Halloween had passed a couple of weeks ago, but the crime scene still looked like something right out of a horror film. Blood was splattered across the pavement of a narrow alleyway in all directions, and a disembodied finger, very decayed, lay next to the victim's head. The typical crowd had gathered in an attempt to see some sort of spectacle, but the doctor and detective pushed through them to get to work.
"Oh man," Jane muttered, walking over to Frost and looking up at the tall building nearby. There was a broken window eight stories up. "You been in the room yet?"
"No," Frost said, trying not to look too closely at the victim as Maura crouched over her. "Korsak's up there now; I was waiting for you. Dr. Isles, what's your take here? Suicide, or—"
"Aw come on, Frost," Jane said with a one-sided smirk, clapping him on the shoulder before crouching next to Maura. "You know it's going to take at least a few minutes more for Dr. Isles to feel comfortable coming up with anything even resembling an estimate." Her smile had already faded as she got a closer look at their victim, a young black woman who had landed face-down on the pavement. "Geez, she looks like a kid."
Maura gently prodded the victim's arm. "I would feel more comfortable asserting an age between eighteen and twenty-five at this point, not a child or adolescent."
"Got an I.D.?" Jane asked Frost, standing up.
He shook his head. "No wallet, no nothing."
"Let's go see the landlord of this place," Jane said, nodding at the building. "Maura, you stay here and wait for the lab techs to bring our girl back to headquarters." She and Frost crossed back under the crime scene tape and headed for the entry of the apartment building. Before they could enter it, they were stopped by Cavanaugh, who was standing by a white-haired old lady, who was wringing her hands and fighting back tears.
"Frost, Rizzoli," Cavanaugh said. "This is Irene Scott, the landlady of Atrium Apartments."
"Mrs. Scott," Jane said in her most solicitous voice on account of the woman's obvious terror. "Do you live on the premises?"
At first she appeared too shaken to answer, but she nodded. "My office is on the first floor, next to my room…"
Jane and Frost led the woman inside, where she offered them both a cup of tea. The detectives declined but encouraged Irene to go ahead and make one for herself. Once she had sat down, Jane said, "When you can, we need to know the name of the person renting the room that girl fell from."
"Eight C," Irene said, staring straight at the wall. "I saw the window."
"Do you…know the tenant's name off hand?" Jane prompted her.
"No. It'll be in my book." She nodded at a nearby desk, giving Frost permission to go over and open it.
He found a thick brown book in the first drawer and pulled it out. Flipping through the pages, he glanced up at Jane and said, "Eight C—Edmund North. He's been leasing the room since last January …had a year long lease."
Not the victim, then. "Mrs. Scott, can you tell us anything about Edmund North? Race, age, anything?"
The old woman still couldn't bring herself to meet Jane or Frost's gaze. "He was white, and English. In his forties, I'd guess. Had the sweetest accent, really! Medium height, I suppose you would say—and very green eyes."
"You've been using past tense. Does he still live here?"
"Well…yes, he's paid his rent every month, within the first three days of the month. Always in cash."
"Did he have anyone else living in the room with him? A girlfriend, a roommate, a cousin…?"
"Not to my knowledge, officer."
"Detective," Jane couldn't keep herself from correcting her. She immediately regretted it; Irene shrank back farther into her chair, looking very much as if she wanted to die at that moment. Jane stood up and put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Thank you for help, Mrs. Scott. We'll be in touch with you if we find out any information that could be helpful to you."
"My other tenants," Irene started before trailing off.
Frost picked up the slack. "We'll keep someone on round-the-clock guard of your complex, Mrs. Scott. And call us if you receive any information."
"Thank you, detective," she said with a nervous smile, accepting his card.
Jane and Frost nodded, then headed back outside. Their victim had since been laid upwards on a gurney, and Frost nearly lost his lunch at the sight of her head: a face was barely discernible; it looked like a pulpy mess. Jane put a hand over her mouth as Maura started taking off her gloves, looking sadly down at the girl. Gesturing to the victim's face, Jane asked, "Is that from the impact of hitting the ground?"
"It's possible," Maura said. She directed Jane and Frost's gazes upwards, pointing to a windowsill. "However, it could have also been due to her hitting that sill at a high velocity on her way down. I'll have to wait for a ladder to be sure, though. Were you able to find out her name?"
"Nope," Jane muttered. "The apartment she fell from is leased to a middle-aged man."
"Well, the apartment we assume she fell from."
"Um…Dr. Isles, did you see the broken glass?" Frost asked.
"You think it's a set-up?" Jane murmured.
Maura shrugged. "It's not for me to say at this juncture. Once I get her back to the lab and run some tests, I'll be able to know for sure. We can do DNA testing there as well, and I'll have the results within a day, maybe two. I'm afraid her face is too badly mangled to help us recognize her any other way."
Jane bit her knuckle. She hated having to wait for so long. "Wait," she muttered to no one in particular. "Facial reconstruction."
The doctor narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"Facial reconstruction. One of Booth's co-workers is supposed to be an expert in it, or something."
"It's not an exact science," Maura protested.
"Wait, what is this, Jane?" Frost asked. Once his partner had explained the process to him, Frost grinned and clapped a hand on the shoulder of both women. "Let's make it a contest: Jane's friend's friend's artistry vs. Dr. Isles' laboratory. Whoever gets an identity first is our winner."
"It's on," Jane said with a grin.
Maura didn't want to give up that easily. "Jane, you can't just bring the FBI into a case like this without—"
"Look, Maura, all I'm doing is soliciting the use of some potentially superior or at least faster investigative resources," Jane said. "Pride should not be an issue here. The issue is finding out who this girl is as fast as possible."
Which is how Booth wound up outside Angela's office approximately forty-five minutes later. The team was experiencing a rare lull, having just finished a huge case. Brennan was examining some bones from ancient cases (as she was wont to do), mostly for something to do. Booth was just punching in, waiting for his next assignment, when he received a phone call from Jane asking if she could "borrow" Angela's facial reconstruction skills.
"Hi, Booth," Angela said, looking up when the man knocked on her open door. "What can I do you for?"
"Remember my friend Jane?"
"Rizzoli? Honey, not even Alzheimer's could erase the memory of that woman from my mind! …also, I met her like, two days ago. Why do you ask?"
Booth grinned, walking in and setting a manila folder on Angela's desk. "She's in need of your assistance."
"Sexual assistance?"
"Professional. Professional assistance, Angela."
"Right. Sorry. Professional." She opened the folder Booth had given her, and recoiled immediately at what she saw. "Oh—oh, God."
It was filled with high-definition, close-up photographs of the face of Jane's unidentifiable victim. "Sorry, I probably should've warned you first," Booth said with a heavy sigh. "They found that body this morning with no I.D. on her. Seems it'd take forensics a couple of days to make a DNA match, and Jane's too impatient for that, especially since you wowed her with talk of your facial reconstruction skills."
Angela was flustered. "Does she know I usually work with skulls?"
"She dropped a hint that she's betting you can figure it out faster than her chief medical examiner. Who is a woman, by the way."
That changed things slightly. "And if you were still a betting man, who would you put your money on?" Angela laughed, getting to her feet.
"Hey, come on! I put the odds on Angela Montenegro every time!"
"Good answer. Now leave and let me work on this."
"I wouldn't dare not to."
With time, determination, and the gratitude of Jane Rizzoli on the line, Angela was able to come up with what she felt comfortable deeming a rough draft. She called Booth to come check on her progress, and en route he was assaulted by Cam, who was a tad pissed that neither of them had cleared this with her. She lectured him all the way to Angela's office and was about to round on the artist herself until she saw the picture Angela had come up with.
Cam's eyes widened. "Angela, how confident are you in the accuracy of this representation?"
Angela spared it a glance. "Fairly confident, I would say. Like, over eighty-five percent, more or less. It doesn't look like someone you know, does it?"
"It looks a lot like Frederick Howard's daughter."
"No kidding?" Booth asked.
"Um…is that a name I should recognize?" Angela asked.
"Senator Frederick Howard," Cam said, staring at the picture. "Delegate from Massachusetts. I have a cousin in Concord who followed his campaign very closely, and was always sending me articles …that definitely looks like his daughter."
Booth walked over to Angela's computer and googled a picture of the Senator's family. He looked back and forth from a photo to Angela's rendering. "Wow. Alicia Howard. That's uncanny."
"You said Jane Rizzoli sent you these?" Cam asked, sifting through the photos in the manila folder. She looked over at Booth, who nodded. "Get me her number. I want to let her know that if that body belongs to the daughter of a Senator, we are stepping in and helping out."
Over 400 miles away, Maura was piecing together as much as she could without a positive I.D. on their victim.
"Heard back about the DNA results yet?" Jane asked entering the lab.
"No, but I did find this in an inside jacket pocket," Maura said, handing Jane a clear bag with a small book inside.
Jane slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled out the pocket-sized book. "Oh man," she muttered, reading The Book of Mormon emblazoned across the front.
"There's a note inscribed on the back of the front cover," Maura said.
Indeed there was. Jane read aloud: "'Dear A.J. – I got you a copy of your very own so you wouldn't have to keep sneaking mine! I feel so blessed to have known you. Thanks for making this internship a wonderful experience, and I wish you the best in the coming year. Merry Christmas and happy reading! xo Eden.' Eden? What the hell kind of people name their kid Eden?"
"Devoutly religious ones?" Maura suggested.
"Would it be a guy or a girl's name?"
"Well, it's a matter of personal opinion, but the name sounds more feminine to me. The handwriting suggests a woman as well."
Jane slapped the small book against her palm. "We had some neighbors who were Mormons once. They moved away when I was about seventeen, and still coming to terms with being gay." She sighed and put the book back into its bag. "Ma kept trying to set me up with their son, because he was really good-looking and so religious. It's too bad; they seemed like really nice people until you got them started on homosexuality. Then they turned into real monsters."
Something about the way she was now looking at their victim concerned Maura, who always thought it best to remain neutral towards cases. "It's not uncommon for Christians to regard the homosexual community with hostility, but typically it's fear that sprouts from ignorance."
"Yeah I know, Maura," Jane said tersely. "I'm Catholic, remember?"
"Right, and you've managed to reconcile your lifestyle with the religion you were raised in. Your neighbors just didn't have your perspective or experience."
"So that makes it okay that they were bigots?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Jane."
The detective waved her hand and used the other to rub her forehead. "Yeah, okay, sorry. I know. That message Eden wrote made it sound like—A.J.?—wasn't a Mormon, though. When you undressed her, did you find any of that special underwear they're supposed to have?"
"They're referred to as garments," Maura said. "And it's unlikely a member our victim's age would have them unless she was married or had served a proselytizing mission, which for women does not occur before the age of twenty-one. I've ascertained that A.J. is no older than twenty, and… the garments you've referred to are received only after a person has entered the holy of holies in a temple for marriage or mission preparation. There's a temple here in Boston, you know."
"Actually I did. I've seen it. Anyway, I'm going to take this up to Korsak. Maybe we can do a search for missing girls in the area that match her initials and the description of her clothes, race, and age."
"If you'd be patient, I'll have the DNA results back soon," Maura called after her.
"I don't do patient when it comes to solving a case," Jane said back. "Even if this girl was a bigot, murder beats bigotry in my book and she deserves our best efforts."
As it turned out, Jane wasn't going to have to wait long for an official I.D. She was surprised to receive a phone call from the Jeffersonian that wasn't from Booth or even Angela, but Dr. Camille Saroyan. Jane had just reached the bullpen and was standing between Frost and Korsak as she spoke to Cam, putting her on speaker phone.
After explaining the hypothesis her team had reached, Cam said, "Booth just emailed you Angela's facial reconstruction along with a photo of the Senator's daughter. Take a look."
Jane strode to her computer and pulled up the email with her partners looking over her shoulder. "Huh. Yeah, I can see a resemblance, for sure. And you said the girl's name was Alicia?"
"Yes."
"Do you know her middle name?"
"Quick Internet search," Frost suggested, leaning over and typing. "Hey, look at that, Jane. It's Jane. Alicia Jane Howard."
"A.J.," Jane muttered. "Dr. Saroyan—the Howards aren't Mormon, are they?"
"Oh, goodness no. They're very devout Presbyterians."
"Not all of them," cut in Frost, scrolling down the family's Wikipedia page and jumping to cited sources. "Alicia converted to Mormonism last January, and apparently her parents weren't too pleased about it."
"Guys, I think this is our victim," Jane muttered.
Frost heaved a deep sigh. "And how about that finger bone we found at the crime scene, hm?"
"Mysterious, disembodied bone?" Cam asked, sounding puzzled.
"Any ideas, doc?" Jane asked.
"Just that you could use the input of Dr. Brennan, the world's top forensic anthropologist," Cam sighed. "Detective, how'd you like some help with this case?"
"From Booth and his brilliant doctor? Can't say no to that."
"We're on our way."
A few minutes later, Maura came running into the bullpen, which was quite a feat considering the height of her heels. "The victim is Alicia Howard, daughter of Senator Frederick Howard and his wife Patrice."
"Hear that, guys?" Jane said, trying to look surprised. "We've got the body of a Senator's daughter on our hands."
"Not to blur jurisdictional distinctions," said Korsak, "but unless I'm very much mistaken, it's often in the nature of the FBI to get involved in solving a murder when the victim is related to a prominent member of the federal government."
"It's not unprecedented," Maura stated.
"Great!" Jane laughed. "Because Booth is on his way down."
Maura frowned. "How did…oh. You already knew?"
"Facial reconstruction wins!" Frost laughed. "Sorry, doc."
"Your apology doesn't sound very sincere."
"And there's a reason for that," Jane snorted before her partner could say anything. "Frost, why don't you and Korsak go pay a visit to our local Congressman? And by Congressman, I mean Senator."
"The one who's in D.C. and should be talking to your friend Booth, you mean?" Frost asked.
Jane pulled an old Sunday newspaper out from the garbage bin by her desk, dated four days ago. "No, I mean the one who's home for the holidays," she said, tossing the paper at Frost. Its headline read What Senator Howard is Grateful For This Term, with a picture of him and his wife waving from their front door.
"Let's go," Korsak said, slapping Frost on the back and heading out.
"And let's go get some coffee," Jane said to Maura. "I'm in so much need of caffeine that I'm this close to getting an I.V. to drip it into me."
"That doesn't sound safe," Maura remarked, following Jane to the main floor of the building. They each poured themselves a cup of Ma Rizzoli's wildly strong coffee and sat themselves down at a table in the corner.
Soon they were joined by none other than the cook herself, who declined Maura's invitation to join them. "No thanks, it's too busy here, but Janie—I just wanted to know if you'd identified that poor girl from this morning yet."
"Yeah," Jane mumbled. "It's bad, Ma. We're calling in federal help."
"Oh, my! Why, who is she?"
"We're keeping that under wraps at the moment," Jane said, knowing her mother's propensity for gossip. "Suffice it to say that my old pal Agent Booth will be coming into town."
Her mother's fear evaporated at once. "That man from the army you've told me so much about? How wonderful! Jane, he'll have to stay with us!"
"Us? Ma, you live in Maura's guest house."
"Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting…"
"I wouldn't be averse to having your friend stay in my house," Maura offered.
"No, you guys are being ridiculous," Jane laughed. "The FBI will put him somewhere, don't worry about it." She rolled her eyes and took a long sip of coffee, suggesting that the conversation wasn't going to continue in this vein any further. Just as her mother was about to walk away, she said, "Ma, remember the Fields?"
"That nice Mormon family on the block? Of course I do! Darryl had such a big crush on you, how could I forget them?"
When Jane asked no follow-up questions, Ma just clicked her tongue and headed back to work. Maura had grinned at the thought of some poor boy crushing on Jane, but as her friend looked grim at the memory, decided not to pursue the topic. "So Booth will be helping us on this case?"
"Yup. Kind of surreal, now that I think about it."
"Well, I'm very excited to meet him."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm excited for you guys to meet, too. You're both probably the best friends I've got."
Of course, what Jane had failed to factor in was how attractive Seeley Booth might be to an available, heterosexual woman.
A/N: Hope that was tolerable...I apologize in advance for any factual/forensic/federal errors that make their way into this story! Outside this chapter and a couple of others, I plan to focus mostly on the relationships of our characters.