A/N: Here's another quick one to finish Day 2 of the story. I kinda like it that according to the site stats quite a few of you are following along. So, thanks for reading even if you're lurking. ;-)


The sun was about to set when the man stopped his silver sedan at a quiet cul-de-sac close to Bussey Brook Meadow. He let his eyes wander around to make sure the secluded corner didn't have any surveillance cameras or blind spots from which unwanted witnesses could emerge. When he was convinced of the location's suitability for his purpose, he zipped up his jacket and put on his gloves. After one last check of his surroundings, he got out of his car and popped its trunk to reveal the lifeless body of Brenda Williams. The sight of the dead blonde sent his thoughts back to the late afternoon hours when the woman's prolonged quietness had caused him to check her pulse only to realize that she had died too soon. Just like Karen Newman. He silently cursed himself for having thrown the woman against the wall, which had probably precipitated her untimely passing, but then his anger quickly shifted towards Boston Police and he remembered their e-mails. Maybe this Detective Rizzoli isn't that good after all, he thought. Why is it taking her so long? With all these clues right before her nose… She just needs to look and put them together, damn it!

The sound of a truck rattling by just two streets away ripped him from his thoughts. Fuck! With three well-rehearsed moves, he heaved the dead woman out of his trunk, threw her body between two trash cans like some piece of worn-out furniture, and slid back behind the wheel.

As the man drove away and merged into the evening rush-hour traffic around the next corner, he obsessively reviewed his plan in his mind. Everything had seemed so simple — kidnap a woman like Darlene, cut her abdomen just like Darlene's had been cut, and then wait for the cops to save her and make him forget that they hadn't saved Darlene. So simple. But now, two women were dead already and he still didn't have what he so desperately needed.

I'll just have to keep trying. I can't stop now! He grimaced and reached into his jacket's inside pocket to reveal the printout of all the blonde women he had hand-picked on his computer the day before. He flipped through their profiles while casually steering his car through the busy streets of Boston towards his house just a few miles away.

You'll get one more chance, Rizzoli. You'd better use it.


Around 8 p.m., Jane and Maura were seated at their usual table in the Dirty Robber after having spent most of the afternoon hours sorting through the still inconclusive collection of clues and hints again. Without much success. They still didn't know the killer's identity nor the location of his hiding place nor his precise motive. All they knew for sure was that time was running out for Brenda Williams.

Save me. Save me. The words painfully rang through Jane's mind again as she ignored the plate of half-eaten fries in front of her and repeatedly checked her phone knowing that the inevitable announcement of Brenda Williams' death would arrive in her inbox any minute now. I failed again. She was counting on me and I let her down.

Maura finished her kale salad, her mood visibly chastened as well, and worriedly glanced at the brunette across the table. "It's not your fault, Jane," she said, knowing quite well that the detective put her heart and soul into her work and often felt a deeply personal connection to her cases.

The medical examiner's words barely registered with Jane as she leaned back and tried to suppress the harrowing images of Brenda Williams bleeding to death. She rubbed her tired eyes and checked her phone again. Still no new message. "How does it feel when you bleed out?"

Maura swallowed hard at the sadness in her best friend's face. "Jane, don't—"

"Does it hurt?" Jane asked, her stern face leaving no doubt that she wouldn't let this one go without an answer.

The medical examiner leaned back and sighed. "At first, yes. An external injury like this would trigger the body's pain receptors and cause severe pain and anxiety. Adrenaline and endorphins might offset the effect, but you'd certainly feel it. After a while, you'd become light-headed and tired, and eventually, you'd enter a state of hypovolemic shock, fall into a coma,…"

"…and die," Jane finished Maura's explanation as they both tried to find comfort in each other's eyes.

The buzzing sound of Jane's phone interrupted the lingering silence at their table. Hesitantly, the detective reached for the device and checked her new message. Anger and resignation filled her face as she stared at its display before handing it to Maura. "Looks like Brenda Williams just did."

When she read the message on Jane's phone, Maura's face darkened as well. A single photo of Brenda Williams filled most of the display, her body pale as a ghost and her facial features without any sign of life. Below, a hauntingly familiar caption summed up the scene: TOO LATE. AGAIN. As she scrolled down to reveal the last part of the message, Maura felt a cold shiver run down her spine: YOU'LL HEAR FROM ME, DETECTIVE RIZZOLI.

There was no need for words as Jane and Maura both knew what lay ahead of them. Another body. Another autopsy. And soon, another victim. They grabbed their jackets and silently left the Dirty Robber.


It was long past midnight when Jane stood at the autopsy table in the morgue at BPD and stared at the lifeless body of Brenda Williams in front of her. Shortly after she had left the Dirty Robber with Maura, they had received a call notifying them of the discovery of a corpse of a blonde woman in her late thirties near Bussey Brook Meadow, and Jane had already known the woman's identity before they had even arrived at the scene just twenty minutes later. The detective and the medical examiner had parked their car near the secluded cul-de-sac, made their way past the yellow tape cordoning off the area, and joined the CSRU techs who had already been busy examining the dead woman's body that had been carelessly dumped between two overflowing trash cans. A comparison of her bruised face with the faculty profile photo of Professor Williams had instantly confirmed Jane's assumption of her identity. The remainder of the standard crime scene procedures had been painfully reminiscent of the events from just twenty-four hours before. Maura had examined the dead woman's body, revealed the fresh incision to her abdomen, and denied the presence of any exterior signs of rape. The whole team had searched for fibers, foot prints, tire tracks, or anything else that might help them find their killer, but their hopes had soon been dashed by the lack of any tangible evidence. Eventually, Jane and Maura had finished their examination of the scene and driven back to BPD to wait for the arrival of Brenda Williams' body. Given the urgency and the killer's restless one-day rhythm, Maura had proposed to do the autopsy during the night so they would have more time to focus on whatever would await them on the next morning.

And while the medical examiner was signing off the chain-of-custody papers next door, Jane now stood alone in the morgue and absentmindedly studied Brenda Williams' pale body on the autopsy table.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't find you in time, she silently cried inside. You didn't deserve to die like this. I should have saved you.

Knowing that Maura would return any minute now, Jane swallowed her tears and walked over towards the small desk. She didn't want to burden her best friend with her current feelings of despair, no matter how strong they had grown or how much Maura kept encouraging her to open up. It just didn't feel right. She was supposed to be the strong one. She was supposed to be the one to protect those in need. Not the other way around. Damn it, I've dealt with tough cases before. What is wrong with me?!

Jane took a deep breath and opened Maura's laptop to read the killer's e-mails again. She flipped through the six messages and the harrowing images of Karen Newman and Brenda Williams, hoping that somehow she would see something they hadn't noticed before. But it was in vain. They had already analyzed each and every pixel of these photos and there was nothing new to be found. Frustrated, the detective rested her head on her arms, and before she even realized it, her eyes fell shut as the stress of the past few days took its toll.

A few minutes later, Maura returned to the morgue, dressed in her black scrubs and ready to commence Brenda Williams' autopsy. When she spotted the snoozing detective at her desk in a rather awkward and statically inadequate position, she paused and briefly contemplated what to do. Jane certainly needed sleep more than anything else at this point, but the thought of gravity doing its job and suddenly ripping her from her much deserved break definitely warranted a different napping location. Maura tiptoed to her desk and gently shook the brunette. "Jane…"

"What?!" the detective startled up and sleepily looked around. "Sorry, I was just… waiting for you. Can we get started with the autopsy?"

"No," the medical examiner shook her head. "I will get started with the autopsy, but you will lie down in my office and get some sleep. I don't need you snoring in my back while I'm trying to work."

"I don't snore!" Jane protested.

Maura arched her eyebrows. "Well…"

"And I can't let you pull an all-nighter by yourself. There's gotta be something I can do…," the detective tried again.

"Such as hovering next to me and interrupting my process with your running commentary?" Maura was determined not to give in.

"Oh, just admit it," Jane smirked and opted for a different strategy. "Your autopsies would bore the hell out of you without my commentary."

The medical examiner rolled her eyes and pointedly closed the lid of her laptop. "Don't make me sedate you. You know I would."

Jane grimaced and realized the pointlessness of her protest. Maura had once knocked out Lieutenant Cavanaugh with a shot of lorazepam and clearly wouldn't hesitate to use that drug again. Giving up her resistance, the detective got up and followed Maura into her office next door. "But that thing you call a couch is so uncomfortable!"

"For God's sake, Jane," the blonde complained while she arranged the pillows on her admittedly unusual couch. "You've already managed to sleep in your car, at your desk, and on a cardboard pillow in front of Fenway Park when you wanted those World Cup tickets, but—"

"World Series," Jane corrected her.

"What?"

"It's called the World Series. And it was totally worth it!" the detective grinned.

"Well, if you continue to deny your body the sleep it needs, you won't make it to another World Series," Maura declared and pointed at the couch.

"Fine," Jane grunted and finally sank down between the pillows. "You're worse than my mother…," she joked but quickly bit her lip when she saw a touch of hurt flash over the medical examiner's face. "I'm sorry, Maura. It's just that… I'm…"

"It's okay," Maura quickly cut her off and gave her an understanding smile.

"You sure you wanna stay up by yourself?" the detective asked as she tried to find a somewhat comfortable position on the rather narrow couch.

"Yes!" the blonde exclaimed with playful annoyance. "Will you finally sleep now?"

"Only if you're going to read me a bedtime story…," Jane chuckled.

Maura rolled her eyes and turned off the light. "Good night, Jane." She quietly closed the door and walked back to the autopsy table, knowing that Jane would probably be sound asleep before she herself had even begun the examination of Brenda Williams' lifeless body.