came before his lawyer could object.

"Good. We're homicide detectives. We don't give a flying fuck if you dealt a little weed or pinched some shit from your job. You're not a killer, but you can help us catch whoever killed your friend's sons, and for that help, we would be very grateful."

Ortiz turned to his attorney, but she shook her head.

Jane rested her hands on the table, staring directly at Ortiz, then abruptly pushed herself up and turned to leave. "C'mon Vince, we don't have time for this shit. He doesn't want to be helpful, we'll remember that when whatever he's afraid to admit comes out." She turned back to Ortiz. "And it will come out, Artie, it always does."

Korsak shook his head sadly and closed the open file in front of him. "Wait, I want to be helpful."

"Mr. Ortiz, this is posturing. I've seen it a hundred times." Kaufman touched her client's arm again, but he shook her off.

"She killed him, detectives, and I helped her clean up, but that's it."

Jane winked at Cavanaugh whom she knew was standing on the other side of the two-way glass. "I'm good." She mouthed before turning back to the table.

"By she, you mean..."

"NeeNee, um Deniece Smoot, we call her NeeNee at work."

"Mr. Ortiz." Kaufman interrupted again.

"I want to help the police." He looked at her earnestly.

"I advise you to be silent. I am here to look after your interests and it is in your interest to..."

"I assure you, Artie, it is in your interest to be very helpful." Korsak spoke over her.

Kaufman threw up her hands and let them fall impotent to the desk. Some people were just too stupid to be helped. She would, however, sit here and object when she could.

"Let's start at the beginning." Jane stretched her legs under the table and smiled a smile that managed to look both friendly to Ortiz and smirky to Kaufman.

"NeeNee was trying to come up with tuition money for Prior's school. That shit costs like 60 Gs for the year, she had to pay half of it before he could start."

"One semester's tuition, $30,000. Got it." Korsak jotted on a legal pad. That matched the number they had from BCU.

"She couldn't make that kind of money, even if she was a machine and did nothing but work 24-7. She was hoping for some scholarship from her society. Her people was Pilgrims or some shit. Can you believe it? NeeNee in a black hat with a buckle and pointy shoes." He chuckled, but quickly sobered.

"Anyways, no money there. So she told me she was going to her ex's family to ask them to help. Those people are rich as shit; I know it for a fact. My wife's mother had her bladder lifted cause she used to piss herself. I drove her myself to the hospital and there it was the 'Philip Rigsdale Memorial Outpatient Surgery Wing.' That's the old man who NeeNee used to go with; he's the father of both boys. That's real money when they name part of a hospital after you when you're dead."

"Did you know him when he was with Deniece?" Korsak looked up over his half-glasses.

"Nah, but she told me. Not all at once, but over the years that we were working together. Like I said, we was a team. Sometimes it was just us, up to our knees in slop for hours; you talk to take your mind away."

"So she called the family. Do you know who she called specifically?" Jane prompted.

"Yeah. She called the old man's son. He was listed right in the white pages of the phone book. We looked him up one night at a job and I passed her my cell phone, told her just go ahead and call. She was all, 'Should I or shouldn't I' for a week before."

Jane felt the familiar tingling behind her neck and tightness in her abdomen. This was a break, a big one, and she could barely sit still. She wanted to reach across the table and pull the information out of the little man, wrap her long fingers around his neck and squeeze until everything she needed to know would pop out of his mouth in a rush and she could grab it and run. She fought the need to jiggle her legs and thrum her fingers on the table.

"So that explains the incoming call to the Rigsdale home from your cellphone on May 11th at 8:14 p.m." Korsak read from the folder in front of him.

"Not necessarily." Elissa Kaufman interrupted. "Perhaps Mr. Ortiz was calling to sell cleaning services to the family."

"Nah, it was NeeNee calling..."

She gave him a withering look. "Mr. Ortiz, I believe the only thing the police have to go on is a phone call to a dead man from your mobile. If it was a business call or perhaps a misdial..."

"I appreciate what you're saying as my lawyer, but I want to be truthful. It's all gonna come out eventually. Maybe they have other stuff on me. Could be I left a hair at the house or a skin flake. I watch CSI."

Kaufman rolled her eyes to heaven. Her client had just admitted to being at the scene of a murder. Jane grinned at the flustered attorney, considered blowing her a kiss, but thought better of it.

"So Ms. Smoot placed the call?"

"Yeah, and the son answered. She just spilled out everything, real polite and to the point, but she was nervous and talked like a mile a minute, said she had two boys with his father, how they were good boys in college and she didn't want nothing for herself but maybe he could help with Prior's tuition..." He stopped and ran a tongue over his lips. "Can I have a glass of water?"

Jane stood and left the room, returning with a plastic bottle.

"What did Phil Rigsdale say?"

"He was all, 'This is quite a surprise' and 'I'll have to make inquiries.'" Ortiz had sat up stiffly and spoke in a robotic monotone, imitating the speech pattern of an upper-class white man. He took a huge swig of his water and continued. "Two days later Prior was dead."

"Couldn't that be a coincidence?"

"No. The day before he was killed, someone called her at home and said they was gonna blow her boy's head off and she better keep her mouth shut."

"Do you know who called?"

"No. She said it was one of those creepy voice-disguising machines. It freaked her out, so she called Phil again at his office to tell him forget it, but he wasn't in, and the next day Prior was dead."

"Did she call from your phone?"

"Yeah."

"Can you check on that, Frost?" Korsak spoke into his lapel mike.

"I saw her at the funeral and she said she knew that rich bastard had her boy killed. It was an open coffin, but he looked bad. NeeNee reached down and picked some kinda putty off his head and there was the bullet wound, right above his left eye, all burned around the outside. We both seen that before 'cause of what we do for a living. That burning means a close-range shot, not some kind of random crossfire shit. It was an execution."

Jane nodded in agreement. "Did she say she was going to get even?"

"Nah, she said nothing. I didn't hear from her until she called me to ask for my help."

"What kind of help?"

"Mr. Ortiz, please consider carefully what you are about to say." Kaufman spoke slowly to her client.

"She was crying, said she was at Phil Rigsdale's place and she needed my help. She said she just lost her shit and..." He looked at his attorney for a moment and then shrugged and continued, "...she freaked the fuck out and killed him, made a big fucking mess and needed her partner to help."

"So you...helped?" Jane prompted.

"Yeah. I drove over in the Medi-Clean van and we worked all night together. We cleaned that place like I never cleaned anything before. I don't think we left a drop of blood or a fingerprint."

"You didn't." Korsak responded.

"Finest cleaning job of my career." Artie Ortiz smiled, proud of himself.

Elissa Kaufman covered her face and groaned.

"What's going to happen to him?"

"He's fucked." Jane bit into an apple that someone, probably Maura, had left on her desk. "He confessed to being an accessory-after-the-fact to murder. There's really no getting around that. Seven years is the prescribed sentence in the MGL, though he'll probably get less."

"Maybe. O'Shaughnessy is talking to the DA now. Poor bastard, he meant well. I'd do the same thing he did if you called me for help, Janie."

"Yeah, Vince, me too. I'd cover up a murder for either of my partners, but I'd be smart enough to keep my mouth shut about it."

"Hey Frosty, did you get that bit about the creepy robotic voice? Maybe we, meaning you, can do a search on who may have purchased such a device."

"Dead end, Jane. Every smartphone has a voice altering app. I could call you right now and sound like Bugs Bunny or Brad Pitt."

"Oh yeah? Could you sound like Kathy Najimy and talk dirty to me?"

"Er, no, that goes way beyond my partnerial duties."

"I thought Kaufman was going to shit her pants in there; she was working so hard to keep it all in, something had to blow." Korsak chuckled. "You gonna share that apple?"

"You know, this is why I'm so skinny; you take the food out of my mouth." She tossed him the apple and reached for her mobile, which was vibrating on a stack of papers on her desk.

"Rizzoli...yeah, got it. Be there in 20."

"What's up, J?"

"Rondo's got Apple tracked down, says he's stable."

"Let's roll."

Apple turned out to be a clean-cut, red-haired man with frightened blue eyes and what appeared to be a prosthetic hand, though on closer inspection it was a mannequin's arm tucked up into his jacket and secured in place by duct tape and rubber bands. He was sitting crosslegged under an oak tree in Peter's Park, 20 yards from the Shawmut Avenue entrance where Rondo met them.

"You a veteran, friend?" Korsak approached first and laid a heavy hand on the man's shoulder.

Apple nodded. "Desert Storm."

"Proud to know you. I did two tours in Vietnam." Korsak gestured that his partners should hang back. His own military history could help build a rapport with the skittish man.

"You earn a purple heart, brother?" A nod.

"That where you lost your arm?" Another nod.

"I was shot at plenty in 'Nam, but they never hit me." Korsak laughed and dropped to one knee. "You know there are some wonderful veterans groups in Boston. They could get you fixed up with a great prosthetic, put you on meds, find you a place to stay, a job..."

"My job is to watch."

"Oh yeah? What do you watch?"

"I watch for the devil and finally I saw him."

"The devil?"

"The devil drives a big black chariot and the number of the beast is engraved upon it."

Apple's eyes, which had merely looked fearful, now grew larger and terrified. His pupil's widened until the blue of the iris was swallowed completely. He threw back his head and howled.

Korsak spoke softly to the panicked man. "Apple, I'm a friend and a police officer. The devil can't get to you. I have a shield and a gun and..." He reached under his shirt and pulled out a silver chain hung with an oval medallion. "...Our Lady of Czestochowa. She protects me and she will protect you, too."

Apple reached out and touched the shiny medal. It was warm from resting against the detective's chest. He held it between dirty fingers and mumbled a Hail Mary. When he released the pendant he was calm again. He slumped back against his tree and closed his eyes.

Korsak sat beside him in companionable silence while Jane and Frost watched from a distance with Rondo.

"I thought you said he was stable."

"He was. He's pretty clean for Apple; he don't smell too bad and he's shaved. That means he's been staying at the shelter, and they usually make him take his meds."

"Is he schizophrenic?"

"Don't know. He's got all sorts of demons. When I first met him he didn't talk. He'd sit and stare and grunt if he wanted something, but no words. Now he talks. He ain't no Oscar Wilde, but you can have an almost conversation with him on a good day."

Jane groaned. "He's not a very reliable witness."

"No, but he's you're only witness. He makes sense in a roundabout way. You have to interpret what he says. He's like that Greek lady that sits on a tripod in the cave."

Frost snapped his fingers. "I know that one; the Oracle of Delphi. She would go into a trance and give cryptic answers to the followers of Apollo who made a pilgrimage to Mount Parnassus to question her, but like a horoscope, her answers were open to interpretation."

"Jesus, Barry, you've been spending too much time with Maura."

He laughed. "I minored in Classics in college. I think I must have been a Spartan soldier in another life."

"I think I was a big, dumb fish in my last life."

Both men looked at her quizzically. She waved away their stares. "Never mind. I'm tired and my one-liners are getting lame."

"Getting? They've been lame all day."

"Yeah, I know. I need a vacation, to lie on a beach for a week and recharge my brain."

Korsak and Apple were still sitting quietly beneath the tree, their shoulders touching. Jane watched them for a few minutes then turned back to Rondo.

"Did he tell you what he saw?"

"He said he saw both shootings. I believe him. The empty lot on Holworthy Street is one of his summer places. He's got a real sweet setup there: a pup tent with a sleeping bag and his shovel. He buries his treasures; a tupperware container of photos and some cash."

"The way our country treats its veterans makes me sick." Frost shook his head. "Rondo, did he give you any details about the shootings?"

"Yeah. He said the shooter was driving a..."

Jane was growing impatient. The sun had set and they were sitting in a dark city park waiting for the freaking Oracle of Boston to speak. "What was he driving? A car? A skateboard? A snowmobile?"

"A big black chariot."

"Shit. That's what he just told Korsak. Nonsense."

Frost held up a finger. "Wait Jane. Let's interpret that. A big black chariot could simply be a large black vehicle, maybe an SUV."

"That's right, Vanilla, you don't see too many actual chariots 'round Boston these days."

"Any other details?"

Rondo looked sheepish; he pulled off his knit cap and wrung it between his large, worn hands.

"Well, he said the devil was driving it."

Jane snorted. "Did he see horns and a trident?"

"I don't think he saw the driver. He said he knew it was the devil because the chariot bore the number of the beast and the brand of hell."

Frost pulled out his tablet and began typing, a smug smile on his face. "The number of the beast is 666. We are looking for a large black car with three sixes in the license plate."

"Or on the dealer tag or parking garage ticket or bumper sticker. That's a lot of paperwork to go through."

Frost nodded. "This is our first real break, Jane, we have to run it all down."

Korsak rejoined them, leaving a now peaceful, but still silent Apple alone under his tree. He looked back regretfully and shook his head.

"Don't worry, Pops, I got Apple. I'll let him sit a while and then take him down to the Harrison Avenue shelter, they real nice there."

"I'm afraid I didn't get much. He said he saw the devil."

Frost turned his tablet around displaying the Department of Motor Vehicles website. "More than enough, Vince. There are 177 black vehicles registered in Massachusetts with three sixes in the license plates, 102 in the Boston area. We'll start there tomorrow and widen our search to dealerships, car services and parking garages if none of these pan out."

It was after 10 when Jane pulled up in front of Maura's brick townhouse. She half hoped that Maura was already sleeping so she could brood alone with a six-pack of Corona and slip under the covers unnoticed. The other half of her wished Maura was wide awake and naked, her soft warm body waiting to be touched. As she slammed the car door and jogged up to the house, she forgot about her desire for alcohol and melancholy and wanted only the feel of Maura under her, sucking at the veins of her neck as she ground down hard against her. By the time she pulled her keys out of her pocket, her hands were trembling with anticipation.

"Maur?"

"I'm upstairs, Jane."

She was briefly distracted by the pizza box lying on top of the recycling can. It was Tuesday, pizza night. She opened the fridge where Maura had fastidiously separated her pepperoni half into four neat wedges, each assigned its own paper plate and tightly sheathed in plastic. She tore off the wrapping and taking a slice in each greedy hand, bounded up the stairs to the bedroom.

Maura was propped against the headboard, her Macbook resting on her bent knees, reading glasses slipped down to the end of her nose.

"You buying more dildos?"

"No, I'm skyping with my mother."

"Oh shit, sorry Constance." Jane had turned as red as the sauce on her pizza.

Maura giggled. "Got you! I'm reviewing an article for the Journal of Forensic Science next month, so I'm just doing some fact checking now."

"So no Constance?" Jane peered at the screen, still expecting to meet the disapproving blue eyes of Maura's mother. All she saw was a page of dense text.

"I hope you get hives, Dr. Isles."

"No you don't. If I have hives I can't do this..." In one balletic move she closed the laptop and straddled Jane, her hands grasping at the worn leather of the detective's heavy work belt. "I can tell by the tension in your procerus that you've had a difficult day. I am a physician, and I know the cure for that."

"Oh boy, if it involves yoga or a spirulina and kale enema, you can forget it. I'll keep the tension in my prostate and enjoy my pizza." She took a huge bite for emphasis.

"Au contraire, ma panthère, it involves my mouth on your labia and clitoris. Still want to take a pass, detective?"

"Um, no."

In thirty seconds Jane was bare from the waist down. She glimpsed her Glock on the floor half hidden by a pair of sweaty underpants and knew she should lock it up for the night, but when Maura's teasing tongue parted her sex and grazed along the hood of her clit, she forgot everything else. Half-eaten pizza was tossed aside as she lost her hands in the silky waves of blonde and auburn tangled across her abdomen.

Maura was especially good at this. Where Jane's tongue would slip or she'd lose her place or rhythm, Maura's never did. Her strokes were the perfect balance of teasing and power, every movement designed to take Jane to the edge or pull her back from it. Only when she knew Jane couldn't take anymore, when she was whimpering and groaning, every muscle clenched and rigid would Maura bring Jane to her climax.

Jane's eyes opened wide though her pupils were unfocused, her back arched off the bed, only her fingers wound in Maura's soft hair kept her tethered to the earth. She inhaled deeply and fell back onto the mattress, depleted and content.