Maura Doyle

Maura quickly gathered her belongings from her room in the warehouse- grabbing the overnight bag that was always already packed and stowing her computer inside it, alongside the wads of cash she had withdrawn when she first went on the run. There were a couple of pictures on the desk which she had managed to keep with her through her many moves and changing locations; they usually lived in her wallet, but she took them out and placed them on the desk beside her sometimes as she worked. It was nice to have them with her, but she would often forget to actually look at them, and sometimes needed that- to remind her of what she was trying to get back to. An old faded photo of her at ten years old, with her parents, vacationing in the Alps; a snap of the Rizzoli family at her house for thanksgiving dinner; a candid shot that Frankie had taken of she and Jane after they finally finished the Boston Marathon, late in the evening after solving a murder on the fly. She quickly swept them into the open bag, along with the file on Colin Ferguson that she had stolen from Paddy Doyle's office.

That damn file- she'd made no headway with the information it contained in the month since she had managed to retrieve it. She had laid plans, she had investigated, she had thought non-stop of ways to get rid of Colin Ferguson. But it all hinged on figuring out what dirt Paddy had gathered on him, and the meaning behind the information in the file remained elusive. It was only a list of names, none of which she recognised, and neither did Steve.

She had spent hours online searching through news reports for any mention of the people named, but to no avail. She wished she could access Boston PD's databases- she had the clearance, but they would know immediately when she logged in, and she would be traceable; Frost would track her down in no time. She couldn't even get to Paddy to ask him about it- there were gang members and police looking for her everywhere. She was in a precarious position, trying to operate outside the law, but not breaking it, and the balancing act was proving increasingly difficult. Somehow, staying alive- and staying hidden in order to do so- had itself become a fulltime job. She needed more time to figure out what to do. Maybe there would be time now... after today.

The night had started out so placidly. She had been going through the list for what seemed like the thousandth time, trying to come up with new ways to approach the names- new avenues of research, or maybe even a way to get into the law enforcement databases. She'd been hoping to catch a break, but it came in a form she could never have anticipated, nor would she ever have wished for it.

Steve had come upstairs after the rest of the employees had clocked out for the day, letting her know he was going to lock up.

"Making any progress?" he had asked.

"None," she had sighed, setting down her pen and rubbing her eyes before leaning back in her chair to stretch out her limbs, which were starting to cramp from sitting so long.

"Maybe I can get out to Cedar Junction on the weekend, ask Paddy about it directly," Steve suggested.

"Perhaps," she replied noncommittally, knowing that her father was being closely monitored in the maximum security prison, and Steve's visit would draw attention, alerting investigators and gang members alike to Steve's presence, and perhaps the renewed scrutiny would reveal his connection to Maura.

"We've known each other a long time," Steve said, guessing her thoughts. "Nothing unusual about old friends reconnecting."

They didn't have the opportunity to discuss the matter further, as Steve's phone started to ring. He frowned as he recognized the number on the display, and excused himself to answer. Maura smiled to herself at his manners; Steve MacAuley was a man with little formal education and some questionable connections, and he had a keener sense of polite behaviour and decorum than most of the men she interacted with on a daily basis in her normal life. There was no sense of entitlement about him; only- bizarrely, given the circles in which he moved- a strong sense of justice, and of right and wrong.

But her smile faded as she caught the change in his tone, and his rising voice.

"No! No don't come here! You cannot come here, do you understand me? Connor! Connor?"

Whoever was on the other end of the call had hung up.

Maura was watching his expression intently. The older man was visibly agitated, and she moved to put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Steve?" she asked gently. "What's going on?"

"My nephew," he explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "He shot someone. He thinks it was a cop... He's coming here-"

Steve didn't get another word out, as the gloom was shattered by the piercing headlights of a car pulling up at speed into the warehouse parking lot. He looked horrified, and seeing his reaction, Maura felt truly afraid for the first time since the man had taken her under his wing. Steve's steady pace and unflappable appearance had been reassuring while everything else had seemed so uncertain. Now she saw a look she had never seen on him before: panic.

The older man was racing down the stairs and out into the darkness with a speed that surprised Maura as she ran hard on his heels. They reached the car together where it was parked haphazardly in front of the main doors, headlights still on, doors flung open. A young man, no older than twenty-one, was struggling with something behind the rear door.

With someone.

As Maura approached she saw the body of a blood-soaked man lying in the back seat. She felt her stomach drop like a stone as she recognised the blue uniform, and caught the glint of a badge on his chest. He was a cop. And he was still alive.

"You have to help me!" Connor was yelling through choked sobs. "Please, Uncle Steve! He's gonna kill me. I screwed up so bad- he'll kill me if he finds out!"

"I'm gonna kill you!" Steve thundered. "What the hell have you done? You brought a dead cop into my house?"

"He's not dead," Maura said in a small voice, but Steve didn't seem to hear.

Connor did, however, and he jerked to attention. "She's a doctor!" he shouted, pointing wildly at Maura. "She can fix him! You have to fix him!"

"I can't," Maura said incredulously, stepping around the boy to get a better look at the man in the back of the car. "He's very badly injured. This man needs surgery- he needs to go to a hospital, now!"

"I can't take him to a hospital!" the boy wailed. "Can't you do something?"

"No she can't!" growled Steve menacingly, pushing his nephew back against the car. "And you either have some nerve or you're just plain stupid to come down here and bring this mess to my door after everything you've done. You walked out on this family. You made your choice. Why don't you go and ask Colin Ferguson for help?"

Maura's head jerked up at the mention of Ferguson.

"I didn't chose sides- it wasn't about choosing! I didn't think there was a side to choose! Paddy Doyle was gone, and Ferguson was in charge. It was time- time for a change."

"I taught you better than that," Steve shook his head dismissively at Connor's pleading. "I taught you about honor, and loyalty. What Ferguson is doing is dirty and underhanded, and it's men like you that are allowing him to do it. You made your bed. You'd better lie in it."

"He'll kill me," Conner slumped back, dejected. "There'll be no forgiveness. He'll kill me for this. It was an accident, but he won't care. All he'll care about is that I shot a cop on his streets. It'll come back on him. Unless he gets rid of me..."

Maura was watching the scene unfold in silent horror. The officer was going to die- there was nothing she could do for him here, and he wouldn't make it to a hospital in time to save him. She was filled with impotent rage. She wanted to scream at this stupid boy who had shot an innocent man. But what good would it do? He was no better off- not if Colin Ferguson found out. He was a dead man walking. So many lives ruined by the actions of one power-hungry man.

She crouched down next to the officer in the car and felt his neck for a pulse. There was none. She let out a slow breath as she carefully closed the man's eyes.

"Oh no," Connor watched her, horrified. "No, no NO! This can't be happening! What am I gonna do? He's gonna kill me! There's a dead cop in his car!"

"What?!" Maura snapped to attention. "What did you just say?"

She was back on her feet in a moment and seemed to tower over the young man, who was now rather less hysterical and fairly humbled by the authority with with Maura addressed him.

"Yea..." he began haltingly. "I drive for Ferguson. This is one of his cars. I drove him earlier today. Well, for part of the day, just to meetings; he drove himself back."

"Colin Ferguson drives this car?" Maura clarified. "He was seen driving it today?" She was looking at him intently as he nodded in confirmation, squirming under the fierceness of her gaze.

"Tell me everything," she instructed.

In a few minutes, under Maura's careful questioning, she had established that Ferguson maintained several vehicles, none registered to him, which he drove or was driven in at various times. Earlier that day, he had attended a meeting to which he had not wished to be followed by the FBI surveillance team who were tracking his every move. So, as was his custom, he had been driven by Connor to another location, at which another car- the very one which was now covered in the recently-spilled blood of Boston's finest- was waiting. He discretely switched vehicles and continued on to his private meeting alone. Connor had then picked the car up later that day and headed down to the docks to engage in his own illicit activities. While parked illegally, the car had drawn the attention of a police officer. Connor had noticed this on returning to the car and panicked.

Connor's hysterics returned as he reached the last part of the story. It seemed that his erratic behaviour had further drawn the suspicion of the officer, who had attempted to question Connor. Weapons had been drawn, shots fired, and the cop went down. Realizing the gravity of his actions, Connor had done what he could for the man, before dragging him into the car and driving as fast as he could to the one person who might still be on his side, trusting that family still meant something to his uncle.

This had all occurred within the last thirty minutes, Maura was busy calculating. It was possible no one had yet discovered the officer was missing.

"Did anyone see you? Was anyone around to hear the gunfire?" she prodded.

"No" he shook his head vehemently. "No I didn't see anyone down there- the docks are mostly deserted these days. People don't wanna be caught out on the streets at night with the way things have been going."

"What are you thinking, Maura?" Steve eyed her uncertainly.

"Ferguson drove this car; his prints will be all over it. We have a dead officer who was shot in Ferguson's territory. There's no witnesses that we know of, and Ferguson has no idea that this has happened."

"You're not thinking- we can't frame him!" Steve was incredulous. "This is a cop! Boston PD will be all over this. They'll find out the truth. The evidence-"

But Maura quickly cut him off.

"I am the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The evidence will say whatever I want it to."

This man's death would not be in vain.

Working a crime scene backwards was an unfamiliar exercise, but it didn't take much of a mental leap for Maura think through the logistics. She quickly formulated a list of supplies and sent Steve to gather them while she went over the dead officer's body for trace evidence using the rudimentary tools she had at her disposal. Signs of Connor were everywhere- she could read his panicked actions on the man's clothes and, though she didn't have the time to examine him too closely, she suspected his body would show bruising consistent with someone having applied pressure to stop the bleeding, and from having tried to revive the man. There wasn't much she could do to mask how he died, but she could influence a retelling of who had killed him.

The next couple of hours were a flurry of activity. They hosed down the car and wiped it to get rid of most of the prints, Maura careful to leave enough evidence, but not too much; just pointers would allow Boston homicide to begin reconstructing the narrative without feeling that it was being told to them. Hints that would allow Jane to make the connections that were always so clear to her, even if the evidence didn't say so conclusively. She would guess, and Maura would make sure the evidence supported her guesses.

They hurried back to the scene where the officer had been shot, knowing that they were short on time, mindful that when he was reported missing the police would begin the search at his last known location. Maura carefully ensured that they removed any trace of evidence that Connor had been there. Then they raced back to the warehouse to lay out the dead officer in a way that seemed calculated to send a message.

"Hurry," Maura instructed, hearing the sirens in the distance and knowing the officer's abandoned car must have already been discovered- that they knew he was missing. "We don't have much time."

The implications of her actions were beginning to sink in. Interfering with a crime scene, falsifying evidence, accessory to murder... this was not an attractive resume. She'd compromised so much in the last few months, she was starting to lose sight of herself, and she did not like the person she was becoming.

"Do you have the murder weapon?' she asked Connor, pushing these suffocating thoughts from her mind and forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand.

"What?" He had been in a daze all evening, clearly having no idea what they were doing, or if it would work, or why Maura was doing it at all. He just followed orders, and followed behind his uncle, casting wary and uncertain looks at the doctor as she worked her mysterious science.

"The gun," Maura clarified irritably.

He quickly produced it and Maura wiped it down, erasing his prints.

"Wear gloves," she instructed him, "and take this with you to see Ferguson tomorow. You need to get it into his building- can you do that?"

He shook his head uncertainly. "They- they make us check our guns and phones at the door. No one goes in armed."

"That's good," she said, nodding to herself. "Leave it there."

"Wha-?"

"When you check your gun!" Maura raised her voice impatiently. Connor's ineptitude was beginning to grate on her. "Don't pick it up again. Leave it at Ferguson's office."

"Ok..." he replied in slow understanding. "Then what?"

"Then we wait. Drive the car back to Ferguson's, and leave it in its place. The police will come before long. Until then, you just go about your business as usual."

"And then what? When they find the car, Ferguson will know I was the last one driving it. He'll tell the cops. Or he'll have me killed!"

"You come to me," Steve said firmly. "When the police come to search Ferguson's place, you leave as soon as you can and come directly to me. I'll say you were with me all evening. You came for dinner. We laid to rest old grudges; made peace."

"When they arrest Ferguson, you won't have to worry about him coming after you," Maura assured him. "The police will think he killed a cop. The FBI will be all over this. No one in his circle will be able to so much as park in the wrong place without it being reported. Now go on."

Connor nodded, and loitered uncertainly for a moment, staring at the gun in his hand.

"Go!" Maura snapped finally, and he jumped into action, pocketing the weapon, hopping in the newly cleaned car, peeling out of the lot and heading into the night.

Maura watched him go, now uncertain herself. The wheels had been set in motion; there was no time for hesitation, no place for doubt.

"Go and get your things," Steve prompted her gently.

She nodded, rousing from her reverie, and hurried inside. She packed quickly, and was back outside with Steve in minutes. Wordlessly, she got into his car and he drove her through the dark, quiet streets, pulling up outside an Irish pub on the ground floor of an old brick apartment building.

"Danny will get you set up," he said, nodding over at the bar. Soft light streamed from the windows that were frosted with condensation, and muffled music, smoke, and laughter poured through the crack in the door as it sat slightly ajar.

She nodded, but didn't move. "Will you be alright?" she asked finally, looking into his eyes with concern.

He smiled gently, his face softening in a way she had only seen when he spoke to her. He reminded her again of Korsak, and she struggled against the memory, trying to keep the two worlds separate in her mind; trying to keep her two lives separate.

"Don't you worry about me," he patted her hand reassuringly. "I can handle the cops."

She nodded, and gathering her things, stepped out onto the street. Since she had been in hiding, only Steve had officially known who and where she was. He was the only one she had trusted. Now all that was about to change. She eyed the bar warily. It was an old Irish hangout; a place her father, Paddy Doyle, had spent many an evening with Steve and with his men. These people were loyal to Paddy, and so they would be loyal to her. Still, her heart was heavy as she walked unwillingly into the bar. With each step she moved further away from Maura Isles. As she pulled open the door, the rowdy conversation lulled and then died as the bar's inhabitants turned to look at her. She took a breath, and stepped into her new life, as Maura Doyle.