Chapter Four

"The sun might shine or the clouds might lower, but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before."

"Ross Perik kidnapped women who wouldn't be missed, prostitutes. Usually tallish, blondes, smart ones who speak a lot of languages. He would knock them out, take care of them, dose them on a mix of ketamine and ACP for days. When they were healed, he'd rape them until them weren't worth it anymore. At that point, he killed them, tossed them into the trunk of his taxi, and buried them."

It didn't escape Jane's notice that Gail's posture was stiff but weirdly also calm. She was not comfortable at all, but Gail also wasn't reciting in the dry, dead voice Jane remembered using when she had to talk about Hoyt. There was only one reason for that, and Jane had been there as well.

"How did you get away?" As soon as she asked, Jane heard Holly hiss beside her. It was a dark question to ask, Jane knew, but it was something that had to be put in the open.

"Luck," said Gail. "Another cop looked into the taxi, which sent a detective to Perik's house. I was still there. Perik killed the cop, tossed me in the trunk, but the division was on to him. They arrested him and pulled me out."

Her voice was layered with guilt, and Jane could understand imagine why. Gail shouldered the death of a cop on herself. Of course she felt agony every day. Why had Gail survived and this man not? What magic did she wear? Why was she special? And if that cop meant something to someone else, someone at the Division, then Gail was a daily reminder of death.

So Jane asked, "Where is he now?"

"Up the river. Serving life without parole." Gail exhaled loudly. "He's not allowed to write to anyone anymore. Six years ago he had a copycat."

Jane winced. "That... wow."

"We stopped him before he killed anyone, but he used that taxi. Which is funny, y'know, since it was only a year later?"

"Why is that funny?" Maura sounded perplexed and Jane tried not to smile.

"Not funny ha-ha, funny weird," said Jane, explaining. "The taxi is part of a serial killer's MO. Generally those are destroyed?" She wasn't sure about Canada, and had to phrase it as a question.

"At the very least, not resold," said Gail.

"It wasn't just the medallion then?" Holly sounded scared. Really Jane couldn't blame her.

"Nope, same freaking cab." Gail shrugged. "That's why I know the similar names are also out of service. Anyway. Here's where it's weird. First, that taxi was listed as destroyed after the copycat trial. He plead guilty, we kept a tonne of evidence. Based on the CCTV photos, it sure as hell looks like the real one. So either he's an insane copycat or ..."

Jane nodded. "Can you look into that?"

"Already done. We can go talk to the company we used soon. I'm just waiting on a warrant. If you ... want to come?"

Again, Jane nodded. "Yeah. But ... you have another thought?" She could see it in Gail's eyes. Something else was there besides the taxi.

Gail bit her lip. "Okay. Hoyt was a Doctor. He was the Surgeon, right? Had an apprentice?" When Jane and Maura replied in the affirmative, Gail went on. "Perik was a Doctor in the states before he moved here. Doctors Without Borders. In Afghanistan for seven months after he'd been in Africa."

Jane sucked in a breath. "That's ... tenuous."

"He worked with US Army unit 618," said Gail flatly.

"Son of a bitch," said Jane. "Are you kidding me?"

Gail shook her head. "It wasn't something important to our case at the time. We knew — we presumed he'd learned to kill women in Africa, based on the decor at his house. That he worked with a seemingly random Army unit didn't raise any red flags to us."

It should have to Boston, realized Jane. "Can you prove connections with Hoyt or Stark?"

Gail shook her head again. "No. Don't have the access for that." And she gave Jane a significant look.

If anyone was going to do that, to requisition details on Hoyt, his first apprentice Stark, and the actions of an Army unit overseas nearly twenty years ago, it would have to be Agent Instructor Jane Rizzoli. That meant Jane would have to unseal the case she'd very much not touched since leaving Boston. She hadn't even thought about Hoyt until the day before.

But here was Gail, ripping a bandaid off her own nightmare and showing it to the light.

How much was wishful thinking?

Jane put her hands on her hips. "Why?"

A moment passed and Gail cleared her throat. "Hoyt fits the MO. Ritualistic at least. I pulled the old reports on the murders and checked, there's evidence of sex post mortem."

"But not couples," said Maura, a hand pressed to her own throat.

"No. That's where it fell apart. The rest, though, there's a precision." Gail picked up a folder. "After the copycat, we requested the suspect deaths from Africa. They show a less exact methodology. It's only after Afghanistan that Perik got that good. So I pulled up the unsealed records on Hoyt last night. This morning." She shook her head and pulled out two photos. "Look at the stitches."

The first photo was a young African woman, a gash on her arm stitched well but something Maura would call average. The second was one of Hoyt's victims, and his impeccable work. The third was a pale blond head with a thin scar across the temple, slightly swollen but stitched with precision and a very familiar knot.

Maura studied the pictures and Jane watched her best friend slowly look up at Gail. She was seeking something. Then Maura turned back to Jane and gave the faintest nod before asking Gail, "Is that the only post Toronto exemplar?"

"Highest quality," replied Gail, and she riffled through photos until she came up with three more, all post mortem and partially healed. "I wasn't sure if the decomp would impact ... This is after a few weeks underground, and this is a year." Two more photos.

Jane arched her eyebrows. The way Gail said that was telling. Her eyes drifted up to Gail's forehead. A faint scar, barely noticeable if one wasn't looking for it, was in the same spot as the photo. Right where Gail rubbed. Ah.

Silent, Holly came up, hands in fists, shoved in her pockets. She leaned over and stared at the photos. The two doctors made a very quiet conversation, pointing at specific things only science nerds like them would notice. Finally they nodded at each other.

"I would," said Maura slowly, "testify to the similarities beyond that of two medical professionals. It bears the markers of a teacher and student."

"As would I," said Holly.

Jane exhaled loudly and paced. She needed to burn off some anger. "You were thinking about this before, weren't you?" She heard Gail's soft confirmation. "Son of a bitch."

As one, Gail and Holly muttered, "You already said that."

Looking over, Jane saw matching rueful expressions. Must be an old joke. She pushed her hair away from her face. Gail had spoken with authority and knowledge, but also like she was expecting a blow. That was the root of Gail's aloofness, realized Jane. She didn't expect her work to be noticed properly, and she didn't expect it to be appreciated, so she pushed everyone away.

Right here, Gail had laid out a series of connections and correlations between two terrifying men. Seemingly overnight she'd traced them, learned their patterns, and divined a strong possibility.

Jane felt like Korsak, her old partner and sergeant. He'd said Jane's ability to see into the heart of Hoyt was abjectly terrifying and awe inspiring. And he'd been wrong not to trust her then. Similarly, no matter how fanciful Gail's theory might be, and it was a stretch, Jane couldn't repeat the mistake of Korsak that had nearly killed Jane all those years ago. She had to learn. She had to change. Break the cycle.

She looked at her hands. Over the last fifteen years, the scars had faded. Maura's friendship had been a healing balm over the invisible wounds as well, making Jane less self conscious. The bravado Jane had worn like an angry shield was there, in full force, in the younger officer.

Jane took a deep breath.

"Peck," Jane said slowly. "What part of your job is this research?"

Gail startled a little. "None," she replied honestly.

Jane nodded. "Okay."

It was like a mirror, she recognized. Gail was a little older and a little more damaged to start with than Jane had been when she, recklessly, had raced after Hoyt. She was also more experienced and knew how cruel the world was.

"Okay?" Gail arched one eyebrow.

"I believe you, Gail. I think you're right." Jane turned to Maura. "Maura kept up on her psych work. We'll need her. And ... Holly. How familiar are you with the evidence for the case?"

Holly shook her head a little. "Not at all, but give me till lunch." Her voice shook, as if she was more upset about the resurgence of her girlfriend's living nightmare than Gail herself was.

Wasn't that how it had been for Maura too? She'd worried more in Jane's stead. Gail didn't seem to notice, which was odd to Jane. There she wasn't even dating Maura, and Jane noticed everything about her friend.

Actually that didn't really speak much in Jane's favour and she knew it. Her relationship with Maura was complicated, to say the least.

"I guess you were right, Maura," she said to the person who meant to most to her.

"Rizzoli and Isles rides again," replied Maura, with no trace of irony or joy.

Lunch had been wildly optimistic, realized Holly. Case after case of one Ross Perik had to be read, including his copycat. And there was a lot. At least fourteen women were dead in Toronto alone. Looking back on it, it was damned obvious. CCTV footage helped a lot, but to Holly's surprise someone had collected all that evidence after trial.

She tapped open some of the notes and found the cadence oddly familiar. Police tended to write much the same way. They said what was needed, and did not elaborate. Efficiency was the name of the game, which was why Joe Friday was a just-the-facts kind of guy.

Still, Holly read a lot of clinical work and had learned to recognize the patterns in those things. She had certainly read reports from this person before, and there was some other aspect that was just bothering Holly.

"Holly, when was the trial?" Maura spoke up, jarring Holly out of her thoughts. "The first one?"

"Oh. Seven years ago."

"How odd. Some of the footage and evidence was collected just last year."

Holly took off her glasses to rub her nose. "Is there a badge number on there?"

"8727."

Ah. "That's Gail, then." Holly snorted a laugh, realizing that she'd been reading Gail's notes. Of course. "I wondered how she kept busy the last couple years."

By Gail's own words, she'd spent much of the year after her brother went to jail sleeping around. Lisa had reluctantly confirmed she'd watched Gail screw eligible Toronto queers for 18 months. But then, abruptly, Gail stopped. When Holly asked why, Gail shrugged and said it was pointless. She wasn't invested in anyone.

That left almost three years where Gail was ostensibly single and alone. She moved out of the Frat House and into a nicer apartment. At least Holly assumed it was nicer. Thus far, Holly had only seen the outside, and it had a doorman. Gail had said that was for protection. She had not elaborated on what that meant.

Now it looked like Gail had spent her free time digging up evidence for a closed case. Holly pulled up the information on the CCTV footage and saw it was collected by the same officer, 8727. Almost all of it was by Gail. Some was by 8715, which Holly recalled was Traci's badge number.

All the early evidence was requisitioned by either Luke Callaghan or Jerry Barber. Holly remembered Jerry. He had a twisted sense of humor, was wildly immature, and was honestly the most fun to have at autopsy. When he died, Holly had assisted on the autopsy not knowing it was related to the serial killing.

It felt like a very long time ago. Like it had happened to other people. And then it had to come back and shake Gail and Jane to their cores.

What would it be like, to have the seminal turning point in ones life be a serial killer? While Gail thought that Hargrove's study citing 2-3000 killers were at large in the United States, was accurate, Holly was a little less certain. She pulled up the murderData dot com website and skimmed over the stats for something else.

Holly knew, off the top of her head, that the commonly accepted stats had 15 people dying due to serial killers each year in Canada. The Radford University/FGCU Serial Killer Database also said Canada had produced under 150 serial killers since 1900, which got round to 15 a year. So one could extrapolate that each killer killed once a year.

"Maura," she said aloud. "Do you think Hargrove is more accurate than Radford?"

The other pathologist looked up, thoughtful. "As I work for the FBI and, as a whole, they subscribe to Radford, I'm meant to support that."

Holly smiled. Maura was terrible at lying, but she sure could walk around an answer. "Hargrove just seems ... well, depressing."

"The possibility that 3000 active killers walk amongst us? Jane said she tried not to think about it." Maura took off her reading lenses. "The issue of course is the FBI's scope is shockingly limited. They hold firm to their beliefs."

"White men, antisocial but incredibly charming?"

"Between 25 and 35, yes," said Maura, her expression darkening. "I feel there are flaws in both approaches, but Hargrove's data... have you seen it?"

Holly nodded. "Some. I don't spend a lot of time there. The psychology of death never interested me."

"It didn't for me until I met Hoyt." Her tone was confessional.

That was interesting. "You were ... actually kidnapped by him?" When Maura arched her eyebrows, Holly was quick to add, "The case is tightly sealed. It doesn't say who was kidnapped, only that someone close to Detective Rizzoli, and that Jane, er, won in the struggle."

"She stabbed him."

Holly didn't have to ask if Maura had seen it. Right. "I wonder if that changed anything," she said aloud, not thinking.

"I don't believe it did, seeing as he has a remarkable tendency to return." Maura waved a hand at their work. "Have you learned anything new?"

Sighing, Holly nodded. "It's all new to me, more or less, but I was concentrating on the physical evidence more than the bodies."

That interested Maura and she sat up straight. "That's not your forte."

"It's not, which is why I thought I'd be less likely to make stupid assumptions." Ruefully, Holly added, "So far I'm just confused. Did you know the taxi was supposed to be destroyed twice?"

"The copycat used it?"

"He did. He bought it from a police auction, which they never tracked down how it ended up there, or how he knew about it."

Maura pursed her lips. "We need a computer expert."

"We have one, and he's looking into it. Theory from Gail is that someone redirected it on the copycats behalf, but it's still a little odd. There had to be an inside man at the prison."

"There may still be one."

"How utterly morbid." Holly scowled but the quirk to Maura's face made her laugh. "Tell me something useful, Maura. About the case."

Her friend nodded and put her glasses back on. "The stitching shows signs of being more similar to Perik than Hoyt, but this is absolutely a derivative of Hoyt's preferred tie off. Also the palms are an indication." Maura pulled a photo out of a folder. "Something seems wrong. There's a stain, but it's hard to see. I would have expected something more obvious."

"Hang on." Holly saw right away what Maura meant. The hands had been tied so they were palm up, which was abnormal in and of itself. On top of that, there had been some stain on one, but they'd not made sense of that. "We didn't think Hoyt until the DNA came back. So we didn't check. Come on."

They abandoned Holly's office and went down to the morgue. On the way, Holly grabbed the black light, and Maura made a delighted sound. "Of course. And even a basic wash wouldn't rinse off that evidence."

"We swabbed, and both hands came back with trace amounts of kerosene, common laundry detergent, and vegetable glycerine." Holly flashed a smile. "Glow in the dark paint."

Amused, Maura asked, "You know the basic ingredients off the top of your head?"

"I used to make DIY glow in the dark paints in college. We painted our whole dorm with it." Holly smirked. "I have always wondered if that would come back to haunt me."

"CSU would possibly have a panic attack at the amount," said Maura.

"I kind of hope I'm working the case if it happens." Holly bumped the door open in a swift movement, swiping the badge on her hip and following into a push. She'd done it a million times after all. "Dr. Gray, Dr. Isles." She waved a hand to introduce the two. "David, I need to see our John Combo."

"Sure thing, Dr. S." The man hopped off his stool and went to the drawer. "Full out?"

"Hands please. We need to see the palms. And turn off the lights."

The younger doctor paused and then shook his head. "You know, when Rodney said you were his favourite because you were the most fun, I thought he was joking." David did, however, pull the body out all the way to the hands and then went to the light switch.

Giving Maura the black light, Holly snapped her gloves on and carefully turned the left hand to palm up. "Hit the lights, gimmie the sights, daddio."

The lights went out. The black light went on. There was a painted mark on the palm. Maura sucked in breath more sharply than Holly would have expected. Interesting. Maura had frozen. The logical reason would have to be that the marks were near identical to the scars on Jane's hands.

Gently, Holly asked, "Dr. Isles, can you get a good photo?"

That jarred Maura back into reality and she dutifully took photos of both hands under black light. "We should check..."

The rest of the body. Yes. They should. "We only checked the groin and legs for semen," Holly said. She was going to have to push to change that.

"And when you found none, why would you look for more, no, it's logical."

Somehow, when Maura said that it still felt like failure. At least Holly knew Maura couldn't lie. "I swear I've lost six steps, taking time off for research." Holly grumbled to herself as she pulled back to sheet.

Maura raised the light and they both exhaled. Nothing. "To be honest, I'm quite relieved."

"I am and I'm not. This is proof."

Grimly, Maura nodded. "I'll tell Jane."

There was an odd tension on the line, which Maura couldn't quite place. It felt like Jane was holding something back. Some small concern, or maybe a personal thought she wasn't ready to express yet.

Instead of pushing, Maura decided to trust her best friend. "Be safe," was all she said.

"Always," said Jane, warmly. "Thanks." And she hung up.

One day they were going to have to address the growing sentiment between them. Maura wasn't honestly sure which way it was going to go, nor was she certain where she wanted it to go. With a frown, she put her phone back in her purse. That could and should be contemplated another day. While Maura knew her feelings for Jane, she could wait forever. Even until never. It was worth it just having one person who understood her as a friend.

"Dr. Isles!" The cheerful, slightly cherubic face of Sgt. Oliver Shaw brightened visibly as Maura turned to look at him. "Dr. Stewart said you were here."

"I came to talk to Jane, Agent Rizzoli, about something, but I appear to have missed her."

"Yeah, yeah, she and my Peckling wanted to talk to Eagle Crushers."

Maura smiled a little at the nickname Shaw had given Gail. Peckling. It made her sound cute, which was not a phrase Maura would ever say to Gail aloud. "So she told me. They're en route."

"Poor Rizzoli," said Shaw, grinning. "She has to deal with Gail's driving."

"Is she not a good driver?"

"Oh no, no, Gail's a great driver. Safe on ice and mud and everything else. Actually it's really just kind of creepy. See, she has this knack for knowing when the GPS is wrong."

Arching an eyebrow, Maura tried to make sense of the statement. Gail knew when the GPS was wrong? Well. She should ask Holly about that later. Which reminded her. "I should find my ride again."

"Oh, sorry, I actually wanted to borrow your brain for a second? I can have one if my minions drive you back." Shaw gestured towards what Maura presumed was his office. "It's work related."

Maura had no reason not to trust Oliver Shaw, so she followed him in. "Officer Peck speaks highly of you," noted Maura, gracefully folding into a seat.

"She's like a daughter to me," said Shaw. "Which. Right." He stopped himself and picked up a folder. "You and Holly— You and Dr. Stewart read over the profiles?"

"Of the victims? Yes."

"Some of them are guesses, though."

"You mean the presumed victims? Yes, I did read those."

"And ... what did you think?"

Maura canted her head. "About the theory or the report?"

Shaw nodded, understanding her reticence apparently. "Right. Y'see Holly— Dr. Stewart mentioned you also studied psychology?"

Interesting. Maura nodded. "I do. I don't have multiple degrees in it," she said. "But I have both studied and applied psychology to criminals with some measure of success."

"Right. We don't have a profiler at Fifteen. We farm out to the Big Building when we do, which I gotta admit, has been getting more common. But ..." he trailed off.

"Sgt. Shaw, I am aware that Officer Peck wrote those profiles on her own," said Maura gently.

"Oh thank god." Shaw leaned back. "And please, call me Oliver, Doc."

She quirked a smile. "Oliver. Am I to understand you want me to, ah, vet Gail's work?"

He nodded rapidly. "I thought it was good. But, y'know..."

And Maura understood. "But you love Gail like family."

Relieved, Oliver put the folder down and leaned back. "She should be my second, Doc. She passed the sergeant's exam, and she should be able to be at least the overnight sarge here. But they won't have her." His face darkened. "I did the best I could for her, got her that side promotion with the Mounties, but ... I want everyone to know, she's not her family."

Maura was very glad she'd read up a little on Gail's family. Her father was in jail, no chance of parole, and had been found guilty of planning people's actual murders. Her mother was out on parole, having turned evidence. Her brother was recently released as well, having given up everything. From there on, a dozen Pecks had gone to jail. More had resigned in shame.

At this point, Holly had explained, only a handful of Pecks remained in policing, and none held any role of importance. Just knowing that, Maura might have been inclined to distrust Gail. But the daughter of Paddy Doyle and Hope Martin knew biology didn't matter. Not like that.

And as Maura had Jane to act as her human credential, Gail had Holly. She also had this man, Oliver. She even had the weirdly chipper Officer Price.

Maura smiled. "Oliver. Her work is good. Gail is clearly educated and competent. She has survived horrible things with Ross Perik and she didn't break. Her work, for someone untrained, is beyond adequate. She can do this, and she will do it well."

Oliver nodded, nervously, and then asked in a small voice. "Do you think ... I know you just met her, but do you think if I sent her off for training, she'd come back?"

Now, that was a different question. Maura barely knew Gail. But she did know this. "She's stayed all this time without any overt display of significant trust in her, Oliver. Imagine what she'll be when she gets it."

Gail Peck. Profiler. Sounds kinda cool, doesn't it? Next, we need to find out what Gail and Jane are up to.