A/N: Alright, here's the other chapter I mentioned. So, in case you got several notifications, it wasn't a glitch and you might have missed Chapter 8. I'll leave you for today with a little foreshadowing at the end of this one. And did I mention that reviews make me happy? *wink wink, nudge nudge* :-)
An hour later, Jane and Korsak had once again sat down behind two computers in the BRIC at Boston Police Headquarters. The brunette was intently staring at the different photos they had received from the mysterious killer, while the older sergeant was browsing through stills from public surveillance cameras near the locations where the two women had been seen last.
"It's really a one-in-a-million shot, Jane," Korsak sighed. "He could've taken various different routes, and we don't even know how long he had been following the first victim."
"I know, I know," Jane conceded. "But we don't have much else right now. Just keep looking… Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky for once." She focused her attention back on the photos on her screen. "Could be a coincidence, but he's got a thing for blonde women… Maybe they remind him of someone… his girlfriend or wife…," Jane thought aloud.
"Or his mother…," Korsak interjected. "We don't know yet how old or how young our killer is."
"I don't think this is about his mother," Jane objected. "Neither of our two victims has any kids. And the killer seems to be familiar with their lives, so he'd certainly know this, too."
"True," the sergeant nodded, then thought of something else. "Hey, both of these women have a background in finance. One is a bank manager, the other teaches economics. Maybe that's our connection?"
"Yeah, could be," the brunette agreed. "We'll have to wait for Frost. Maybe he's—"
Right on cue, the glass door to the BRIC swung open and Detective Frost marched in, cup of coffee in one hand, pen and notebook in the other. He plopped down into a chair next to his two colleagues and glanced through his notes. "Alright, I got Brenda Williams' schedule and talked to her assistant and one of the TAs from her class this morning." The young detective shrugged and gave Jane a disappointed look. "No one noticed anything suspicious. Professor Williams was dedicated to her work… Her students and colleagues liked her… And except for today, she hasn't missed any classes and always stuck to her schedule."
"That's probably what made her a target for our killer," Jane mused. "Predictable and always on time — no wonder he knew exactly when and where to attack her this morning."
Korsak looked up from his surveillance camera footage. "Did you find any connection between the two women?"
Frost shook his head. "Not yet, but I'm gonna talk to a colleague and close friend of Karen Newman to find out what she did and where she was over the past few days." He took a sip from his coffee and got up again. When Jane was about to follow him, he stopped her with a friendly wave of his hand. "No, it's alright. I got this. Stay here in case our killer sends another e-mail."
The brunette squinted at her partner. "I don't need to stay here to be able to read my e-mails."
"No, but you could grab a bite to eat in the meantime. I've already had something on my way back." Frost held up his cup of coffee and attempted to sound completely casual and unconcerned. It didn't work.
Jane's detective senses got all tingly and she curiously eyed the two men. "Okay, this has got to stop! I'm fine… A little tired maybe, but I don't need you two go all helicopter dad on me."
Frost gave Korsak the annoyed look of someone who had involuntarily become a partner in crime. "See! I told you!"
"So, this was your idea?" Jane glared at Korsak, who instantly shrunk by two sizes and discreetly turned back to his screen. The brunette feigned her indignation a little longer and barely managed to hold back an amused smile. She knew that the two men truly cared and only had her best interest in mind. And even though she normally wouldn't admit to it, their concern actually made her feel a little better.
"Well, I'm off," Frost politely excused himself and headed towards the door. The very same moment, Maura arrived and the two of them exchanged a friendly nod when Frost held the door open for the medical examiner before disappearing towards the elevators.
"As expected, the autopsy didn't reveal anything," Maura announced and sat down next to Jane. "The fibers I found under her fingernails are from an ordinary cotton blend."
"That's it?" Jane arched her eyebrows. "Come on, you once found out the location of a house based on particles of paint, but you can't tell me where our killer goes clothes shopping?"
"Well, actually I could. There are 43 species of cotton, and I could tell you exactly which ones went into this blend, but given that one can produce approximately 1,200 t-shirts from a standard cotton bale and that this rather ordinary blend is sold at a range of low-quality outlets, this wouldn't help you find your killer."
Jane grimaced and leaned back. "No, it wouldn't." Faced with the disappointing lack of any helpful clues, her thoughts drifted back to her ridiculous encounter with the elderly couple in the morning, and an amused grin spread over her face. "But guess what?"
"What?" the medical examiner asked, pleased to see the detective smile for a change.
"Apparently, it's time we got married," Jane chuckled.
Caught off-guard by the ambiguity of the statement, Maura experienced a rare case of speechlessness and stared at Jane in wide-eyed confusion.
"I had to interview this old lady living next door to our second victim's house," the detective explained, "and she suggested women like us should focus less on our jobs and more on our domestic duties."
"Uh oh," Maura's face lightened up at the thought of Jane being lectured about anything domestic. "Did you arrest her?"
The brunette laughed. "I probably should have."
"Well, actually, a recent study implies that marriage increases life satisfaction more than money, sex, or even children," Maura pondered.
When Korsak wheeled around in his chair and cocked his head in disbelief, Jane smirked at the three-time divorcee. "Is there anything you'd like to add to that, Sergeant Korsak?"
Her former partner shrugged and pulled an awkward face. "Apparently, none of my wives have read that study. Did it say anything about the satisfaction derived from divorce?"
Maura shook her head. "No, but if it's any consolation, divorce rates in this country are 41% for a first marriage, 60% for a second marriage, and 73% for a third marriage."
"Yeah, and 100% if you're married to Korsak," Jane quipped.
"Ha ha." The sergeant rolled his eyes in playful irritation and focused his attention back on the surveillance material on his screen.
For a moment, Jane and Maura silently chuckled but eventually, the gruesome pictures on Jane's screen pulled them back towards their harsh task at hand. The detective paused and rubbed her nose, then decisively reached for her keyboard and opened her e-mail client. "Alright, let's send him another e-mail. We have to get him to talk and let his guard down."
Korsak glanced over his shoulder. "Want to provoke him? Find out his weakness?"
Jane shrugged. "Yeah, at least we have to try. Brenda Williams is already bleeding to death, so we can't make matters worse, can we?" She questioningly looked at Maura and Korsak for support. When the two of them nodded, their faces showing the same concern and helplessness as hers, she began to type.
Around noon, the man was pacing back and forth in the still dusky living room of his house and repeatedly glanced towards the exhausted blonde trapped in the corner a few feet away. After he had abducted Brenda Williams from her own home, hidden her in the trunk of his car, and driven back to his house, he had followed the same ritual as with Karen Newman on the day before. Except this time, he hadn't felt any hesitation or doubt. He had carried the woman inside, had placed her in the same corner as his previous victim, and had subsequently taken off her sweater and made a careful incision in the lower right of her abdomen. She had been unconscious most of the time, which had simplified his task even further, but a few minutes ago, Brenda Williams had slowly come around. Terror had spread over her face as soon as she had realized her current predicament, and similar to the woman from the day before, her first instinct was to fight and to escape her pending fate. In vain. The man had brutally pushed her back into her corner and made clear that he would not tolerate any of her attempts to thwart his plan.
But while there was no doubt about her physical inferiority, the blonde woman's will hadn't been broken yet, and with a burning desire to survive, Brenda Williams ignored the pain in her belly and carefully followed the man's each and every move, hoping for a chance to engage him, to distract him, to defeat him.
"What do you want?" she whispered, trying to gauge his reaction. "What do you want from me?"
The man ignored her and instead attempted to focus on his plan again. They should know her identity by now. What are they waiting for? Why aren't they trying to save her?
"Do… do I know you?" The blonde interrupted his thoughts. "Is this about something I have done? Have I—"
"Shut up!" he growled and sat down at the wooden table, his face illuminated by a new flickering candle. He booted his laptop and reached for a half-empty bottle of beer standing next to the computer. He almost choked when he noticed the unread e-mail from Boston Police on his screen. Finally! A rush of adrenaline shot through his body in anticipation of the next round of his game.
"I… I have money, if that's what you're after," the woman in the corner carefully tried again, but the man just took a deep breath and kept staring at the screen in front of him. "I promise I will help you, but you have to tell me what you want."
Just shut up! Shut up! That's all I want! The woman's incessant need to talk made the blood boil in the man's veins and he felt overcome by a sudden urge to make her stop. He jumped up and kicked back his chair, took three furious steps towards his captive, and built himself up in front of her.
"I want you to keep your mouth shut, you understand?!" he declared in a deep, threatening voice.
Though visibly shaken by the man's outburst, Brenda Williams wasn't ready to give in. The pain in her abdomen and the subtle numbness slowly consuming her body were unambiguous reminders that her life was hanging by a thread. "Please, just tell me how I can help you."
The man's nostrils trembled as he tried to resist the overwhelming desire to silence the blonde. He glared at her from his bloodshot eyes and studied her features, her pleading face. But when she opened her mouth again to talk to him, he couldn't control his fury any longer and clutched her throat with his still gloved hand. He pulled her close, his alcoholic breath filling her face. "I swear you'll never speak again if you don't stop right now. I don't need you to be able to talk for this!"
"For… what?" the blonde whispered while trying to hold back her tears. If she had known that those would be her last words ever spoken, she might have chosen different ones. But it was too late. Enraged by her disobedience, the man threw her weak body against the wall, thereby breaking not only two of her ribs but also her will. With a quiet moan, the woman collapsed and finally gave in to the pain and the tears.
And as she lay curled up in a ball on the floor, her shirt soaked in her own blood and tears, the man straightened up, shook off his rage, and reached for his camera. Calm and completely untouched by the woman's turmoil, he focused and took several pictures just before she closed her eyes and passed out.
You should have just shut up, he thought as he stared at his victim lying at his feet. It would've been so much easier. For both of us. But now? You're ruining everything… just like the other one did last night! He shook his head, then walked back to the table, picked up his overthrown chair, and sat down again. They'd better find you in time or everything will have been in vain. Again.
As soon as he reactivated his laptop, he suddenly remembered the e-mail from BPD that he had begun to read right before the woman's unpleasant questions had forced him to interrupt his task. He brought his e-mail client back to the screen and read the message again, this time without any interference from the motionless blonde in the corner.
Your little game is getting boring, the e-mail stated. If you want us to play, you'll have to make your next move. Why do you want these women to be saved? What have they done to you? It's time to let us know who you are and what you want.
The man frowned and let the words sink in. Boring? Next move? He clearly hadn't anticipated such a dismissive response. And they hadn't even said anything about the women's identities. Did they know the names of the two women? Had they even begun to investigate the matter further?
He squinted in anger and scrolled down to reveal the rest of the message.
You can contact me directly, it said at the bottom of the e-mail, followed by the signature of a Detective Jane Rizzoli.
He opened his browser and ran a quick Web search on the name, just like he would do with everybody he met or talked to or read about somewhere. Nowadays, the Internet often revealed more about people than they would freely reveal themselves, be it on a first date or at the office's water cooler or in an e-mail exchange like this between a cop and a killer.
With much interest, the man browsed through the results of his search query — an article about the detective receiving a medal for having shot herself during a siege at BPD, another article about her being a rising star in the homicide unit, and finally a photo report about her close friendship with the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and their involvement in Paddy Doyle's RICO trial. Apparently, they did take him seriously. Why else would they assign one of their best detectives to this case? A confident smirk flashed over the man's face as he regained hope that his plan would work and that he could finally make things right.
He plugged in his camera and transferred the new pictures of Brenda Williams to his laptop. You want my next move, Detective Rizzoli? You can have it. Let's hope you're as good as they say!
