A/N: I've been told they also solve crimes on this show… hm, never really noticed, but fine, let's do that gumshoe thing… As usual, feedback is much appreciated (especially since I've run out of cookies and need other things to make me happy :-)).
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Chapter 7 – Night 2 (cont'd)
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The lobby of BPD headquarters was bustling with activity that night — a stark contrast to the relative quiet on any other given night. But this wasn't just any night. This was the night after a bomb in the heart of Boston had brutally changed the city's rhythm, including the working hours of law enforcement officials, media representatives, and all those directly or indirectly affected by the attack.
And therefore, police officers, CSRU techs, and numerous journalists were scooting back and forth on the building's ground floor, often hurriedly bumping into one another and briefly apologizing before scooting back and forth some more. Here and there, FBI agents from the local bureau rushed through the scene, leaving the numerous TV cameras barely enough time to capture the bold three-letter identification on the back of their jackets for their next news report.
In the middle of the hustle and bustle, the same overzealous female reporter from the night before stood rooted to the ground, determined to deliver her latest update to her cameraman without any interference.
"As we've reported earlier, the suspected bomber, Frederico Buccitelli, has a long criminal record and served a five-year sentence for assault and robbery until 2012," she rattled away. "The prosecution in his case was led by none other than late mayoral candidate Andrew Connelly during his appointment at Suffolk County Superior Court before his transition into politics."
The young reporter looked at a sheet of paper in her hand for dramatic effect before focusing her gaze back on the camera in front of her. "Now, we have just learned that the apartment of Buccitelli has been searched and that a suicide note has been found. In this note, he blames Connelly for his prison sentence as well as for the candidate's campaign focus on even tighter criminal laws. Given Connelly's clear lead in the polls, it appears that Buccitelli has once again returned to his mob origins and taken matters into his own hands."
Before she could continue her exclusive report, two officers bolted through the lobby and almost kicked her cameraman off his feet when they stormed by. Clearly annoyed by the interruption, the young woman wrinkled her nose and waited for him to regain his balance and point his camera back at her.
At the same moment, Jane and Maura entered the building and forced their way through the crowded lobby. Even though they had changed into fresh clothes, the scratches on their skin and the dark rings under their eyes still evinced the stressful and sleepless hours they had endured.
"I'm serious, go back home and get some sleep," the detective urged the medical examiner.
"It's alright, I'll wait. It's more economical if we take only one car," Maura quickly objected.
Jane smirked knowingly. "You just want a ride in mine because you found that rotten French fry between the seats in your rental car."
"Well, do you have any idea how many bacteria will gather on even just one fry?" the blonde interposed.
"No, and I prefer not to know," Jane declared as they made their way towards the elevator. "Can you—"
"Detective Rizzoli, Doctor Isles!" the young female reporter called out and rushed towards them. She had obviously done her homework and knew the Who's Who of BPD.
The two women of said names turned around and faced their follower.
Skipping all courtesies, the overzealous reporter shoved her microphone into Jane's face. "Can you tell us why Detective Frost was in that restaurant last night? Was he on an undercover mission?"
"You think I'd tell you if this were the case?" the detective brushed her off.
"So, that's a yes?" the newswoman pushed further.
Jane shook her head in disbelief at the reporter's wild speculation but somehow managed to keep calm. "Barry Frost was an excellent detective and a good friend. That's all you need to know," she stated and turned away, prompting the reporter to focus on Maura instead.
"And Doctor Isles, how do you feel about the fact that Buccitelli is basically a foster son of your father, Paddy Doyle?" she tried unwaveringly.
While Maura temporarily froze at the subtle accusations that she certainly didn't hear for the first time, Jane's face darkened and she glared at the media parasite. "Really?! Those are the best questions you got?"
Sensing that the detective was beginning to see certain similarities between that obnoxious reporter and her self-defense dummy at home, Maura quickly regained her composure, rebuked the reporter with a cold "no comment," and tugged Jane away towards the elevator.
"You should've whacked her over the head with her microphone to show her how you feel about her questions," Jane grunted but then noticed Maura's absentminded expression. She might have had the presence of mind to get them both away from the reporter, but her thoughts were clearly still back in the lobby with those nagging questions.
"Hey, you're not gonna let that Christiane Amanpour wannabe get to you, are you?" the brunette worried as they stepped into the elevator on their way up to the homicide unit.
"She's got a point though…," Maura admitted quietly. "Paddy Doyle is my father—"
"Sperm donor…," Jane interjected.
"And no matter what he does, even now from behind prison bars, I will always be related to it…," the medical examiner sighed.
"Come on, now you're just being ridiculous," the detective instantly rejected that notion.
"They've been calling me 'Queen of the Dead' before… I'm sure they'll come up with an even better name now…," Maura mused in frustration.
"Well, if it's any consolation, you'll always be Doctor Googlemouth to me…," Jane declared cheerfully and nudged the blonde. It was at least enough to bring a thankful smile to Maura's lips as they stepped out of the elevator and headed towards the homicide squad room.
However, when they entered the bullpen and Jane's eyes immediately fell on Frost's empty desk next to her own, she stopped dead in her tracks and gloom filled her face.
After taking a deep breath herself and vainly scanning the room for Korsak, Maura gently pushed Jane towards the hallway, trying to distract her from the depressing sight. "Come on, let's find Sergeant Korsak."
Right on cue, the sergeant emerged from one of the conference rooms and approached the two women when he spotted them. "There you are!"
"Alright, enough with the secretiveness — why are we here?" Jane greeted him.
"Not sure. She only wants to talk with you present," Korsak shrugged.
"Like I got nothing better to do than chat with the sister of the guy who killed my partner…," the detective murmured doubtfully.
"I'll wait downstairs…," Maura suggested, unsure whether she should stay or go.
"No, no, since you're here anyway, you'll join us," Jane quickly objected. "You figure out if that woman is a nutjob while I pretend to be interested in what she has to say."
Relieved that she wouldn't have to risk running into that reporter again, Maura nodded in amusement and they headed back towards the conference room.
Before they entered, Jane sheepishly peeked at the sergeant from the side. "Thanks for… you know… earlier…"
"Don't mention it," Korsak smirked. "Life's easier for everybody when you two aren't fighting."
A little embarrassed, the two women looked first at each other, then at the sergeant.
"It's not that bad…," Jane wondered incredulously.
"Oh yes, it is," Korsak smiled prankfully before entering the conference room. Jane and Maura exchanged a quick chuckle and then followed him inside.
Ciara Buccitelli was already awaiting them and immediately got up from her chair at the large conference table, a glimmer of hope filling her face when she noticed Jane's badge dangling around her neck. Puffy from crying, the young woman put out her hand. "I'm Ciara Buccitelli. You must be Detective Rizzoli…"
"I am." Ignoring Ciara's outstretched hand, Jane pulled back a chair and sat down, then pointed at Maura, who took a seat next to her, while Korsak unobtrusively leaned against the door. "This is my colleague, Doctor Isles. Why do you want to talk to me?"
"Well, first of all, I'm sorry you lost your partner," Ciara began empathetically. "And I can understand why you hate me right now. I mean, you probably think it was all Rico's fault…"
"It doesn't matter what I think," Jane denied rather harshly. "We got him on tape with the bomb in his hands."
"Yes, that's what the other cops kept telling me, too. And everything fits perfectly, doesn't it?" the suspect's sister sighed in frustration. "Former criminal with ties to the mob enters a restaurant with a suspicious briefcase, and minutes later, the place blows up. Must have been his fault, right?"
"He didn't carry just any suspicious briefcase," Jane objected impatiently. "We know it contained the bomb. So, if you have a point here, I suggest you get to it."
"None of the things my brother has been accused of are true," Ciara explained with a wavering voice. "He wasn't blaming Mr. Connelly for anything. He knew he had messed up his life, and as soon as he got out of prison, he wanted to turn his life around. He… he must have been set up…"
"Sounds wonderful, but do you have a little more than just wishful thinking on your part?" Jane wondered, still not convinced that this woman was worth her time.
"Well, I… I haven't told any of the other officers because I… I wasn't sure whom I could trust," Buccitelli's sister hesitated. "But since you lost your partner, I thought, well, you would maybe—"
"Just tell me what you got," Jane cut her off, clearly not in the mood for guessing games after everything she'd been through.
"See, Rico had started his own bike messenger business because he couldn't find a job when he got out," Ciara revealed. "He screwed up his job interviews because he was dyslexic. And not just a little, I mean, he could barely read and write. And he was too ashamed about it, so he would try to cheat his way through his interviews. And when that didn't work, I helped him set up his own business."
Jane frowned and exchanged uncertain glances with Maura and Korsak. "So, you're saying someone hired him to deliver that bomb to the restaurant?"
"Yes," Ciara confirmed. "And he couldn't have written that suicide note. He would've made lots of errors in such a note, but there weren't any."
"But it's his handwriting," Korsak objected. "We've compared it to some documents from his trial."
"I admit, it did look like his handwriting, but what was written there, it… that wasn't him," the young woman emphasized.
"When people decide to commit suicide, they are often overcome by a certain clarity of mind," Maura explained. "They feel relieved and unburdened. This might have made your brother act in unfamiliar ways, including in his writing."
"No, I… I know those weren't his words. And I know you think I'm just putting on rose-colored glasses," she smiled in desperation. "But even though Rico was a felon, he was also my little brother. He never lied to me. And I believed him when he said he wanted to get his shit together. You have no idea how hard it is to be the sister of a felon and—"
"I think I know what it's like," Jane objected. Of course, she knew. The young woman's words had inevitably reminded her of Tommy, her own felon baby brother. But Tommy had managed to turn his life around, so what if Rico had managed to do the same? What if he really had been set up? What if we got the wrong guy? What if…? Jane knew she owed it to Frost to find out the truth.
"So, you believe me?" Ciara's voice filled with hope.
"I can't promise anything at this point," the detective declared. "But we'll look into this." She glanced at Maura and Korsak, who nodded and signaled their support.
"Thank you, that's all I'm asking," the suspect's sister sighed in relief.
"I'm sorry you lost your brother," Jane offered her sympathies and stretched out her hand as they got up.
Ciara Buccitelli thankfully shook it before they all left the room.
Shortly thereafter, in the middle of the night, Jane, Korsak and Lieutenant Cavanaugh were gathered in the intelligence center next to the homicide unit's bullpen and quietly going through footage from different cameras showing the explosion and the Il Camino restaurant right before and after the blast.
"Just look how calm he is when he gets off his bike and enters the restaurant," Jane points at Frederico Buccitelli on the large screen at the wall. "I almost bumped into him just seconds before that. I mean, even if he wanted to commit suicide — wouldn't he at least stop for a moment and, you know, look around one last time or something?"
"Well, like Doctor Isles said, once someone decides to commit suicide, they don't really care about anything any longer," Korsak remembered. "Maybe the guy popped a few pills and was already zoned out… who knows…"
"But she's got a point," Cavanaugh interjected. "Everything does fit rather nicely. We got the suspect, the suicide note, some clear video footage — as if we're not supposed to look any further. But we—"
When the lieutenant's phone interrupted his thought, he glanced at its display and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I gotta take this. The mayor has been breathing down my neck all night," he grumbled and nodded to his two colleagues. "Look into this and keep me updated."
Once Cavanaugh had left the BRIC, Jane plopped down into the chair next to Korsak and rubbed her tired eyes.
"Even if it turns out to be nothing — we owe it to Frost to make sure we get the right guy," the brunette declared.
Korsak pensively stared at his computer. "Too bad we don't have any footage from inside the restaurant."
"Well, let's just assume for a moment that Buccitelli has been set up," Jane pondered the thought. "Then someone must have been watching from somewhere in this street. The bomb went off right after he entered the restaurant — with a time fuze, it could've gone off too soon or too late. Then the whole plan would've fallen apart."
"True," Korsak agreed. "But the scene was too messy for our CSRUs to determine what kind of trigger has been used."
"Do we have any other videos?" Jane wondered. "Some other angles on the street?"
"Yes, hold on," the sergeant confirmed and browsed through different multimedia folders on his computer. What he lacked in speed and computer skills in comparison to Detective Frost he clearly compensated with zeal and determination. "We've received several cell phone videos from witnesses…"
Various short clips — some blurred and shaky, others sharp and steady — played on the big screen until Jane suddenly rose from her seat.
"Stop right there!" she demanded at the sight of a man in a white Corvette accidentally looking directly into a bystander's camera as he drove his car away from the scene. "Why do I know this guy?" The brunette massaged her temples, trying to think clearly despite her lingering headache from the explosion.
"That's the man who didn't want to give up his parking spot," Maura announced from behind when she returned to the BRIC with some sandwiches and three cups of steaming coffee in her hands. "We stopped, and you asked him whether he was going to leave…" the medical examiner tried to refresh the detective's fragmented memories.
And slowly, the memory came back to Jane. "Yeah… you're right. And I thought it was odd that he was just blocking the space with his lights on and his motor running…"
"Which is a rather pollutive habit… Not to mention the cost of wasted gas and unnecessary wear of the combustion engine…," Maura interjected automatically and earned herself an amused glance from Jane.
"And why would he drive away right after the explosion as if nothing happened? Can we find out who this guy is?" the brunette wondered and habitually turned around. "Frost, can you—"
Jane stopped mid-sentence when Frost's empty chair painfully reminded her of his absence. Maura and Korsak hung their heads as well, and a moment of silence filled the BRIC.
Eventually, the sergeant cleared his throat and pulled his keyboard closer.
"I'll run him through facial rec…," Korsak said, and Jane nodded quietly before sitting back down to wait for his results. Maura slid onto the chair next to her and nudged her with one of the sandwiches. The brunette absentmindedly accepted the offer and took a bite, her thoughts still circling around her former partner and her appetite being virtually non-existent.
"Got him," the sergeant announced and pulled up a mug shot on the large screen in front of them. "Carl Henslow," Korsak read from his data just as Lieutenant Cavanaugh joined them again in the BRIC. "Has a long record… robbery, assault, unauthorized possession of explosives,… and forgery."
"Huh… I guess, he'd know how to fake a suicide note," Jane mused.
"And what do you say, he spent several years in the same prison as Buccitelli…," Korsak continued as he browsed through his files. "Both of them were involved in a prison fight that got Henslow an extension of his sentence…"
"This would appear to be a good motive to take revenge on him…," Maura concluded.
"But judging from Henslow's record, he's not the kinda guy who blows up a restaurant for nothing," the sergeant pointed out.
"Right," Jane agreed. "He's the guy you'd look up on your local Craigslist for mobsters if you need some dirty work done."
"And who would benefit most from Connelly's death?" Korsak asked even though they all knew the answer.
"Michael Welsh…," Jane nodded and uneasily looked at Cavanaugh.
"You think Welsh tried to get rid of his opponent?" the lieutenant asked, and his face darkened at the thought of the repercussions this would entail.
The brunette shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first campaign to turn a little dirtier than usual…"
"Okay, let's keep this under wraps for now," Cavanaugh decided. "Find me that Henslow guy first before we stir up a hornet's nest here. I'll keep the mayor and the press at bay as long as I can to give you a head start."
"I'll talk to my CIs to track down Henslow," Korsak announced. "The military tightly guards its supplies of C4, so he must have gotten it from somewhere else."
Noticing the first glimpses of sunrise, Jane checked her watch. "I'll head over to Connelly's headquarters. I wanna know why he was in that restaurant… Maybe we find a connection to Welsh or whoever is behind this…"
"Alright," Lieutenant Cavanaugh agreed before he and Sergeant Korsak left the intelligence center.
"I guess I'll continue with the identification of the bodies…," Maura decided rather dolefully as she grabbed the rest of her sandwich and got up.
On their way out, the detective pulled the medical examiner aside. "If you need a break or something, just call, alright?"
"I will," Maura nodded thankfully. "And you try not to get any more of your ribs broken…"
"I will," Jane smiled as they headed out of the BRIC.
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