- Chapter 5 -

Jane walked out of the metal box that took her up to the foreboding silence of the fourth floor of the Boston Police Department. It had been, what, a good couple of years since she had had the misfortune to have a legitimate reason to come up to the administrative floor of the division. Given the plywood/super-glue construction of the Homicide bullpen downstairs, she was always taken aback by how luxurious the fourth floor was in comparison to the po' boys below when the administration was always arguing for increased interdepartmental unity and cost-effectiveness. From the marble inlays to the freshly buffed floors, the floor reeked of a level of authority that Jane wasn't and hoped to never become familiar with. As she made her way down the hallway to the receptionist – how much money does BPD have to waste when they have two different receptionists on two different floors? – the ridiculous number of plaques, trophies, and memorabilia from all of the bigwig detectives who had solved big cases in Boston seemed to taunt her as they glinted in their clear, glass cases. Each step made her feel increasingly like the time she had gone to Cooperstown after winning the championship with her softball team in middle-school. The sense of reverence in the air as everyone mingled around the enshrined items of baseball lore in a hushed silence was similar to how she felt now, staring awkwardly at the receptionist before her.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm here to do an interview with a suspect for a case."

The receptionist frowned. "You're going to have to be a little bit more specific."

"He didn't tell you I was coming here?"

With a shocked sigh, the receptionist immediately moved to shuffle with several stacks of paper and memos. She found a small slip before looking back up at Jane's slightly confused face. "Sorry about that, ma'am. You must be Sgt. Rizzoli, the one Capt. Day told me to look out for when he came by earlier. He's in his office with the guest. It's the largest room on this floor, right down the hallway and then take a left."

"Is that your idea of directions?" Jane asked, slightly annoyed that a potential suspect was being referred to as a 'guest'.

The receptionist refused to be perturbed by Jane's tone. "You really can't miss it, Sergeant."

Yeah, so says the guy who practically lives up in this country club.

But instead of causing conflict, Jane nodded before following the vague directions given to find and get this idiotic showing of pomp and circumstance over and done with. She had been under the impression that Day's idea of "dealing with the public" would entail a sit-down meeting to pick the cemetery's supervisor over anyone and everyone who had access or a reason to get into the cemetery after dark. Apparently solving the case had taken a backseat to being an ambassador of sorts to the community regarding all things dead people. This couldn't be what being a sergeant entailed, it just couldn't. Cavanaugh and Korsak had assured her when she had took the promotion as a result of her actions in the Oscar Grey case that nothing significant would change regarding her day-to-day responsibilities other than a little bit more paperwork and looking pretty during the occasional news conference. If that was the truth, why was she stuck on the fourth floor, knocking on a door to spend more valuable time with a man that made her uncomfortably comfortable?

"Come in, Sergeant," Day's familiar voice said, voice muffled from the heavy oak door.

With a large exhale, Jane opened the door. She barely managed to restrain the small squeak of shock that came from her throat upon seeing the captain's office. Facing the downtown streets of Boston, the office was more like an executive suite given the larger than normal size and extravagance. Unlike Jane's own desk, few personal items littered the space except for two framed photos of, presumably, Day and his similarly large family and Day, dressed to the nines, in front of a crowd about to cut the ribbon leading to a recently built mosque that Jane remembered passing each time she drove into work. Jane didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that her teenage crush and boss's boss was completely devoid of personality. The man was all about family and work, nothing else. How sad is that?

"Jane, how are you?" Day asked, rhetorically. "Have you had the pleasure to meet the cemetery's sexton, John Doe?"

Jane looked over at the seated man who was nervously keeping his hands warm, despite the fact that the air in the office was a perfect seventy-six degrees. With a jittery smile, he briefly made eye contact before resuming his focus to his moving hands, Buddy Holly glasses slipping slightly down his oily nose. Play nice, play nice, Jane chanted, reluctantly offering her hand in greeting.

"So…your parents must have a sense of humor, huh?"

John Doe looked up with teary eyes. "I don't know what you mean?"

"Well, uh…your name is John Doe and unknown bodies are called…" Jane saw Day's face shift imperceptibly to disdain, deflating her weak attempt at humor before it even got started. "I want to assure you that we're working tirelessly on determining the identity of the dead body found in your mausoleum, Mr. Doe."

"Well, thank you for that."

"And…that's all I can think of, Capt. Day. Anything else you'd care to add?" Jane said, throwing the ball back in his court since this was his dog-and-pony show, after all. Let him work his magic on this Revenge of the Nerds extra and see what he can squeeze out of him.

Day frowned. "Don't you think you should comfort him, Sergeant?"

"Isn't that what I just did?" Jane replied in a loud stage whisper.

"No," Day began, "you didn't. Tell him how the process is going regarding the investigation."

"Hell no, Ashley. I told you that we…my team haven't even started investigating yet because the body just got back to the morgue. If I was down there, I'd know how the investigation is proceeding. Can I go?"

Day rolled his eyes at Jane's rebellious display. "This is your job."

"My job is investigating homicides, not sitting here with John Doe trying to comfort him that his mausoleum isn't gonna be wrecked by my detectives. This whole comfort the public thing is your scene."

"And it should be your scene, as well."

"Well, it isn't."

Still awkwardly playing with his hands, John Doe's eyes skittered back and forth between the two police officers. "I really don't need anyone to comfort me, really. The captain is the one who pushed for this interview in the first place."

"Because it is vital that the community is kept in the loop regarding violent acts of crime, i.e. homicide."

"Is that all you know how to say?" Jane lowered her voice in a facsimile version of Day's voice. "Community, community, community. The community doesn't give a rat's ass what the cops are doing as long as they can get to Boston Joe's before seven a.m. and drive around the city without seeing dead bodies all over the road. Hell, knowing Bostonians they'd just drive over the bodies and continue honking for someone to make a turn on red."

Day looked over at John Doe with an icy stare. "You should go."

"No," Jane said, standing up. "I should go."

She walked stiffly toward the door, slipping out of the office as quickly as humanly possible. The adrenaline of telling of Day propelled her all the way to the elevator on a confident high. As soon as the doors closed, however, she could barely stand up. All she wanted to do was cry like a little girl and disappear. Her finger pushed the button that would lead her to the morgue.