Chapter Five

"I am full of fears, for if I fail there, I am an outcast in the world forever."

There wasn't anything wrong, technically, with how Gail drove. It was just unnerving that she never once looked at the map. They'd been given the address of the company who had supposedly destroyed the cab and Gail had just gotten on the road. She didn't check a map, she didn't check for traffic. She just drove.

It didn't help that Jane was unnerved by Maura's phone call. "Okay. Thanks, Maura. I'll let you know what we find."

"Be safe," said Maura. There was nervousness in her voice, like the layers and layers of serendipity were too much for Maura to accept.

Jane held back a shudder. It was really too creepy. Every time Jane thought she was over it, that she'd grown and healed, something came to rip her scars open and remind her that she would never be over this.

"Always. Thanks." She tapped the phone to hang up, feeling like she should say something more and not knowing what it was.

"What'd the doctors fantastic say," asked Gail, as Jane dropped her phone into her own lap.

"Black light showed painted on markings on the palm." Jane stopped. She glanced at her own hands. Would she need to show them to Gail?

Gail snorted. "What a sick fuck." She shook her head, not asking if Maura was certain, and taking it as fact.

There were some benefits to working with someone else who also carried physical and mental scars from a serial killer. Gail didn't look at her like she was weak or sad or pathetic, and she didn't act like she needed to protect Jane. To Gail, Jane was a respected (as much as Gail seemed to respect anyone) more senior law enforcement officer.

After Hoyt, everyone had treated her differently. She was a hero to many, but a failure to many more. The force hadn't really known what to do with her, so they bandaged her up and tossed her back into work. Maura was the only person who hadn't changed. Oh, Maura had changed in how she talked to Jane, but it was all in positive ways. She was caring without seeming over protective. Jane was just her friend who was having a rough time.

Gail took a turn the GPS didn't like, causing it to yell at them until she tapped it off.

Jane frowned and pulled up the map on her own phone. The directions were close, but not the same as how Gail was driving. "Hey, have you been here before? The junkyard?"

"Don't think so," Gail canted her head. "Yeah, Nope. Not this one."

"Okay, 'cause you turned off the GPS."

"Yeah, so?" Glancing over, Gail eyed Jane. "What're you really asking?"

It was tricky to phrase the question in the right way. Jane didn't want Gail to think she wasn't trusted, that was a vital part of a relationship when two armed officers were going to check out a suspect. But at the same time, Gail was a great unknown. Jane sighed. "I've been shot, where are we?"

Gail actually laughed, tossed out two streets which were correct, and then giggled. She god damned giggled. "Wow, no ones's tried that with me since my first ride as a boot."

"That was fast," said Jane, impressed but off-put. The laughing was weird.

"You have no idea what the hell Peck means, it's kinda cute."

"I'm not cute!" Jane sat up and glared, but Gail just laughed more. "Oh shut up, what's Peck mean?"

"Pecks," said Gail, controlling herself and taking another turn. "Pecks have been police officers since Toronto constabulary was created. Before that, we were police in Nottinghamshire, England. Yes, we've all made the joke on how we're the Sheriff of Nottingham. We weren't. At that time, we were in Denbighshire. Wales. Which means, from the moment my mom got pregnant with me, my life path was spelled out. I would go to the right school, get a useful degree, go to the academy, and be a police officer. Marry someone upwardly mobile, the whole works."

The tone Gail used was one Jane remembered. It was how she sounded before she'd found out she could be a cop. Resignation. "You don't want to be a cop?"

"It was not a choice I was given," Gail said, correcting Jane. "Want didn't factor into it."

"How's Holly fit in there?"

Gail screwed up her face. "Well. That's a funny one. Technically she'd be awesome since she's a doctor and famous and important."

"They don't care she's a she?"

"I doubt it. They didn't care when I said I was gay, expect Mom started setting me up with women." Gail exhaled in disappointment. "Her ability to pick women who were interesting to me was about as good as the men. I've had coffee with pretty much every single Toronto scion, except gay guys." She paused. "Out gay guys. One was in the closet and wanted to marry me so we could beard each other."

Jane laughed. And then realization struck. She screwed up her face. "Wait, you're telling me you memorized the city layout because your family is always cops?"

"Oh, no. I memorized the city because I have a sweet tooth, and I didn't get desert if I couldn't do that shot game." The blonde glanced over. "I do like being a cop, Jane. But I was always going to be one, no matter what I wanted, so I never thought about any other life."

For a moment, Jane had entertained the idea of having a police pedigree. Instead of Rizzoli and Sons Plumbers, it could have been generations of Rizzolis in blue. What would it have been like to have the overbearing pressure be to serve and protect? To give up individual freedom? What would it be like to grow up knowing that no matter what, no matter how much one rebelled, that the end result would be this?

From what Jane knew about Gail's case, it had involved her parents winding up in jail. Clearly not all great. And the desert thing. That implied a lot more than just "you will be a cop." Her family clearly had more expectations than just being a cop. They were going to mould and shape Gail into the kind of cop they wanted.

Of course, Gail was still a cop and her family was in jail. Which meant they'd not broken her, and she was something else. Someone else. She'd fought back somehow and become who she wanted to be, even if that cost her family. And probably friends, realized Jane.

That explained why people said Gail pushed them away. How the hell could Gail know if they were really friends? How the hell could they know if Gail was really honest? It was a devils conundrum no matter how it was phrased.

Jane exhaled loudly. "Damn. My family were plumbers. And Sicilian."

"Better food than the Welsh."

They rode in silence for a block. "How do you compensate for traffic?"

Gail grinned, evilly. "When was the last red light we hit?"

Jane blinked and thought hard. They'd had a remarkably stress free ride, with very little traffic and as Jane came to realize, a dearth of red lights. In fact ... "The one outside your station." That was insane, realized Jane. "How the hell did you do that?

"Google Maps only tracks the main roads. Some side streets, but not so much alleys, and definitely not the timing of traffic lights," said Gail, in the most blasé Canadian drawl Jane had ever hear.

Now Jane had to laugh. "Damn. Bet you know all the best parking spots," she said sincerely.

"And every call box within the greater Torontoland area. I get iffy out by Barry." Gail sighed. "Y'know, usually people give me shit for that."

"They probably think you coasted. Had it all handed to you." Jane shook her head. "See, Maura would say that's the problem with meeting people as adults. Or with social media. They see a moment, an adult fully formed, and not everything that got them there."

"I avoid social media," said Gail, a little grimly.

"Your parents went to jail. I would too." Jane was sympathetic to that. Social media would have a damn field day with someone as good looking as Gail with a police pedigree. "How'd you stay off the news?"

"Well, Jane. I didn't actually do anything." Gail glanced over and slowed the car. "Being provably innocent has a perk. That and Oliver."

As the car parked, Jane smiled. "He's a nice human, how the hell did that happen?"

"Hell if I know, but he's been more a father to me than my own, so ..." Gail shrugged and got out of the car. "Okay, you wanna be FBI Agent Rizzoli?"

Jane clambered out and stretched. "Technically I'm FBI Instructor."

Gail hung her badge around her neck. "You don't have a badge, but a lot of people don't wear 'em like that. So." She smirked.

This resulted in Gail introducing her as 'Agent Rizzoli' and nothing more, and herself as Officer Peck from Fifteen. The implication was that Jane was Canadian. That would probably inspire more honesty and friendliness from the clerk. Very quickly the manager came, explained he didn't know, but his employee Bode had been in charge.

"Is that normal?" Jane asked carefully, trying to tamp down her normal Bostonian accent. "Not keeping tabs on a case like this?"

The manager shrugged. "No offence, ma'am, but we get a lotta murder cases like this. We handle the demolition of most major case evidence in the lower Territory. What's special about this? He kill a cop?" And the manager laughed.

Odd. Jane had thought most people liked the police more in Canada.

Gail cleared her throat. "Actually 20 young women. And the car was mysteriously missing from impound a year later and involved in another murder attempt. We have CCTV footage of it out there again, so you can understand why we're looking into this a little more closely." Her tone was like ice, it sliced to the bone.

The manager, metaphorically, stepped back. "Tabarnak," he muttered. "That's his?" Apparently everyone knew Perik.

"Torrieu indeed," replied Gail. "Where's Bode?"

"Uh, I'll get him." And the manager scooted out leaving them alone in his office.

Jane arched her eyebrows. "Tabarnak?"

"Means tabernacle. Using Catholic terms is how you swear in Quebec. My favourite has always been Mon tabarnak j'vais te décâlisser la yeule, câlice. Which ... roughly means 'I'm gonna beat your fucking face in, you mother fucker.' French Canadian curses are the best." Gail looked quite pleased at the sentence.

"I kinda want to hear you and Maura talk about that," Jane said under her breath. "Except she doesn't swear well."

"She doesn't lie so great either. Tap dances around the truth though."

Jane smiled. It was nice to know someone else had spotted that. "She breaks out in hives when she lies."

Gail did a double take, which was incredibly heartening to see. "For real?"

"All up and down her neck." Jane mimed the locations.

The door opened before they could get further into the peculiarities of Maura Isles, and a young man was ushered in.

Under her breath, Gail muttered, "Runner."

The owner cleared his throat. "Detectives, this is Bode Landon."

Bode froze and stared at Jane. "Detective?" His eyes darted to Gail's badge, widened, and then Bode did something stupid. He ran.

Jane swore and took off after him. While he knew the territory and had an obvious advantage, she had longer legs and frankly a lot of frustration to work out. What Jane didn't have was backup. Gail was nowhere in sight.

God damn it.

Redoubling her effort, Jane ran as fast as she could, just keeping up with Bode but not gaining on him. Her (cough) nearly fifty years were catching up on her. This was the sort of job the young, barely in her thirties, Gail goddamn Peck should be doing. And here she was, running through god knew where stupid Toronto and the Bode moron wouldn't stop. At least Jane could thank Maura for making her keep running all the time. She was still in tip top shape for a cop, let alone one her age.

As she rounded a corner, though, Jane was surprised.

There, standing, hands on hips, jacket pushed back so her left hand was in position by the gun on her left hip, was Gail fucking Peck.

"Hey," said the newly familiar, nearly lazy voice of Gail Peck. "Can you, like, not?"

Bode screamed like a child and threw himself backwards as Jane skidded to a stop. Gail shook her head and walked over, cuffs appearing out of nowhere.

"Shit," said Jane, and she sucked in air. "How did you do that?"

"I said he was a runner," Gail replied. "Bode Landon. You are under arrest for aiding and abetting murder; do you understand?"

"What!? No I didn't!"

Gail continued, "You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay. We will provide you with a toll-free telephone lawyer referral service, if you do not have your own lawyer. Anything you do say can and will be used in court as evidence. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand but I didn't help anyone kill anyone!"

"Would you like to speak to a lawyer?"

This time Bode was silent. "What the hell did I do?"

Gail looked at Jane, rolling her eyes. "You tell me, Bode. You ran."

"Man I just sold a car! I know it's wrong, but the guy was a collector!"

Hauling Bode to his feet, Gail shook her head. "Buddy. I'm gonna say this again. Anything you do say can and will be used in court as evidence. Do you understand?"

This time Bode seemed to really understand what she'd said. "Oh. Uh. Yeah. Yes."

"Do you want a lawyer?"

"I … I don't have one."

"Right. Come on."

Jane had to admit she was impressed by the efficiency of the Toronto police. Constabulary, as Gail put it. They had Bode in the back of a patrol wagon, a copy of videos from the owner, and lunch before they were back at the station. The videos, being digital, meant that Gail had ruthlessly dropped them on the AV lab and had results already in her hand after dropping off the food for the techs.

"Is your AV lab always that fast?" Jane couldn't help but smirk.

"They love falafel." With a matching smirk, Gail pulled up the video at her desk. "So get this. Bode did it twice."

That was not surprising. "He was the ring leader both times the car was sold?"

"No, he sold the same car twice. Just last month."

"Okay, you lost me," said Jane, and she leaned over. Gail pressed play.

"Look at the date stamp," instructed Gail. On the video, their idiot Bode was standing by what appeared to be a taxicab, talking to someone who handed him an envelope. The man then drove off with the car. That was six months ago. But then the video jumped to only two months ago, and someone inside the car was holding out an envelope.

Jane stared. "What was that phrase you used?"

"Not entirely applicable. But I want to know how he fucking sold the car twice."

"Do we need a detective?"

"No, but legally you can't say anything." Gail pursed her lips and then smirked. Yeah. They shared a nod.

Jane smiled and followed Gail into the interrogation room. She took up a stance by the door, hands propped on her belt, looking as menacing as possible. It was incredibly easy, now that their minor beef was settled, to work with Gail. She knew how to communicate efficiently and effectively.

Without a look to Jane, Gail read from her phone and walked to the open chair at the desk. She ignored Bode, who was squirming, and his lawyer. From Jane's perspective, it was the most fun she'd had since coming to Toronto.

Finally, Gail sighed and looked up. "One quick question, Mr. Landon."

The lawyer spoke up, "They can ask, you don't have to answer."

"But I didn't kill anyone!" Bode was hung up on that particular aspect of the mess, and rightly so. "Honest, all I did was sell the guy the car!"

"Both times?" Gail's voice was painfully dry. Like if Jane's mother had used that tone, she'd have expected a spanking.

Bode went white as a sheet. "Oh."

"We want the names. Otherwise we'll have to assume you're an accessory and then it gets a lot messier, we get out the Crowne attorney, and subpoenas and everything." Gail shook her head and sighed again. "It's a lot of annoying paperwork, Bode, I'm sure you understand. Bosses. And god help me, they do not pay me by the report." She slouched in her seat. "Help a sister out?"

And much to Jane's delight, he folded like a chair at church social. "The cop was the second time," admitted Bode. "He paid cash, $50k. I mean, that's a lot for me!"

Cop. Jane arched an eyebrow and caught Gail's slight surprise out of the corner of her eye. Oh good, this was news to both.

"Lot for anyone," said Gail, encouragingly. "Who's the first guy again?"

"Right? No name. Just the fifty and he'd pick it up, dropping off a dupe."

"A duplicate cab?"

"Yeah, so I wouldn't get caught. Right? He said that way no one would know. I figured, y'know, he's one of them sicko collectors? Get Manson's hair and all that shit."

"And you'd sell to a guy like that?" Gail didn't sneer, but it was a near thing, Jane felt.

Bode looked apologetic. "My ma's in hospice, so I got my dad, my brother, and my wife and kids."

(Later on, when retelling the story, Jane voiced her thought. "I thought you had socialized medicine."

And Holly had explained, "Hospice is hospice. Basic care sure, but basic none the less.")

Gail looked off to the side. "Brother have Downs?"

Bode startled. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Gail just tut-tutted. "Alright. So then you sold the cop the fake car?"

"Well. Sold ain't right, is it? I just... he came in with a badge and everything, said he wanted the car to protect someone. Unmarked bills, he said, and a paper that kinda looked legit. But ... yeah, I gave him the fake car."

"How much did he pay you?"

"Only $15k."

Gail snorted. "Okay, do you have those documents? Or his name?"

"He didn't say his whole name, but I remember his badge was 527 and he said to call him—"

Gail cut him off, her entire body going still. "Steve?"

"Hey! How'd you do that?"

Frankly Jane wanted to know that herself. Did Gail memorize every badge number? Jane just frowned deeply at Bode and tried to project an air of malice.

Pulling out her phone, Gail tapped on it and showed a photo to Bode. "This the guy?"

"Yeah! Is he really a cop?"

Gail sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Landon. Someone will be right back to take your statement."

Following Gail out, Jane asked, "Who the hell was the guy?"

"Not a cop," she growled and waved across the floor. "This is about to get messy. Hey, Oliver, I got a problem."

"How bad?" The genial male smiled.

"I gotta call in a pick up and warrant on a parolee."

"What's the problem?"

"It's Steve."

A number of expressions crossed Oliver's face. Hurt and anger were the primary emotions. "Shit."

While Jane was confused, she recognized the situation for something far deeper than just a serial killer. There was something about the name that resonated with the police, and in a way that cut Gail to the bone even more. Jane took a deep breath and waited. It would do her no good to charge in, bull headed like the Jane of old. She had to wait Gail out, if she wanted to keep their tenuous relationship close.

Like herself at that age, Gail's bulwarks were high and wide. Jane saw the pain in Gail's closed expression. Far, far too familiar, all that.

"Is anyone available?"

"Do you want ..." He trailed off and looked at the detectives. "Yeah."

"Chloe's about the only one who'd be fair," said Gail softly. "But I'd be stacking my deck."

"Nick's back."

"Really?" Now Gail's voice was dry.

Oliver winced. "I'll get you someone to meet you there."

"Thanks." She glanced at Jane and jerked her head, silent until they reached the car. Jane knew she didn't need to ask. She knew Gail would tell her. "Steve, the man Bode ID'd in the photo, is Steven Peck. My brother," was all Gail said as she pulled out of the lot.

Now Jane winced. Everything made sense now. "And he bought the car? Jesus. When did he get out?"

"Four months ago. He picked up the car two. That's goddamned fast. Either Captain Dumbass had some inside trading or he was damn lucky."

Jane arched an eyebrow. "You said that like you don't believe in luck?"

"Success is 90% timing, 10% luck," replied Gail. "Steve used up all his luck a long time ago."

Jane fell silent for a while. "Wait. You're taking me to arrest your brother?"

"No. I'm taking you to make sure I don't kill my brother," Gail remarked.

That was when Jane realized Gail had a death grip on her steering wheel. "Maybe..." She wanted to say that maybe someone else could do that, but Jane had sorted out a few things. One of those was that Gail's family was pretty horrible. "Gail. I know this isn't my business but ... what happened with your brother?"

Instead of answering, Gail drove to a small donut shop. "This is a conversation that needs sugar," announced Gail, and she just went in.

"You know, life with you is weird, Gail," Jane remarked.

"You're welcome."

"That isn't a compliment."

"Neither was mine." Gail flashed a dangerous smile. "Name your poison." Donuts and coffee acquired, they sat outside on the hood of the car. "Tracker says Steve's out. As soon as he's home, we'll bring him in. But... I don't have a partner, Jane."

The first thought Jane had was that Gail had Holly. But she knew what Gail meant. "I have two brothers. It's a lot the same. My partner, Frost, he died. Car crash. Totally random. But it gutted me. It was like losing a piece of myself."

Gail nodded. "Growing up, our parents told us could only reply on Pecks. Me and Steve had each other, and that was it. No one would have our backs except family." She sighed, clearly feeling the weight of things. "When I was a rookie, Steve expected me to have his back over a girlfriend beater. And... I did."

Why were families always like that? "My old man was mad none of us had his back when he cheated on Ma."

"Steve and my father have been on the take since they were rookies."

Jane winced. "Jesus. And your mom?"

"Elaine Teflon Peck? She managed to get off. Not scott free, but damn near. Lied her ass off, threw everyone else under the bus. She's was on house arrest for a year, now she's living up at the old family cabin. Which, by the way, is the Peck cabin, not hers. But it's not like Dad needs it, being in jail and all." Gail paused. "Steve also blew up the evidence room and framed Oliver, who was blackmailed from a rookie thing years ago with the old chief, who Mom rolled over on."

"Weren't you having dinner with your parents when I got here?"

"At jail. I drove my mom up. Loads of fun," said Gail, nearly sneering.

It was... dizzying. "And Steve bought the car."

"Yep," said Gail, popping the P. "After this, I'm gonna need to get a lot of bitch out."

For that, Jane had to smile a little. "Well. Let's go arrest your brother. Maybe it'll make you feel better."

"God, why? Nothing so far has," muttered Gail.

She did have a point, Jane conceded. This whole case was a shit show.

No kidding, right? Is Steve in on this? Is that cab a fake? Who was the mysterious first guy.