"I think it's time we take it into consideration."
"No," Jane leans back in her chair, staring at the screen. "It's not that."
"All the signs point to it, Jane."
"It's never that."
Frost raises his eyebrows. "This looks like that."
The rookie detective that sits catty corner to Frost pokes his head around his computer. "Um," he says timidly. "What does it look like?"
Jane rolls her eyes, but Frost answers. He's always nice to the new ones, even the academy graduates who all seem to be about twelve years old.
"It's a twin," he says.
"No, it's not." Jane sighs. "It's never a twin, and it's definitely never an evil one. Remember the last time we thought it was a twin?" She is crashing hard from her adrenaline high, and she wants to get this over with and go home.
Frost glances at her, gauging her. "We had way less to go on that time. Look at that reconstruction."
"They're guessing on the hair color and the eyes. It looks like her because we want it to."
"Um, looks like who?" The rookie chimes in, and Frost pulls up Shura Kohut's picture to display adjacent to the reconstruction.
"Woah," the rookie says, eyes wide. "Twins!"
"It's not-" but Jane doesn't have the energy. And what's more, she barely has an argument. Why couldn't it be a twin? What evidence does she have to the contrary?
"Explain the other remains," she says into the silence that has fallen. "If this is indeed an evil twin, why burn two people? And how do we know it wasn't Shura that set her twin on fire and not vice versa?"
Frost clicks a couple of keys and a new set of pictures pop onto the display. "These are some of the pictures from Shura Kohut's facebook. Look at that one of the family at the zoo. Look at how she's dressed." Jane sighs as she takes in the family, all dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts. Shura has her arms around her son, a backwards baseball cap is perched goofily on her head. She knows what he is driving at before he even starts speaking.
"Tell me you can imagine the woman who was here wearing anything like that. Or any of those outfits, really."
The rookie, who has been following along with awed attention chooses that moment to pipe up.
"Are there any pictures of the twin? Did you look for pics of the twin?"
Jane snorts hard enough that she almost coughs. "If there were picture evidence of a twin, why the hell would I deny the existence of one?" she asks, not bothering to soften her tone. She stands. "If there's a twin, Frost, and I said if, then what's the motive? What's the point in murdering your sister and taking over her life, which includes raising two children? That seems like a downgrade to me."
The rookie detective laughs. Frost doesn't. The look he gives Jane this time is more searching.
"Hey, Jane," he says lowly. "Why don't you go? I'm just going to do background, maybe some paperwork." He waits through Jane's mumbled protestation and then pushes again. "Go," he says. "There's nothing on this that's actionable. Not right away. Go."
He knows her very, very well, and today it makes her mad.
"Call me if there's anything," she says, standing. "Anything."
"Of course." He hesitates just long enough for the rookie to turn away uncomfortably. "Take it easy," he says, even lower.
She nods brusquely, turning away.
But she doesn't go home.
…
…
The apartment building looks more dilapidated and more menacing than the last time Jane pulled up outside it. She experiences dual waves of panic and disgust, to think of her son there with her father. On multiple occasions.
The only way she can make herself knock on his door is by pretending it's the door of a perp, and she's almost surprised when her father pulls it open a few seconds later, looking resigned.
"If you lost your kid, he's not here," he says dryly. "Though I wouldn't blame him after the riot act you probably read him."
He doesn't stop Jane from moving past him into the front room of the apartment. It smells old and stale, like cigarettes and socks. It reminds Jane of the way she lived right after the academy, too busy to eat anything but Ramen noodles and iceberg lettuce straight from the bag, and wear the clean clothes straight out of the hamper.
"That's great parenting," her father is mumbling now, watching as Jane looks around for likely hiding places. "Keeping a boy from his grandfather. The only male role model he's probably-"
"Shove it," Jane says. "You don't know anything about my life." She's come without her badge and gun, a deliberate action that was both protective and preventative. This is not a police matter. Best to leave her equipment at home and avoid the temptation to shoot him.
Boy, does she want to shoot him.
"Where are the shoes, Pop?" she asks, moving towards his desk, thinking the bottom drawers look wide enough. "I checked the pawn shops you used to hit when I was a kid and they didn't have them, so you haven't gotten rid of them yet. Where are they?"
Frank says nothing as she yanks one of the bottom drawers so hard that it detaches from the desk. She can feel him staring at her back.
"Look, Jane, I didn't kidnap them. I didn't coerce them into coming over here. Tommy brought them, okay? And they were having a good time, no matter what they may have said after you dragged them out of here."
Jane turns on him, desk drawer in her hands. "Dragged them," she repeats evenly. She turns the drawer over and its contents spill out onto the floor, scattering in all directions.
"Hey," Frank says, raising his voice a little. "There's no fucking need for that. I haven't done anything to you!"
Jane's laugh is humorless. "Where are the fucking shoes?" She asks again.
"Did he tell you I took them?" Frank counters, dodging the question again. "Because that's a lie. I'll give you that he's got a good heart, your boy, even if he is a faggy little thing."
Jane doesn't register her movements until her father has doubled over, holding his stomach. "Call my son another name," she says, shaking her hand a little. How long has it been since she punched someone? "Call him another fucking name, I dare you."
"Jesus," Frank moans. "That's a hell of an uppercut."
"Where are his shoes, Frank?"
"You know," he wheezes, pulling himself upright, "as an officer of the law, you really shouldn't be in a civilian's house making threats, doing some sort of illegal search and seizure."
Jane spreads her arms out. "Did I flash a badge to get in here? Did I enter under false pretenses? Do you see a gun on my waist?"
"No," Frank concedes, looking her over. "I don't."
"But by all means, call the damn cops. 10-1 I'm on a first name basis with anyone who shows up. 20-1 they at least know Frankie."
"How honorable."
"You're no one's favorite person, asswipe. Where are the shoes you conned my son out of?"
"Excuse me," Frank has the nerve to look indignant. "I told your son the truth. Whether or not he chose to relay that information to you is not my problem."
There is a ringing in Jane's ears. She turns away from him and heads into his bedroom. The dresser is bare except for a couple pieces of jewelry, a folded dress shirt, and an open box of condoms. She gags, and bends down to throw open the first drawer on the dresser. More dress shirts. Three ties.
Her father comes to the doorway of the bedroom. "Did you even ask your kid if he had a good time here?"
She pulls open the second drawer. Underwear and socks. The third is t-shirts, three straight rows.
"We play video games. Drink soda. It's like a vacation! Noah has a ball."
The bottom drawer of the dresser holds two shoe boxes. "You called him a sissy," she says through gritted teeth. "And if I find out you called him a fag to his face I'll murder you. So why not just let me be. The faster I get the shoes, the faster I can get the fuck out of here."
"He is a sissy, Jane," Frank says gruffly, holding up his hands as Jane turns on him. "Not that I can blame him. Even being raised by the butchest of all lesbos couldn't save him from that. His time spent here was just showin' him he could be a man."
Jane grits her teeth. She turns back and flips the lid of the first shoe box. There they are, still pristine, laces still done in the fancy way Noah had looked up on the internet. She pulls them out of the drawer and straightens up.
Frank steps forward. "Your son gave those to me as a gift."
"I'm un-gifting them."
"You don't want him to want to help people less fortunate than he is?"
"I don't want him anywhere near you, no matter your fortune." She goes to move around him, and he blocks her way. She experiences a spasm of terror.
Stuck on the stairs, no way around him, the belt in his hands.
"Move," she says lowly.
"You can't blame me for who I was when you were a kid. You can't hold it against me. Tommy knows that. He understands."
The ringing is back. It is all she can do to keep her breathing even. She tells herself that if it came down to a fight, she would win.
She would win.
"Get out of my way," she over enunciates each word so that there will be no misunderstanding. "I do not have any children with me this time, Frank."
For a moment, it looks like he's going to hold her there. For a moment it looks like he is going to make her make good on her threat. Jane can feel her muscles tense, ready.
But then he moves, and she walks to the door, even though she would like nothing more than to run.
"I'm your father," he says quietly, to her back.
She stops with her hand on the doorknob, but she doesn't turn around. She doesn't owe him anything.
"You are no father of mine."
…
Maura's on the phone when Jane comes in the front door. Her key sticks in the lock and she props the door against her foot so she can wiggle it, trying to pull it free.
"I don't know," she hears Maura say. "I think probably working out at the precinct. When she's not there she's shut away, brooding over this case…" Maura pauses as whoever it is on the other end says something.
"I don't know. Frankie's beside himself. He knew Tommy was taking TJ, but he had no idea…" Maura pauses again."Right. She hasn't said a word to him… No. Not her either...I don't care how upset she is, please don't. Mother you didn't see her face. Angela may have thought she was helping, but I'm not sure she did more good than...I don't know. I don't know, Mother." Maura's voice rises slightly at the end and Jane, having succeeded in pulling her key loose, lets the door fall closed.
"Wait, I think she's home," Maura's voice drops low again. "I'll see you…yes, yes, I think that would be fine…I-I love you as well. Good-bye."
Maura comes around the corner as Jane shrugs out of her jacket, and her deep intake of breath makes Jane look up. Maura is looking at the shoes, still in her hands.
"I got them back," she says unnecessarily. "I don't even care if he won't wear them anymore."
Maura crosses her arms over her chest.
"Oh," she says. "Jane."
…
…
"It's not a theory anymore!" It's the rookie who meets her at her desk, hopping excitedly from foot to foot like an overgrown toddler. She manages with great difficulty not to smack him, but only because Korsak has glanced up from his desk in his office at the movement.
"What are you talking about?" she asks. She is tired and frustrated. At home her wife and children orbit around her like frightened birds, all unwilling to ask the questions she knows they need answers to.
She kisses Sofia good night and the girl holds on just a little longer. Like she is afraid Jane won't be there in the morning.
Will she be there in the morning?
"The twin thing!" The rookie is too loud, and too close to her. "Frost enlisted my help after you left and we-"
"Down, Brisby," comes Frost's irritated voice from behind them, and Jane turns to see him approaching, two cups of coffee in his hand. He passes one to Jane. "I told you you could help under two circumstances," he says ducking Jane's glare. "You do what I tell you and you don't get up in Rizzoli's face when she gets here."
"0 for 2," Jane snorts, sitting down in front of the display, watching Frost pull up the information. "Hit me," she says, taking a sip of her coffee.
Frost takes a breath. "Let's start with the Kohuts" he says. "Shura Kohut was born Shura Kostyshyn, 1982. Small town in Central Ukraine, blah blah, blah blah blah…Twin sister Sofiya,born an hour later," Frost points at the miniscule writing of the enlarged birth certificates."
"Twin!" the rookie cries, although when Jane and Frost glare at him, he pretends to be very interested in his stapler.
They grew up in relative peace and prosperity until they were 12, when a fire claimed the lives of Shura and Sofiya's parents and younger brothers. Shura and her remaining brother, an infant at the time, were sent to the US the next month…without Sofiya. Shura and her brother Alexi, got a new last name. A new life. Sofiya disappeared."
Jane leans forward, interested. "What happened to her?"
"I don't know," Frost says. "But that's not all I unearthed. Look at this. I made Brisby here troll through airline records for LAX, OAK, SFO…you get it."
Jane nods.
"I was looking for Liliya. I thought maybe she flew home earlier, or maybe someone came to visit her. Brisby found this," Frost pulls a set of travel logs. "A Sophia Kovrov flew into OAK from Germany three days before the fire, and arrived at Bradley International the night before."
Jane stares at it, her heart pounding very loudly in her ears.
"So…you think that this twin, Sofiya, you think she flew to Berkeley to see her niece…then flew to Bradley, and drove to Boston to kill her long lost sister?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Jane sees the rookie nodding enthusiastically. "Why?" she asks. "Why would she do that?"
"That's what I said!" Brisby interjects excitedly. "I mean. I'm already like freaking out. You say evil twin never happens, and here, three weeks after my promotion I get to see-" but he glances around at Frost and stops dead, looking immediately remorseful.
Jane raises her eyebrows at Frost. He sighs.
"Brisby found this article about the fire that killed the Kostyshyns. There's a line in there about foul play."
"So Shura set the fire?" Jane says slowly.
"And Sofiya got the blame?"
"That's a big reach." Korsak has come up behind Jane, and he frowns at the display. "That's an awful lot of conjecture."
"You sound like my wife," Jane says with a wry smile.
"She'd be in fits," Korsak says. "To hear you two talk about this case. You're all full of theories. But I can't find one that sticks."
"Okay," Frost says, pressing a button so that the report from the forensic analysis appears. "Here's something that's not conjecture. The remains catalogued are from a woman, late thirties to mid forties, and a man, approximately late twenties. Both Eastern European. Shura's younger brother would be 31. That's not a stretch at all."
Korsak ponders this silently, and even Jane has to admit that the narrative they've painted makes much more sense given this context.
"It's not enough for an arrest. According to public record. According to our eyes, Shura Kohut is alive. She and her children all have airtight alibis."
"Shura's alibi is her son," Frost reasons. "That's not exactly airtight. He couldn't tell me how long it takes to get to Cape Cod from here."
"And he called it Cape Cot," Jane adds.
But Korsak is still shaking his head. "We've spent too long on this case. We can't prove that the bodies are anyone, let alone a woman who claims to still be alive."
"Look at the pictures," Frost begins, but Korsak cuts him off again.
"You get one more interview," he says, making sure that he makes eye contact with Jane as he speaks. "You get one more interview and then you hand it off to the Aged Cases department. Get it?"
Briefly, Jane wishes he was still her partner, so she could defy him outright.
Frost nods, and Jane nods too, slowly.
"Got it."
…
…
Maura has called her mother to come and be with their children while she and Jane go out for date night. Usually, they leave the kids to their own devices, instructing Levi or one of the twins to keep an eye on Noah.
But Maura seems to understand Jane's heightened need for protection, and so at 5:45, Constance arrives in all her European grace and flourish, kissing all the children on both cheeks.
She hugs Maura and then turns to the detective, smile cautious.
"Jane."
"Constance. It's good to see you."
Her mother-in-law looks surprised at this, and as the two women head out the door, shouting reminders to various children, she holds Jane back momentarily, lowering her voice.
"Just talk to her, darling," she says, and when Jane looks at her, confused, she smiles gently. "You are suffering. I would be able to tell even if Maura hadn't told me. And if I know anything about my daughter, it is that she suffers along with you, whether you let her in or not."
Her smile widens at Jane's shocked expression.
"So let her in," she says, and she squeezes Jane's arm once before turning back into the house, calling for her grandchildren.
…...
"We've had unsuccessful cases before, Jane." Maura's voice shakes Jane from her thoughts, and she blinks. She is sitting across from her wife in their favorite date night restaurant, corona in her hand.
Maura watches, clearly waiting for her to reorient herself before she speaks again.
"We've had difficult cases, and unsolved cases, and cases where the person we know did it got away."
"This feels different. This is the first case that feels like an absolute failure." Maura considers her wine, and Jane waits for her to decide on the language of her next sentence.
"Are you sure that it is the case that is making you feel that way?" she asks carefully.
Jane thinks about Constance's advice just before they'd left. "I saw your face," she says after a moment. She glances up to see Maura looking back at her, confused. "When I came in with the sneakers. Right before you were sad. After you were surprised. You were angry."
Maura barely hesitates before nodding. "I hate the thought of you going to see him, especially without anyone knowing where you are."
"I hate the thought that…I make you unhappy."
"Your father makes me unhappy, Jane. You must know that I do not associate you with him any more than I would associate you with one of our suspects."
"He was with our kids."
"That is not your fault. And Noah is okay."
"I just…I wanted to get the shoes back because…" but she finds she does not know how to articulate her reasons.
Maura's voice is tremulous. "He could have hurt you," she says, fifteen again and watching something too thin and wounded slip between the curtains of her bedroom window.
Jane feels her shoulders twitch of their own volition. "He can't hurt me anymore."
"Maybe not physically," Maura answers.
"Not in any way."
Maura shakes her head. "Untrue," she says simply.
"Maur-"
"Jane. He is hurting you by removing you from us. You can't deny that the amount of emotional turmoil you've been in for the past several weeks are in large part due to his reappearance."
"I'm not in-" Jane begins, but a look from her wife makes her break off. "If Liliya would just-" she starts again, but Maura speaks over her.
"Liliya is not the reason you're not speaking to Frankie. The Kohut case is not the reason you've been tracking pawn shops for those shoes, or following our children's bus to school almost every morning. It is not the reason that you wake up in the den most mornings." Maura leans forward. Her voice has stayed low, but her eyes are fixed intently on Jane's face. "It's okay to admit that he still affects you. It is okay to-"
"What about this is okay?" Jane is less successful in keeping her voice calm, and she glances around at the other diners, cheeks warm. "What about any of this is okay, Maura? I'm supposed to forgive Frankie for-for not telling me?"
"No."
"I'm supposed to, what, be happy my mother finally stood up for me? The one time I don't need to be protected? It's supposed to make it okay that she did nothing all those other times?"
"No," Maura says again.
"And it's okay that two kids now have no mother. That her murderer has adopted her life and is just going to go free? That's okay?"
"No," Maura says, more forcefully, and she puts her hand on top of Jane's clenched fist on the table. "That is not what I'm saying. It's not okay. And perhaps not forgivable. But you're forgetting one very important thing. It's the same thing that I forgot when my mother told me that she didn't want to live nearby. Remember? When the kids were young?"
Jane nods.
"She made me feel as small and as overlooked as I sometimes felt when I was young. She hurt my feelings, and I retreated into myself because I forgot that I was no longer alone." Maura pauses until Jane looks up. "I forgot that even though her actions might have the same effect on me emotionally, I was not the same person I was the first time she made me feel that way."
Maura uses both her hands to pry Jane's fist open. "And darling, you are not the same person that your father used to terrorize. Not even if his presence makes you feel that way."
Jane looks down at the table, an idiotic move in her effort not to cry. Gravity pulls a tear loose and it darkens the paper placemat in a wobbly little circle.
"You are not alone. You do not have to shoulder this – any of this – alone. Not anymore. Do you understand?"
Another tear escapes and drips off the end of Jane's nose before she can use a napkin to wipe her eyes.
The waitress brings their food and they break apart, leaning back so the plates can be set down. If the woman notices Jane's red eyes, she has the decency not to say, and as soon as she has walked away, Maura points at the food.
"Now," she says, "Eat. Tell me I'm beautiful and brilliant for ordering the thing you like the most. Then I will take you home and we will discuss the upcoming interview with the Kohuts." Jane obeys, smiling to herself. Maura is using her 'no mess' voice.
There is no room for argument.