A/N: Hope you're all enjoying your Sunday! Does anybody have some sunshine for me? Nothing but rain here.. oh well, more time to upload things. Here you go. And regarding the latest review (thank you!): I'm afraid it will get personal after this one. Sorry. ;-P


Just moments later, Jane arrived in the homicide squad room upstairs and headed straight to Korsak's desk. The sergeant was preoccupied with a report on his computer and unaware of the detective's arrival. "Hey," Jane mumbled as she gulped down the last bite of her pancake. "Any news from the kidnapping in Brookline?"

"Frost is still on the phone with the unit on site." Korsak got up from his chair and signaled Jane to follow him to the BRIC. "Did Dr. Isles' autopsy reveal anything?"

Jane shook her head. "Not really. Except that our killer has become more violent. We have to stop him before it's getting worse."

They exchanged concerned looks when the older sergeant held the BRIC's glass door open for the brunette detective. Inside the intelligence center, Frost was standing behind a desk and taking notes while listening into his phone. Moments later, he hung up and the three of them gathered around one of the desks.

"Okay, what have we got?" Jane impatiently looked at her partner.

Frost glanced over his notes. "Well, it's too soon to tell if this has anything to do with our case, but if it does, then it looks like our killer's beginning to make mistakes." He reached for the keyboard on the desk and opened the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles database. A few keystrokes later, a blonde woman's driver's ID popped up on one of the flat screens on the wall. "The woman's name is Katherine Oliver — they IDed her through the credit card she used in the bookstore. Whoever kidnapped her attacked her on the parking lot, but something went wrong. She made some noise and the owner of the bookstore saw the kidnapper's car take off."

Jane's eyes filled with hope. "We got the license number?"

"No," Frost grimaced. "But we got a pretty good description of the car. It's a start."

"If it really is our killer…," Korsak interjected.

"Well, look at her," Jane pointed at the woman's picture on the wall. "Blonde, about the same age, same part of the city… It's only a matter of time before we get the next e-mail."

"Okay, let's assume she is our third victim," the older sergeant suggested. "How do we find her?"

Jane scratched her head. "You know what doesn't make sense to me? That first clue our killer sent. He said we should find our victim's car and then we'd find her, but Karen Newman's car had been abandoned next to the convenience store, and the owner's alibi is water-proof. So, what was her car supposed to tell us?"

"Maybe he just wanted us to find it so we'd know the woman's identity," Frost suggested.

"We're missing something," Jane declared. "Frost, can you get us the evidence found with our first victim's car? I wanna check it again."

"Sure," her partner nodded and darted out of the room.

Korsak intently studied Katherine Oliver's profile on the flat screen on the wall. "You think we'll—"

The buzzing of Jane's phone signaling the arrival of a new e-mail interrupted his thought, and the two of them knowingly looked at each other before Jane reached for the keyboard and opened her e-mail client. Her assumption from two minutes before was instantly confirmed when a new message from the killer showed up in her inbox. She took a deep breath, then opened the e-mail's attachment and revealed three harrowing pictures of Katherine Oliver in the killer's lair. Just like her two predecessors, the blonde woman was bleeding, pale, and horrified. And as before, the main caption consisted of two words: SAVE ME.

When Jane scrolled down to read the killer's latest teaser below, his words felt like daggers thrust right into her heart: BETTER HURRY UP, DETECTIVE RIZZOLI! HER LITTLE DAUGHTER IS COUNTING ON YOU.

Korsak silently sat down at the computer next to her and opened another database. Seconds later, he turned to Jane with a gloomy face. "7-year-old daughter. No husband." He sighed and got up. "I'll have them pick her up from school." With heavy shoulders, he left the BRIC just when Frost returned with a box containing all the evidence found in Karen Newman's car.

"It's her," Jane informed Frost tersely and pointed at the e-mail on her screen. "See if you find a connection between all three women. I'll go through this again," she added when her partner handed her the evidence box.

There's gotta be something, Jane thought as she rummaged through the purse in the evidence box and opened Karen Newman's wallet. We'll get him today. We have to! She looked through several credit cards, three crinkled photos of the blonde woman with friends and family, and a small pile of receipts. She shook her head in disappointment and studied the attached list that documented all individual pieces of evidence.

"Katherine Oliver works as a translator, runs her own business," Frost said while browsing through various files on his screen. "There doesn't seem to be any direct connection to the other two women, and I don't see her on the list with the photo walk participants either."

Jane emptily stared at her desk while her mind was desperately trying to find the missing piece of the puzzle. All of a sudden, one of the photos laying face-down on the table caught her eye and woke her from her trance.

"What?" her partner asked when he noticed her agitation.

Without a word, the brunette handed him the photo and nervously flipped through a stack of papers on the desk behind them until she found what she'd been looking for.

As Frost read the signature line on the back of the photo, he suddenly realized the connection. "Taken at PICTURE PERFECT photo studio… Our killer—"

"… wrote something about a perfect picture, yes!" Jane nodded. "Find out the owner's name!"

"Already on it," the younger detective declared and let his fingers fly over his keyboard. Seconds later, the ID of a dark-haired, bearded man in his late 30s popped up on the screen. "His name's Malcolm Azarov," Frost read from the file.

Jane eagerly studied the list of names in her hand and hope flashed over her face. "He was one of the photo walk guides."

Their faces full of determination, both detectives got up and hurried out of the BRIC.


Half an hour later, Jane, Frost, and Korsak got out of their cars in Chestnut Hill and marched towards the PICTURE PERFECT photo studio. Two police cars were already parked in front of the building, and several bystanders were curiously watching the scene.

As they rushed to the studio's entrance, Frost kept one eye on his tablet PC. "Azarov was arrested five months ago for domestic violence, but his girlfriend eventually dropped all charges," he informed his two colleagues.

"How convenient," Jane snorted before they all entered the studio.

Inside, the studio's entrance area was filled with several racks and tables displaying cameras, picture frames, and a variety of other photography-related items for sale. The walls were adorned with sample client photos — family portraits, wedding pictures, fun shots with fake backgrounds.

A college-aged girl was leaning against the checkout counter and curiously eyed the three detectives. When Jane flashed her badge and signaled her to leave the store, a hint of fear filled her face. "What's going on? I'm waiting for my friend…"

"And where is your friend?" Jane asked impatiently.

The girl pointed towards a black curtain leading to an adjacent room. "She's… she's getting her picture taken…"

Frost silently nodded to Jane and the two of them approached the curtain, hands on their guns in case of any unexpected surprises. When the calm voice of a photographer giving posing instructions and the shy giggling of another young girl were heard from behind the curtain, Jane relaxed and pulled it open to reveal a fully equipped studio with flashes, soft boxes, and reflectors. A brunette girl was sitting on a stool in the middle of the room and smiling into the camera of a photographer whose back was turned towards the curtain and the detectives.

When the girl's smile froze and she looked towards the room's entrance, the photographer turned around and his face filled with anger upon noticing his surprise visitors. "What the hell? We're in the middle of a photo shoot. You can't—"

"We can," Jane cut him off and revealed her badge. "You're Malcolm Azarov?"

"Yes…," the man hesitantly confirmed.

The detective signaled the girl on the stool to get up. "Your friend's waiting outside. Sorry, but you'll have to find another photographer." She turned to Azarov. "This one's busy now."

As soon as the girl had stumbled out of the room, Jane pushed the photographer against the wall. "Where is she?"

"Who?" the man asked with a trembling voice.

"The woman you kidnapped," Frost growled and blocked the suspect's attempts to withdraw from Jane. "The one bleeding to death!"

"I… I have no idea what you're talking about," Azarov whimpered, but then a certain stubbornness filled his voice. "And… and you need a warrant or I'll have to ask you to leave."

Jane reached into her pocket, revealed a folded document, and pointedly thrust it into the photographer's hand. "Here's your warrant. And you're leaving with us."


Just after noon, Malcolm Azarov was crouched on a chair at a table in the middle of a small, bleak interview room at Boston Police Headquarters, a uniformed officer standing guard in the corner behind him. Across the table, Sergeant Korsak had sat down on one of two additional chairs, his shoulders broad with confidence and his attentive eyes closely watching the suspect's every move and gesture. He took a sip from a bottle of water and leaned back. It was all part of the game he had played hundreds of times before. He had interviewed all kinds of suspects — from the embarrassed first-time offender to the ice-cold serial killer. Some had been shy and cooperative, whereas others had sensed a trap behind every question they had been asked. But no matter what type of suspect Korsak had dealt with, his routine had always remained the same. Keep calm, ask questions, write down answers.

Today, however, even the experienced sergeant had a hard time remaining calm. Though he appeared at ease on the outside, his blood was boiling in his veins and he wished he could just ignore all rules and protocols and instead shake the truth out of Azarov. After their promising discovery of the PICTURE PERFECT connection in the morning, things had quickly changed for the worse. They had searched every nook and cranny of the photo studio hoping to find a hint no matter how tiny that would lead them to Katherine Oliver. In vain. They had sealed off Azarov's apartment just a few blocks down the road and turned it upside down as well. Again without success. They had seized his computer, checked his files, traced his digital tracks. Nothing. Azarov's red sports car hadn't matched the description given by the bookstore owner either, and several of his clients had confirmed his presence in his photo studio all morning.

Except for his involvement in the photo walk and the killer's indirect reference to Azarov's studio, there wasn't much left that would convict him of kidnapping and killing the three blonde women. And yet, Korsak couldn't shake the feeling that the bearded, nervous man across the table was somehow connected to their killer.

"Want some water?" the sergeant asked upon noticing Azarov's repeated glances towards his water bottle.

"I want my lawyer," the suspect defiantly declared.

Korsak shrugged and took another sip from his bottle. "Already on his way." Of course, Azarov had asked for his lawyer. Given his previous arrest, he was very much aware of his rights and standard procedures.

As if on cue, the door opened and a middle-aged man in suit and tie entered, followed by Jane, who tossed a folder on the table and exchanged an annoyed glance with Korsak before pushing the remaining chair towards Azarov's lawyer and building herself up behind the sergeant.

The lawyer sat down, calmly opened his briefcase, placed a stack of papers in front of him, and carefully aligned the individual sheets.

"Should we give you some privacy so you can finish fondling your papers?" Jane grunted impatiently.

Slick and unimpressed, the lawyer looked up and smiled. "I prefer not to rush things. But given how you barged in my client's studio despite the lack of any incriminating evidence, I doubt you'll understand."

The detective stepped towards the table and scowled at Azarov's legal aid. "There's a woman bleeding to death as we speak, so how about you cut the crap and help us find her?"

"Well, as far as I can see, there is nothing tangible that would prove my client's involvement in this case," the lawyer explained quietly. "But as a common courtesy, Mr. Azarov will help you as best as he can. However, I suggest you calm down and treat him with the respect he deserves, Detective."

Suppressing her urge to leap across the table and wipe the smirk off the lawyer's face, Jane shook her head and turned away in frustration.

Korsak knew it was his turn to break the stalemate. He opened the folder Jane had brought with her, cleared his throat, and mustered as much politeness as possible given the circumstances. "You were one of the guides during a recent photo walk," he said to Azarov and placed two photos of Karen Newman and Brenda Williams in front of the photographer. "You remember these two women?"

Azarov glanced at the two portraits and shrugged. "Maybe. There were dozens of people, and I didn't really talk to all of them."

"How about when you took their pictures?" Korsak asked and revealed one of Karen Newman's photos with the PICTURE PERFECT signature line on the back as well as another portrait of Brenda Williams. "We've checked your records — both women had their portraits taken in your studio a few weeks ago."

"So what? I take hundreds of portraits each month. I don't remember every individual client," Azarov shrugged again.

As Korsak continued his interview, Jane leaned against the dimly lit wall behind him and tried to fight those nagging thoughts of Katherine Oliver that had been haunting her ever since the killer's new e-mail had arrived in the morning. Her daughter is counting on me, she remembered the e-mail's message. And while we're stuck here with this sleazeball and his legal bullshit, the clock is ticking down for her mother. The voices of Korsak, Azarov, and his lawyer barely registered with Jane as the images of the bleeding woman crept back into her mind and two words drowned everything else. Save me. Save me. Save me.

At the same time, Frost and Maura were standing in the observation room next door and following the interview through the one-way mirror. The young detective shook his head. "It's not looking good."

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" the medical examiner eagerly asked.

"Not really," Frost sighed. "The lab is still going through all the evidence, but Azarov's alibi is tight. Maybe he's still an accomplice, but I don't think he's our killer."

For a moment, the two of them silently watched the interview in the room next door. Korsak was still questioning Azarov about his involvement in the photo walk and about the victims' visits to his studio, while Jane was absentmindedly staring at the floor.

Noticing his partner's tense posture, Frost hesitantly turned to Maura. "Has Jane been a bit… off balance lately?"

Maura worriedly studied the brunette in the room next door. "I don't… well, she's…"

"I'm sorry," Frost apologized when he sensed the medical examiner's uneasiness. "I didn't mean to make you talk behind her back—"

"No, it's okay," Maura assured him. "Jane has… She's been under a lot of stress, and I've been trying to get her to take a day off, but…"

Frost knowingly shook his head. "Yeah, that's not gonna work. We'd probably have to lock her up." A mischievous grin flashed across his face. "Come to think about it… There is a free cell next to the drunk tank…"

They both chuckled at the thought but a beeping sound from Frost's tablet PC cut their moment of relief short. The detective checked the device's display, then worriedly looked at Maura. "We got a new e-mail from our killer."

"And since Azarov is right there…," the blonde pointed at the interview room.

"He's not our guy," Frost conceded and darted out of the room.

Through the one-sided mirror, Maura watched with concern how Frost entered the interview room and whispered the news to Jane and Korsak. The brunette's face darkened even more and she walked out of the room without so much as looking at Azarov and his slick lawyer.

How much worse can it get? Maura wondered as she left the observation room to find Jane.