Maura Doyle

Jane stalked back and forth impatiently in front of the warehouse gates. It was 6am, they'd been out all night, and she hadn't had any coffee yet.

Warehouse employees milled around on the other side of the police barriers that had been set up in front of the gates, marking the periphery of the crime scene. They'd spent the last four hours scouring the neighborhood for the officer's body, or any sign of foul play. The squad car had been located quickly by his colleagues on patrol, and not far away they'd discovered blood- a lot of it- tire tracks, and shell casings. A drunk in a nearby alley had reported hearing shots, but couldn't tell them much more.

The body had only been discovered ten minutes' drive from the original crime scene, but it had taken them hours of walking the streets to get to it. Then there he was- laid out like he was gift-wrapped in front of the locked gates to an old storage warehouse, clearly meant to send a message, although to whom was unclear.

What Jane did know was that there were now two separate crime scenes, both of which needed processing, and a dead cop. She had taken the body dump site, while Frost managed the site of the shooting, and Korsak acted as a liaison between the two. Cavanaugh was preparing to meet with the press, and showed up unannounced at intervals to impress upon everyone the gravity of this situation.

As if they needed to be told. Everyone was on edge- when it was one of their own, the dangers of the job were really brought home. And if they didn't solve the murder, it would send the message that maybe you didn't have to obey the law; that you could get away with killing a cop. Palpable tension filled the air as officers patrolled the barricades, snarling unsympathetically at warehouse employees who dared to ask whether they might be allowed into work today, or commented on needing to get paid.

The warehouse was right on the edge of Colin Ferguson's territory, although it was somewhat questionable to even call it that- the business belonged to Steve MacAuley, a longtime associate of Paddy Doyle, which made this particular part of town contested territory at best.

Steve MacAuley- Jane's eyes had widened as she'd heard the owner's name confirmed from an employee, surprised, and yet somewhere in the back of her mind anticipating the connection. Of course it was MacAuley- his name had come up and again and again as she'd mapped out the Doyle clan. In what was clearly a turf war, a message being sent from one crime boss to another, of course he would be right in the middle of it.

Well, in the middle metaphorically speaking. Where he was physically was a mystery. Uniforms had gone to his house when the scene was discovered, but he wasn't home. Workers had begun showing up at 5:30 to start their shift, and he had yet to join them. Jane was getting increasingly antsy; she needed questions answered. She also had crime scenes to process, and the tension from the other officers was getting close to bubbling over. But that meant it was all the more important to ensure things were done by the book- the last thing they needed was to have someone cut a corner, break chain of custody, or get a little too heated, and allow a cop-killer go free. The responsibility weighed heavily on her. And now with Steve MacAuley bringing a hint of Maura into the mix…

Where was the old man anyway? And why was there never a goddamn coffeeshop when she needed one?

As if summoned by her wish, Frankie was at her side with two large steaming takeout cups. He would usually stomp and pout about professionalism if his big sister ever asked him to go get coffee. But she didn't ask. He had seen the tension in her shoulders and the concern in her eyes when she'd heard Steve MacAuley's name, and he was worried for her. Plus he knew how much was riding on this case, and what she was like in the morning before coffee.

She gratefully took his offering. "Where is this asshole?" she muttered as she managed to keep herself still long enough to take a sip.

"Take a breath, Jane," Frankie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We've got a BOLO out on him. We've got the highways covered. If he tries to leave Boston we'll find him."

"No," she shook her head. "He's not gonna run. This isn't him," she indicated the crime scene. "He didn't do this. This is a message to him."

"Well then you'll give him that message as soon as he gets to work. You've got this, Jane."

"Yea, I know," she said with forced confidence, but she half-smiled at him, thankful for the unquestioning way he looked up to her, as he had since they were children. He always had faith in her, even when she lacked it in herself.

Just then a car pulled up, and from the reaction of the workers, Jane knew who it was before she could even see his face. A gray-haired man stepped slowly from the vehicle, pausing to look over to the gathering of cops. His eyes met Jane's. No, he looked for her; his eyes found hers. He closed the car door, and made his way towards her.

"Steve MacAuley." She said it not as a question but as a statement of fact. "I'm Detective Rizzoli, Boston Homicide."

He nodded, unsurprised that she knew him, though not acknowledging that he knew her.

"You took your sweet time getting to work this morning," Jane prodded, poker-faced.

He mirrored her lack of emotion. "Had I know that all of Boston's finest were waiting for me, I'd have planned a welcome.

"Would you," Jane narrowed her eyes. "You think the death of a police officer is cause for celebration?"

"I wasn't aware an officer was dead. My condolences."

He was clearly not sincere, but he wasn't being sarcastic or deliberately provocative, Jane realised. He was simply... unsurprised. Or deliberately appearing unperturbed so as to keep up appearances in front of his men.

Jane cast a wary eye at the crowd, realizing that it had fallen silent and all eyes were on them. Whatever he knew- or didn't know- about the murder or about Maura, he wasn't going to say anything out here.

"Can we talk privately?" she asked quietly. She knew he wouldn't like being seen talking to the cops, but she also knew he wouldn't say what she needed him to out here. She had to at least create the opportunity for him to speak candidly.

His eyes swept over her once, appraising her as he appeared to weigh the risks and his options.

"Follow me," he said finally, and lead the way into the warehouse.

"Keep an eye on things out here?" Jane murmured to her brother, who nodded as he watched her follow MacAuley inside.

The building was silent, and their steps echoed about the cavernous interior.

"Pretty empty in here," Jane noted. "Business slow?"

He registered the implication; that this was perhaps not a real business at all, but just a front for other activities. He did not acknowledge the assumption.

"It's been tough in this economy."

He unlocked the door to his office and pushed it open for her. She glanced over at a stairway to the left which lead up to another floor, and what looked like another office above.

"What's up there?"

"Storage. Old files," he replied vaguely. "How can I help you, detective?"

Most men in his position would say 'officer'; would try to undermine her authority through not-so-subtle digs. But he seemed almost… respectful of her. Almost. Perhaps he was simply trying not to give her any reason to push him further.

"Where were you between the hours of midnight and 5am?" she didn't waste any time.

"Asleep."

"Can anyone verify that?"

He chuckled to himself in a way that suddenly reminded her of Korsak. She pushed the mental image away.

"Sadly no. I'm an old man. The days of sharing a bed are long-gone."

"I doubt a man of your standing in this- ah- 'community', would have any trouble finding a companion," Jane needled him.

He shrugged. "Call me old-fashioned. I grew up in the days of courtship and romance. I also have rheumatoid arthritis, back problems, and a hernia. So I can't show a lady much excitement."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "A lotta guys in your position wouldn't be too concerned about a lady's excitement, so much as their own."

He smiled at her. "Like I said, I'm old fashioned. And with my various ailments, I'm sure you can understand that I also didn't spend last night hauling around your dead officer for use as a prop in this ridiculous piece of theatre."

"A little macabre for your taste?"

He snorted derisively.

"Who does this look like to you then? This is a message, right? And I can only assume, since he's in front of your place of business, that it was intended for you? Why do you think that might be?"

He remained impassive. "Let's cut the bullshit, shall we detective? You know who I am; you know where my allegiances lie. And you know that certain folks have fallen out of favour with other folks around here."

"Paddy Doyle and Colin Ferguson," she filled in the blanks.

He nodded.

"Ferguson's trying to rattle you."

He turned squarely towards her. "Do I seem rattled, detective?"

His use of her title was becoming rather less respectful and had begun to carry an edge of mockery. Jane set her jaw determindly. They were both talking in vague terms but they were fully aware of what, or more precisely who, they were really speaking.

"No. You seem quite unshaken. Unsurprised; like maybe you were expecting this," she pushed, trying to trip him into admitting that it was Ferguson who had brought this attention on him- into admitting why Ferguson would have done that.

"I've been around a long time. Very little surprises me any more," he said with a shrug.

He wasn't going to mention Ferguson, much less Maura. They may not be on the same side, but in this case their interests were aligned. But he clearly wasn't going to acknowledge that, and his careless and offhanded demeanor grated on Jane.

"Mind if I look around?" she indicated the rest of the warehouse.

"Be my guest."

She left the office and scanned the giant empty space, before turning again to the stairs to the left. "What did you say was up here?"

She remembered well enough what he had said before, but she gave him the opportunity to open up anyway.

He didn't take it. "Just old files."

She took the stairs two at a time and was in the dusty, dark room in no time. She flicked the light switch and the fluorescent overhead bulbs buzzed into life. As her eyes adjusted to the otherworldly glow, she took in the boxes of dusty files piled up against the wall, just as MacAuley had said. But then, on the far side of the room… a small bed, with clean sheets and neatly made. Jane felt the jolt of recognition as she saw it. This was Maura's room. Undoubtedly. She couldn't say exactly why; it was something about the way that area was kept so neatly; how the files and boxes had been carefully shuffled out of the way; the practical layout of the room- minimalist, only what was needed, everything in its proper place.

She pushed open a door to her left and found herself in a small washroom- clean again as before, in stark contrast to the rest of the warehouse; you could eat out of the sink, Jane thought, observing the startling white tile, set into a wooden cabinet. The room was empty, but something that had fallen down the side of the basin caught Jane's eye. She leaned down and reached in with one arm, bracing her shoulder against the cupboard and scrabbling with her outstretched hand until it came into contact with something spiky. A hairbrush. Long dark hair was caught in the teeth of the brush. Jane quickly pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the brush inside.

"Jane?"

She nearly hit the ceiling as Korsak appeared beside her.

"Jesus!" she hissed. "Don't sneak up on people like that!"

"I'm light-footed," he replied, ignoring her raised eyebrow as she stared incredulously at his less-than-stellar-physique. "What?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, trying not to laugh.

"What you got there?"

"Maura's hairbrush," she held it up to show him.

"Maura's?"

"Yeah," she led him back into the main room. "Look at this place. She stayed here- MacAuley was hiding her. And that's why Ferguson dumped a dead cop on his doorstep- to flush her out. It makes complete sense."

He eyed her doubtfully. "You sure that's hers?" he asked, indicating the evidence bag.

"DNA will confirm," Jane said confidently. "And while Suzie's testing it, I say we bring ol' Steve down to the station for a little chat."

"Who was living upstairs?" Jane slammed her palms down on the interrogation table.

MacAuley didn't flinch. "I have no idea."

"You have no idea?" she repeated incredulously. "You didn't notice someone living in the office space in your own place of business?"

He merely shrugged. "I never have cause to go up there these days. It's all just old files."

Jane could feel her frustration about to bubble over. She'd been at this for two hours already, and Steve MacAuley hadn't given anything up. She'd done the softly softly approach, played up the camaraderie, inferred the offering of all kinds of carrots and finally resorted to the stick, but to no avail. He was not intimidated by her, and she was at the end of her rope. She took a steadying breath.

"We're running DNA from the office; we know it will come back as a match for Maura Isles."

"Well you'll have your answer then," he replied simply.

Jane snapped.

"Where is Maura?" she yelled, slamming her palms on the table again.

"Jane-"

She whipped around to see that Korsak had appeared in the doorway. With a quick nod he indicated that she should follow him outside. She gave MacAuley one last hard look and followed after Korsak.

"We gotta cut him loose," Korsak said as soon as the door closed behind them, and he quickly held up a hand to quiet Jane's splutterings of disbelieving protest. "We've got nothing on him, and a whole bunch of other witnesses to interview from the two crime scenes. I know you want to find Maura, but we've got a cop-killer out there and Cavanaugh wants every available officer investigating."

"That's exactly what I am doing, Korsak!" she muttered impatiently, raking a hand through her hair and then pointing assertively back towards the interview room. "He is right in the middle of all this."

"That may be, but he isn't giving us anything, and his lawyer's just showed up and is about to spring him loose anyway."

She swallowed a cry of frustration as Korsak pulled his best sympathetic face.

"We'll find her, Jane," he told her reassuringly, before heading back towards the elevators.

She took a breath to compose herself, and reentered the interview room.

"Well, it looks like our conversation is over," she informed MacAuley tersely, swinging the door wide. "You're free to go."

He slowly rose to his feet and started towards the door when she impulsively swung it closed again and took a determined step towards him. She thought she saw him falter briefly, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Just tell me one thing," she asked, drawing herself up to her full height and calmly holding his gaze. "Is she alive?"

She steeled herself for the answer, and he looked curiously back, as if trying to make up his mind about her. Then his face softened.

"I was there the day she was born you know," he told her quietly. "Paddy and I were working at the docks when he got the call. We were just starting our shift in the morning, and he rushed straight to the hospital- I told him it would be a while, but he wanted to be there. When my wife went into labour with our daughter, it took nearly 48 hours for her to put in an appearance. That's very like Helena though; she likes to keep everyone waiting and then make an entrance. Not like Maura; she was never one to be a bother. A quick and easy labour and she was ready to join the world by lunchtime. My daughter, she wailed like a banshee all day and all night for months; she could never get enough attention. But Maura was good as gold."

Jane listened in rapt silence at this unsolicited confession. He had a slightly faraway look in his eyes, like he was speaking more for himself than for her, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth as he relived the memory.

"It broke his heart to give her up. But he knew that life was no life for a child. It wasn't the life either of us would have chosen for ourselves, let alone our families. My daughter stayed with me until she was five years old, and when her mother left and took her to live with relatives in England, I could have stopped her, but I chose not to. She didn't have the opportunities that Maura's had, but she had better than I could offer her here. She went to university- the first in my family to have an education. She's a lawyer now. And Maura- she has become such a fine and accomplished woman. She is very intelligent; very resourceful."

His reference to Maura in the present tense gave Jane hope. But before she could question him further he suddenly seemed to rouse himself from his reverie and remember where he was, turning to face her squarely.

"Please excuse the self-indulgence of an old man," he said with a sheepish shrug. "The further away from my youth I get, the more time I seem to spend thinking of the past."

Jane caught herself starting to smile at him, before remembering that he was a suspect, and carefully frowning instead.

"Paddy and I spent a lot of time in those days, commiserating and celebrating and scheming at an old Irish bar called Doolin's- you know it? It's been around for going on forty years now."

Jane nodded.

"Excellent whiskey selection," he smiled at her, and then he gave her a significant look. "And they make a first-rate filet mignon."

"At Doolin's?" she pulled an incredulous face. "The greasy old steak and fries place?"

He smiled again and raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes you get the best food in the places you'd least expect it. You'd be surprised the gems you can find in a place like that."

She looked quizzically at him and was just opening her mouth to respond when the interview room door burst open, and a tall, pale woman with cascading black hair was suddenly before them.

"Oh there you are!" she addressed MacAuley familiarly in a clipped English accent. "They told me you were free to go, but it did seem to be taking rather a long time considering you were just being shown out." She turned to Jane and appraised her skeptically. "Is there a problem, officer?"

Jane bristled at the slight, and at this woman's offhanded and yet commanding demeanour.

"That was my fault, dear," MacAuley responded quickly. "The old limbs just don't move as quickly as they used to."

She crossed her arms and pulled a face like she didn't believe a word of it. "Well, so long as you're up and moving now, shall we get on?"

He inclined his head in acquiescence, and she turned on her heel pausing briefly to address Jane again.

"Thank you officer….?"

"Detective Rizzoli," Jane replied through clenched teeth. "And you are?"

"His lawyer," she flashed Jane a brilliant smile, "Helena MacAuley."

And with that she tossed her black mane and strode away, heels clicking loudly on the laminate floor as Steve MacAuley followed behind her.

Jane could barely focus on the rest of the interviews that afternoon. No one from the warehouse was talking, of course, they just sat staring at her in stony silence. And the only 'witness' they had from the scene of the shooting was a drunk who may or may not have heard shots being fired, and thought that he might have seen a red BMW drive by shortly after.

Jane sat at her desk that evening, rubbing her eyes tiredly and looking at the mess on the evidence board- the fifth of its kind to be wheeled in and stood next to the others which displayed the sprawling map of Boston's crime families.

But it wasn't just the volume of information to sift through, or the tensions in the department over the death of a cop, or how late it was in the day and how little sleep she'd gotten in the last 24 hours. Something that MacAuley had said was nagging at her; the way he had talked about Doolin's. She remembered the bar; she had been there once a long time ago. It was your typical dirty Irish pub- she was pretty sure the kitchen consisted of a deep frier and a microwave. Almost certainly none of the regulars would even be able to identify filet mignon, much less have sampled it at that fair establishment.

So why would MacAuley have said that?

"Frost, I'm gonna call it a night," she said suddenly, grabbing her jacket and keys as her tired partner looked up from his computer.

"Good idea," he responded. "I might head home myself. You need a ride?"

"Nah I'm good," she replied, already heading out the door. "I'm gonna stop somewhere for food on my way home anyways."

The bar was exactly where she remembered it; on an old street of largely boarded up storefronts and apartment buildings. Everything was quiet but for the noise of muffled chatter and music that drifted towards her as she approached the double doors.

The chatter fell silent almost immediately as she pulled the doors open and entered. The place was dim and dank, and a fog of cigarette smoke, ash, and stale beer hung thickly in the air. She looked around warily as all heads swiveled to stare at her. Squaring her shoulders, she walked purposefully towards the bar, and pulled out a seat. The wood of the bar was worn and sticky; she pretended not to notice, focusing on the approaching bartender who eyed her curiously as she sat down.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. He was youngish, but with weathered skin and rough hands which he was wiping on a dirty rag. Rows of half-empty bottles of spirits lined the wall behind him, glistening as they caught the light from dusty overhead lamps.

"Yes," Jane replied with forced confidence. "I would like to order some food."

"Kitchen's closed," he asked curtly, clearly preferring that Jane take her business elsewhere.

"Aw really?" she whined in exaggerated disappointment. "That sucks- I was really hoping you'd be able to help me out. See, I heard that you guys have just the best fillet mignon."

He looked like she'd just said she wanted a plate of lightly braised eyeballs.

"Where'd you hear that?" he kept his voice steady.

"Steve MacAuley made the recommendation," she replied evenly, trying to ignore the sound of her pulse hammering in her head.

The bar was eerily silent, and she knew that all eyes were on her. She was also keenly aware that she had come here alone, and not even mentioned to anyone where she was going, much less why. Stupid, careless- she cursed herself. Well it was too late now. The bartender was eyeing her warily, trying to make up his mind.

"MacAuley sent you?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yup!" she said brightly, watching him carefully as she spoke. "I saw him and his enchanting daughter Helena just this morning, and he said, Jane, if you are ever at Doolin's you must try the food- it doesn't look like much, but sometimes you find the best things where you least expect them."

The bartender gave her one last calculating look, and then turned to a grizzled old man seated beside Jane. "Watch the bar," he instructed, before indicating that she should follow him.

He lead her past tables of silently watching eyes, out the back, and into the kitchen. He held his hand up for her to wait, turning towards an ancient service elevator and picking up the receiver of an old telephone that was mounted on the wall beside it. The persistent knots in Jane's stomach were rapidly giving way to bursts of adrenaline and cold sweat as she tried to make out his hushed conversation. It was foolish of her to come here alone- what had she been thinking? She had just waltzed into an old Irish mob bar, clearly identifiable as a cop, and basically told them Steve MacAuley would vouch for her. Well if anyone called her on that bluff, things could go very badly for her.

The elevator suddenly creaked and rattled into life, moving slowly down to the main floor. The bartender hung up the phone and- with some effort- pulled back the stiff elevator gate to allow them entrance. Swallowing hard, she followed him inside and watched him heave the iron gate back into place and press a button. The elevator whined into life again.

The time it took for them to ascend was time enough for Jane to imagine all manner of scenarios that she might be about to walk into, and not one of them was pleasant. There was nowhere to run; no easy way out. She was as trapped in this building as she was in this elevator, which continued up and up on it's long journey. Somewhere in the back of her panicked mind she remembered that the bar was on the ground level of an apartment building, and it seemed that they must be heading for the top floor.

Well, up was better than down- to some dingy basement out of sight, or into a waiting car, to be whisked away. If they were going to take her out, they probably wouldn't do it here.

The elevator finally shuddered and stopped. The bartender heaved the gate open again, and Jane found herself looking out into a dimly lit but nicely furnished apartment- much more nicely furnished than she would ever have imagined given the appearance of the bar downstairs. The floors were polished hardwood, the layout was open-plan, and large windows looked out across Boston harbour's glistening lights.

The bartender gave her a small nudge and she span quickly to face him. He seemed surprised at her sudden hesitance, and he nodded to indicate that she should exit the elevator. She did so warily, and he quickly dragged the gate closed behind her. She stood frozen, listening to the groaning of the elevator as it began its long descent, and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light that emanated from a few lamps in far corners of the room.

The sound of heels on the hardwood to her left caused her to turn quickly- and then she saw her.

"Maura?"

"Hi Jane."