A/N: So, I'm continuing to get awesome feedback on this even though my rate of update is horrendous. I apologize for keeping you all waiting for so long in between chapters. I'm doing my best to make up for trying your patience with quality writing. Working two jobs makes it difficult to find time and energy to thoughtfully craft sentences, though. My point is, I'm forever grateful to all of you for your patience, attention and comments. It really does encourage me to keep going. This chapter is on the long side, so I hope I don't bore you. More to come soon!
A barrage of too many decibels at too high a frequency assaulted Jane's brain at six-thirty in the morning. She slammed her palm ineffectually against the nightstand a few times before she succeeded in silencing the alarm clock's shrieks. She rolled onto her back and threw her forearm over her face with a groan. Disgust and self-loathing came like a slap to the face as she remembered the pitiful manner in which she had ended her night.
Just get up and face it, she thought. Lying here doesn't make it suck any less, and damn sure doesn't solve anything.
Her phone lit up on her nightstand, indicating new notifications. She checked the screen, scrolling with her thumb through all the random bits of information for which the device was programmed to alert her. As soon as she saw the email from Maura time-stamped about six hours prior, she sat up and opened the message. Everything else could wait.
Jane,
I realize the timing of this is not ideal. But then again, timing has not been a strong suit for either of us lately.
Already, Jane was crestfallen. She could tell by the tone that she was not likely to be happy by the conclusion of this email.
You and I have been through a great deal together. I feel privileged, honored, and unbelievably fortunate to have you in my life. You are a far better friend than I could ever have hoped for, and words cannot express how grateful I am for the positive impact you have had on my life and on me as a person.
Since we first forged our friendship, I have secretly lived in fear. This fear is not all-consuming; it does not cripple my rationality or cause me to act drastically. But it has been a constant presence in my mind, both when I am with you and when we are apart. It is the fear of losing you, Jane. And a large part of what drives this fear is the knowledge that there are so many ways in which I could lose you.
Jane paused and shook her head. "You're not losing me, Maura," she thought aloud. "You haven't lost me."
Thankfully, this hasn't yet happened – though I feel we've come too close too many times. But I've tried and failed to ignore this constant vague feeling of standing on the edge of something and being afraid of the drop, yet being unable to take a step away and return to solid ground. In the past few months it has only intensified. I've done some thorough self-examination, both physiologically and psychologically. My findings are difficult to admit to, but nevertheless I feel it is important to share them with you.
I'm afraid that I've come to depend on you too much. I think I need you too much. My emotional dependency on you does not put either of us in a position that is conducive to mental and emotional health and stability. I don't feel I'm being fair to either of us if I continue in this way.
I've tried everything I can think of to be a helpful, empathetic, and supportive friend for you while you've struggled with your grief over Frost. You've taken it very hard, Jane, and it's been heartbreaking to watch you battle every single day. But I've also seen the steps you've made towards acceptance, and while they've been slow and painful, it has brought me true joy to witness your resilience yet again. I know you have your limits, as do we all, but you are such a strong woman. You possess more courage and tenacity than anyone else I've known. I have no doubt whatsoever that you will eventually make it through this, with or without my help.
In the past few days you have said some things in your grief and anger that have made me think. And the conclusion I've come to is that I need to let go of you, at least for a while. I've given you time and space to sort through your emotions, and now I feel the need to do the same for myself. I do not mean to abandon you. This email is not to notify you that I am leaving Boston or the Police Department. My devotion to my job remains as strong as yours. Nor do I intend to sever my ties with you or your family. I still count you as my very best friend. Moreover, I still love you, Jane. That, I am convinced, will never change.
All I ask is for some distance, time, and understanding. And when I am ready to be close again, I can only hope that you will still have me.
Sincerely,
Maura
Tearfully, Jane closed her email app and set her phone aside. Congratulations, Jane, she thought with a sardonic sniff. You finally succeeded in pushing away one of the few people left in your life who you can't live without.
Joe Friday whined and crawled up into Jane's lap, where she rolled over and wagged her tail hopefully. Jane wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and rubbed the dog's belly for a few moments. "I'm glad I have you, Joe. Because if you knew even half the stuff I've pulled, you'd think I was pretty stupid."
The scruffy terrier mix licked Jane's fingers, then licked Jane's face, no doubt tasting the salt on her cheeks. "Alright, little girl," Jane sighed. "Let's refill your food and see if I can't do anything to fix this."
For the first time in a while, Jane was actually frustrated that her hovering mother wasn't still at her apartment in the morning. Angela had left early so she could begin her day at the cafe, leaving Jane a note as to her whereabouts. Jane had groaned when she read it, wishing her mother had still been around to be her daughter's sounding board.
The detective was tempted to make a stop at Maura's house on her way to the precinct, but realized that choice would be contrary to her best friend's wishes. She felt that talking to her mother could have helped her come to a decision, but that could not be helped now. Nevertheless, she felt the need to see Maura, to assure herself that the medical examiner was alright, and to at least verbally acknowledge that had received the message, understood its contents, and intended to adhere to and respect her desire for space. At the last traffic light before she arrived at BPD headquarters, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, caught up in a cyclone of internal conflict. Ultimately, though still unsure if she'd made the right call, she pulled into her usual parking spot with every intention of going straight to Maura's office to very briefly acknowledge Maura's email and make the first of many apologies she felt she owed the woman.
She stepped through the swinging double doors into significantly colder temperatures than the rest of the building. In the sweltering heat of late summer, she was grateful for the normally uncomfortable chill in the air of the morgue. She glanced around the austere space, rubbing her palms together – an old nervous habit.
No Maura.
Allowing herself a soft snort of disappointment, she swiftly returned to the elevator. She promised herself a sixty-second detour to Maura's office before she made her way to the bullpen.
The tentative knock she applied to the door of the office was unnecessary. Jane bit her lip at the sight of the empty desk. Almost of its own volition, her hand reached for her cell phone in its belt clip. She knew full well there would be no new communication from Maura to be seen on the screen. Just the same, she felt an anxious clenching in her gut at the sight of the blank lock screen.
Maybe I should have stopped by her house.
"Have any of you seen Maura?" The words were out of her mouth before she had even stepped out of the elevator onto the homicide floor.
"Good morning to you, too," Frankie piped up from his makeshift desk near where Frost used to sit.
Jane rolled her eyes and looked to Korsak. The sergeant shrugged and shook his head. "Only heard she got called to a scene by another precinct. Apparently they wanted the Chief Medical Examiner on this one."
She leaned back into a petulant slouch and crossed her arms.
"I think they were pulling a car from a creek. Some fishermen found it this morning. Could break a cold missing persons case wide open," Korsak added.
Jane sighed. "Did you hear where it was?"
"Somewhere near the edge of Worcester county, I believe."
Great, Jane groaned internally. She'll be gone most of the day. "Hope she'll be okay out there."
"I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Janie," Frankie chimed in, "wanna hear something that'll cheer you up?"
She could tell by the light in his eyes as he looked at her over his shoulder. "You've got something on the Felton case?" Her dark gaze flicked eagerly from her little brother's suppressed smirk to the grin playing at the corners of Korsak's lips.
"Better," he said, and flipped open his laptop.
In two long strides Jane reached his side.
"I had some help," Frankie began, rapidly clicking and typing to bring relevant information to the computer screen, "but I did some deep digging into the drug trafficking guy. The one who…"
Jane nodded. The bastard who killed Frost. "Who helped you?" Jane asked, with a significant look at Korsak, who put his hands up.
"It wasn't me, though I'd love to take credit for this one," the sergeant admitted.
"Martinez," Frankie said.
Jane frowned, then made the connection. "That's right! Korsak, you said this guy used to be Martinez's CI. Glad to hear he's finally doing something right for once."
"Jane, you won't be half so bitter when you hear the doozie that Martinez basically dumped in our laps," Korsak admonished.
The detective returned her gaze to Frankie's laptop screen, which now displayed a very ubiquitous mug shot of a potentially mixed-race male. Thick, dark mustache, greasy head of hair, and cheeks pock-marked with acne scars. An unsavory character, to say the least.
"Charles Lopes Ruiz," Frankie announced. "Known on the streets as 'the Lobo'."
Jane rolled her eyes again. "What are the odds."
Frankie pointed. "This is his mug shot from when he was arrested in '04 for possession with intent to sell. The amount he had on him, plus what they found stashed in his apartment was enough to put him away for a little while. They caught him dealing by night over by Charlestown High."
Jane nodded. "Got it. No real shocker there. Gimme the meat, Frankie."
"Hang on a second." He pulled up another page over the man's face. It was a newspaper clipping. "This barely got any press, which is probably why it's been overlooked so far. But in '09, some kid supposedly coming back from spring vacation visiting her grandparents in Mexico gets shot and killed in the crossfire of some cartel border war. Her name was Cristina Ruiz-Adams. Her mother was Sheena Adams. Her father was –"
"Charles Ruiz," Jane finished for him. She straightened and began to pace.
Frankie nodded. "Our guy was in Boston at the time, and when he found out he went straight to Martinez, completely devastated."
"Martinez said Ruiz wanted to be his CI. 'Begged' was the word he used," Korsak said. "Said he wanted to help bring down the drug market that took his girl. It sounded like Ruiz volunteered to get back in the game, to infiltrate the drug trafficking circles in Boston using his former connections from before he did time."
Jane halted her pacing for a moment. "There's gotta be more to it than that. Something had to have happened for him to turn on Martinez like that."
Korsak shrugged. "He wouldn't share anything beyond that."
"What makes you think the whole CI offer wasn't a ruse to begin with?" Frankie asked.
"He lost his kid, Frankie. For even the most hardened people, grief can be a strong impetus for change." She paced one more complete circle.
"Okay, that last part definitely sounded like Maura."
"Shut up, little brother. Wait." She stopped behind him again, staring intently at his computer screen. "What's that?" She pointed to the corner of a page, mostly obscured by other windows he had open. "Blow that one up."
Frankie did as she told him.
It was another article, dated more recently. More of a tiny news blip than a real story. An update on the death of a pre-teen girl on the US and Mexican border. What would possess an editor to even dredge up such a tragic, dated tale in the quest for fresh news, Jane would never understand but –
12-year-old girl caught in cartel crossfire on the border was smuggling drugs.
Jane's jaw dropped.