Welcome back! Hope everyone enjoyed season three. In this update, I'm still juggling two or three separate plotlines. I wanted a significant conversation between Korsak and Maura, who don't yet know each other all that well, regarding the upcoming trial. What do they have in common? Jane. This is the result.
In the next few chapters, I'm attempting to make progress with Jane and Maura's relationship…as a relationship. As in romantically speaking. Maybe. So, don't give up on me just yet.
Then…well, that would be spoiling wouldn't it?
Chapter 4
The glass door swinging open caught the fluorescent light and cast a glare onto Det. Barry Frost's computer screen. The words 'Boston Regional Intelligence Center' appeared mirrored backwards from inside the squad room, colloquially dubbed 'the bullpen.' Glancing up, he watched his partner make her way to the desk across from his own.
"You're late," he said by way of greeting.
"Not late," Jane slouched into her chair. Dark hair tumbled messily to her shoulders, contrasting against a white collared shirt. "I just spent an hour in the Chief's office."
He raised an eyebrow, absently clicking through emails. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," she leaned forward, "We caught a case last night. Where's Korsak?" He nodded, indicating the doors behind her.
"So, you finally decided to show up," Korsak smirked as he crossed the room, "Whatever's going on, I'm in."
"Wait," Frost cut in, mildly offended, "Why is he in the loop and I'm not?" Jane didn't have an answer, shooting her former partner a questioning look.
Korsak shrugged, "I may have run into Cavanaugh in the café. He doesn't like you going over his head, but he gave us the go-ahead."
Like she needed his permission. "Hey, he called me, in the middle of the night! What was I supposed to do?"
She held up her hand as if talking into a phone, pitching her voice high, "Sorry sir, please go through the proper chain of command. You can reach my boss at 617-"
Korsak waved her off, laughing, and changed the subject, "So, how do we track these guys with virtually no evidence? The mob, no less."
She liked the way he said 'we,' as in, the three of them. It was always comforting somehow, familiar, to work with Korsak again, even though they were no longer partners. The issue was still largely unresolved between them, but it was also unspoken, and they worked around it with levity and good humor. Jane understood that he was in a transient position, waiting for the inevitable promotion to sergeant in the fall. In the meantime, he inserted himself into Jane and Frost's caseload whenever possible.
Despite everything that happened in the past months, Korsak still believed in her, and Jane found herself needing his support. For a long time, it had been just the two of them against the world, and she wasn't ready to give that up just yet, though she had only herself to blame. She had requested the switch.
"I honestly have no idea," Jane sighed, fishing the photograph out of her pocket and passing it to Frost, "Can you run this through facial recognition?"
"Sure." He rose to place it on a scanner, using one of the two bulky, grey office photocopiers lining the wall. "That came for you this morning," he pointed at a sealed manila folder near Jane's elbow, "It's from the D.A.'s office, I think."
Jane and Korsak's eyes locked, both frozen in place. Looking down, she noted the court date stamped across the label in faded, red post ink. Four months ago, Jane's composure would have shattered at the mere thought of the Surgeon, shutting down entirely. Now she just felt sick, a rolling wave of nausea that burned her throat and heaped tension onto her shoulders, but it was a residual fear instead of a waking terror, fading as quickly as it appeared.
Jane didn't know whether to consider herself a stronger person, or simply too jaded by fear that she was apathetic towards it.
That case had cost her a great deal, more than dignity, and more than a partner. Hoyt was the reason she had three extra locks on her door, and still didn't, couldn't, feel safe. A day had yet to go by when she didn't think about that day, even without Hoyt's trial looming ahead. If she were lucky, she was left with a raw chill and then back to normal. If not, she lost yet another long, sleepless night to pacing around the apartment, going over all the things she could have done different.
Korsak recovered first, moving forward and reaching for the folder. "It's probably just a request for documents. I can take care of it, Jane."
Jane batted his hand away. She didn't want his protection or pity. "No," she snapped, her voice low, expression empty. "No, you don't have to do that."
"Then I will."
They all three turned to find Lieutenant Cavanaugh standing in the doorway. In three strides he was next to the desk holding out a hand. "That's an order, Rizzoli," his usual barking voice was rough as ever, but his eyes were sincere.
Later that afternoon, Korsak was watching a stream of photographs flickering on the screen, a multitude of faces rushing by. None of them were a match. It made him dizzy, so he turned back to the open file before him. As he turned, he noticed Dr. Isles standing near the desk, waiting to be noticed, impeccably dressed per usual in designer heels and a tight black dress.
"Hey doc, can I help you?" He gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. She moved gracefully, smiling at him and pushing the length of her long hair over her shoulder.
"It's been a productive morning," she said and while her voice was smooth, he noticed that her hands shook slightly before she folded them in her lap, "I thought I might check in. Even without a body, maybe I can help in some way." She smiled.
"Sure. Jane and Frost are making a sweep of the harbor, where O'Rourke tends to run his 'business," his sarcasm was ineffective as he fumbled to quickly close the file. A photo slipped out and fell to the floor.
"I was just-" But Maura was already reaching for the photo, and he sighed in resignation, "…pulling some files for the lieutenant."
She straightened and considered the digital print from a CSI camera. He cursed at himself, knowing what she saw. He remembered the scene with more clarity even than the glass lens.
Cordell and Hoyt were gone, raced to the hospital for surgery. An EMT had to extract Jane before she could be similarly transported. Korsak stayed with her through the entire grueling process, unacknowledged, but there. He doubted she was much aware of anything by that point. She didn't even cry out as the second knife was removed. The medic ran back to the ambulance for something, leaving them for only a moment, and some jerk had caught that moment digitally. It didn't seem right.
He remembered wrapping his coat around her shoulders, repeating useless assurances while she held out her hands, stared down at the hastily wrapped wounds. Now, he watched Maura's eyes darken and fill with tears as she returned it face-down to the desk. It was as heartening as it was heartbreaking to witness that depth of emotion from a usually private person, and for his partner. Former partner.
"Will you be at the trial?" he asked on a hunch. She nodded slowly.
"Jane doesn't know," Maura met his gaze. There was an edge to her voice, an uncertain pitch.
His brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"
"I haven't quite resigned myself to it, I guess," she took a deep breath, "Coming face to face with the killer that mutilated my best friend."
Korsak focused on the desktop. He understood the sentiment all too well. And Hoyt was a sick son a bitch. But the important thing was to get Jane through this without isolating her again. She didn't deserve that. "She needs to know she's not alone. She's been… broken."
Maura visibly stiffened. "She's getting better."
"Yeah, she is," he paused as he considered the strength of her tone, the determined optimism. He suppressed a smile. Only a diamond will have any effect on another diamond. He was convinced that this woman was the driving force behind Jane's recovery. "I think we have you to thank for that."
"But I haven't-"
"She needed someone, Maura," Korsak said, purposely dropping the formality and addressing her plainly.
Over the last months, he had watched closely the slow transformation of Det. Rizzoli barreling through case after case with a single-minded determination to prove to herself that everything was back to normal, to the Jane he knew today, without so great a chip on her shoulder. She still lashed out sometimes, and he caught her more than once lost in her own thought, some dark memory, but she also smiled more, and laughed often.
"When none of us could get through, you were that person," he cleared his throat, "So, thank you."
The silence that descended was awkward and heavy, until the computer speakers sounded a beeping notification. A match.
Korsak did a double take. "That's weird." Maura rose to move around the desk, studying the screen from over his shoulder.
"I thought that Jane's informant positively identified the subject as the daughter of one of the mob bosses?"
"He did." It certainly looked like the same woman, but the U.S. Navy uniform threw him. Clicking through a few windows, he found deployment records. "Well, she couldn't be our victim, she hasn't been in the states for 16 months."
"Right then," Maura stood perfectly straight with her hands behind her back. She flashed him a brilliant, if forced, smile, "What can I do?"
Korsak chuckled, "Well, Pierce implied that the shooting last night wasn't the only conflict between the families. But there haven't been any bodies. Yet. Even though this is the mob, these aren't your average thugs, but family members. We were thinking hospitals. Maybe someone died in an E.R. somewhere."
"I haven't been informed of any violent or suspicious deaths." She said, puzzled, head tilted to one side.
"Neither have we. I checked with major crimes, drugs, everybody. So next, we check out the hospital morgue ourselves," he shrugged, "Couldn't hurt."
Maura thought on that for a moment, before turning back to him with a sly smile. "Why wait?"
"Need a warrant. You can't just waltz into Boston General and expect instant access to the freezers."
"I can."
The records office was crowded and the E.R. chaotic, as expected, but the long underground hall of the hospital's bottom floor was nearly silent as Maura walked towards the morgue's double doors. The effects of the epinephrine shot lingered, and she felt as if she had had entirely too much caffeine, shaking and jittery. The lighting was dim, creating shadows that followed her over the chipped paint of what were once white cinderblock walls. She frowned. Her facilities at the police station were bright and clean. Always.
Watching the nurses and surgeons upstairs rush around, barely stopping to answer her questions, had reminded Maura of her residency - racing to save the life of a stranger, working irregular hours, coming home exhausted but validated in one's self at the end of a day, or three. She supposed that in her own way, she saved lives now too, however indirectly. Her office provided scientific inquiry for the investigation of murders, aided the detectives in their hunt, and gave the law its teeth in court by way of hard evidence.
This however, was simply a place of death, an extension of the building for the temporary storage of the remains of human beings. And like any other meat locker, it was cold.
Putting aside her discomfort, Maura pushed through one of the heavy doors and approached the only attendant she saw with purposeful strides. Her heels clicked on the tile floor, but they also gave her an extra few inches in height, which she intended to use to her advantage.
"Excuse me, I'm Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner. I need to see every entry to the morgue in the last forty-eight hours and all your logs for the week, please," she addressed the young man calmly, expecting the quick action her authority usually afforded her.
To her surprise, he stayed seated, and he didn't offer his name, just looked her up and down in a way that made her feel underdressed. His greasy black hair was too long, and shone even in the dim light. She noticed a tattoo of an anchor on the inside of his left wrist as he ran his fingers through it.
"All death certificates and the like are kept in the records department on the third floor," he said with a slight accent. "Have a nice day."
She faked a smile, undaunted. "I'm not interested in death certificates, am I? Besides," she sat down her leather briefcase, "that was the first place I looked." Leaving him at his station, she moved further into the morgue, making her way among the racks and freezers, reading the labels.
"Hey, what are you doing?" He rose to follow her.
Maura stopped in front of a black body bag set on the rack. According to the number, it was a teenage girl who had died in a car accident, but the shape of the plastic was much too large and tall for a female youth. Something was definitely wrong. "I work with the police department, Mr…?"
"McCall."
"Mr. McCall. And I'm concerned that certain deceased are not being properly labeled and catalogued here." She returned to her briefcase and opened it. He stood close behind her, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"I'll be sure to look into it. If you'll call tomorrow, I can-"
"There's no reason we can't sort it out now. The paperwork, Mr. McCall." She straightened, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Her patience was wearing thin. Walking back into the main part of the room, she stopped again at the same rack. Unzipping the top of the bag slowly, she was almost unsurprised to discover a man's face, pale and shadowed.
Maura was reaching for her cell phone as she considered the dead man, moments from calling Jane and Korsak, when she suddenly found herself shoved into the freezer door behind her, the solid steel plating cold against her back. She gave a startled cry at the force of the momentum.
McCall caught both of her wrists in one of his hands, extracting the phone from her with the other and pocketing it. From his belt, previously concealed by his white lab coat, he drew a knife.
"You overestimate yourself, Doctor. I don't take orders from you."
It has come to my attention that I have been nominated for a 'Rizzles Fan Award,' for Rising Above Myself, in both the drama/angst and best new author categories. This can only mean, of course, that one of you lovely people put my name in, and I'm so flattered I just can't even...thank you. Thank you, thank you, whoever you are, dear reader. It's unbelievably bizarre and affirming to know that people enjoy what I upload here. If you're interested in nominating and voting for your favorite stories and writers, you can find more information at rizzlesfanawards over at wordpress.
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