A/N: Anybody already figured out the killer's identity and motive? Peeps keep saying they can solve the whole whodunit on TV five minutes into an episode.. so, how about this one here? :-)


In the homicide squad room at Boston Police Headquarters, Jane, Frost, and Maura were still huddled over Frost's monitor when Sergeant Vince Korsak approached from behind. Dressed in a brown jacket that clearly dated back to an era when detectives would still work with paper and pencil instead of computers and PDAs, the gray-haired trouper curiously eyed the small gathering around Frost's desk.

"What's going on here? Do we have another 'Mean Detective Jane' episode?" he teased with a smirk.

"I would very much prefer that," Jane sighed without turning around.

Immediately sensing the seriousness in her tone, Korsak peeked over her shoulder to see the source of everybody's concern. "What the hell?!" he gasped at the sight of the image of the bleeding blonde woman. He squinted his usually cheerful eyes and questioningly looked at his three colleagues.

"An e-mail with these photos was sent to the front desk this morning," Frost explained, the shock about this unexpected message popping up in his inbox still written all over his face. "No further text, no traceable IP data, nothing. The front desk forwarded it to us because they weren't sure if someone was just pulling one hell of a joke or if this was real."

"And it is real?" Korsak asked, not sure whether he really wanted to hear the answer.

"We don't know yet," Jane said and gave her old partner a worried glance. "But the front desk ran the e-mail through their tracing programs, and it appears that whoever sent this is very eager to hide its origin."

For a moment, the four of them silently contemplated the mysterious e-mail and its shocking attachment. The pleading look in the woman's eyes certainly appeared real and convincing. And the fact that someone had managed to outwit several of the department's tracing programs added another level of authenticity to the message.

"So, what are we going to do?" Frost finally asked.

Jane arched her eyebrows. "I guess, for now, we'll keep trying to trace it and check if anybody has reported this woman missing."

"What about sending a reply to the address it came from?" the medical examiner suggested.

Jane, Frost, and Korsak exchanged uneasy looks.

"Well, if this is for real, then we don't know whom we're dealing with. This could backfire," Jane worried, and both Frost and Korsak nodded in agreement. "Let's first try to find out where this is coming from."

Frost got up and grabbed his laptop from his desk. "I'm on it," he announced and headed towards the BRIC, the intelligence center adjacent to the homicide squad's bullpen.

Jane straightened up and gave Korsak a nudge. "Okay, we'll check NCIC, run an image search, see if we find anything."

"Is there anything I can do?" Maura asked, eager to assist.

Jane paused and suddenly remembered her headache. For the past few minutes, she had been so occupied with that e-mail and its possible implications that the throbbing pain in her skull had been pushed to the bottom of her mind's priority list. But now that they had initiated their usual routine, her brain got a chance to reevaluate its current condition and sent her a sharp reminder that any further mental activities would require appropriate headache relief.

The detective looked at the medical examiner with dark puppy-dog eyes. "Uh… you said something about aspirin…?"

Maura's features softened and she affirmatively brushed over Jane's arm as she headed towards the door. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Jane called after her and immediately grabbed her temples when her own loud voice sent another wave of pain through her head. "Ow. Can this day be over already?!"


In the late morning hours, the blonde woman was still crouched in the man's living room, still bleeding, still unconscious. The man had sat down just a few feet away at the worn wooden table in the middle of the room, a state-of-the-art laptop computer in front of him. The dim light of a flickering candle cast dancing shadows on the wall behind. He was sweating and breathing from the top of his lungs and nervously staring at the monitor.

Something's not right, he worried. She shouldn't be unconscious all the time.

With rhythmic clicks of his mouse, he browsed through various websites and offline files containing medical charts, descriptions of surgical procedures, and images of the human anatomy.

I should have taken more time with the incision. Why did I haste this? I have waited ten damn months for this, and now I'm fucking it up in ten minutes?!

He looked down at his left hand. It was trembling again. Gone was the frightening calmness that had possessed him when he had made the incision.

Fuck.

He peeked towards the woman. Suddenly, the thought of her pending untimely passing sent shivers down his spine.

Hold it together, damn it! Stop acting like a fucking sissy and focus. You're doing this for Darlene! Oh, Darlene…

The computer buzzed as he frantically opened more browser windows and files. All the information he found confirmed his suspicion.

I must have done something wrong.

He got up, hesitantly approached the woman, and touched her motionless legs with his foot to check for any reaction. When the woman didn't move, he bent down and felt her pulse.

Okay, she's still alive. There's still time. I'll just have to speed things up a little and maybe give them a small hint. It's all good.

The man rushed to the table and grabbed the DSLR camera lying next to the computer. He pressed a few buttons and brought the lens to life before hurrying back to the woman. When she still didn't move, he repeatedly shook her shoulders and slapped her cheeks in an attempt to wake her.

"Come on, you're not done yet!" he commanded with a raspy voice.

As weak signs of life returned to the woman's face and her eyes opened in terror, the man quickly got up and focused his camera until her weary, pale body filled the small screen on the back of the device. He hit the shutter release. Click. A frozen still of his victim briefly flashed over the camera's screen. The man looked through the eyepiece again. Click. Another photo captured the woman's turmoil.

He switched to the camera's replay mode and checked the new additions to the frightening collection already stored on the camera's memory card. When he was satisfied, he turned the camera off and scuffed back to his desk, while the woman let out a sob and a sigh and gave in to the darkness pulling her away from this life.

The man plugged his camera into his computer, opened his photo editing software, and transferred the files onto his hard drive. Now fully focused on his task at hand again, he was completely oblivious to the woman's fight for her last breaths of life just a few feet away.