Chapter 12
"Right well, I think that should just about do it," Helena pronounced, stepping back from the computer and running a hand through her mane of raven hair.
"I can access the BPD and FBI databases? And you're sure it can't be traced?" Maura joined her at the monitor.
"Not a chance," the other woman assured Maura confidently. "Hacking in was a doddle- these systems are never as secure as the government likes to think. Their security developers are just aren't as good as the fellows in private industry- the public sector doesn't have the funding to attract really accomplished programmers. And as for being traced, you're accessing their systems through a series of proxies based all over the world. I doubt anyone in BPD has the chops to even begin to run a trace."
Maura eyed her curiously. "And how exactly did you learn to do this? It's not exactly standard training for a lawyer…"
"I've always been good with machines," Helena replied with a sly smile. "Go ahead." She pulled out the desk chair for Maura, who observed the woman's chivalry warily, before slipping into the seat and beginning to type rapidly into the BPD database, navigating easily through the system to download all the files that related to her disappearance and the case against Colin Ferguson. Then she set up alerts to ensure that she would be notified of up to the minute developments.
She was aware that she should probably show more gratitude to Helena, but the woman unnerved her and so Maura defaulted to the cold, clinical interactions she was most comfortable with. It wasn't that Helena was unpredictable or a loose cannon- on the contrary she was often all business, and could adopt a cool and commanding air when she wanted to, as she did when interacting with the authorities or with members of Paddy Doyle's organization. Maura supposed that directness, that unnerving confidence served Helena MacAuley well in the courtroom, defending the indefensible. As Maura had watched her working away at the computer for hours, Helena had demonstrated a determined focus that Maura was very familiar with- the rest of the world seemed to drop completely out of site as the task at hand wholly occupied her consciousness. It was different to the fastidiousness with which Maura carefully attended to every detail; it was more like the a single-mindedness of Jane. If Helena had been similar to Jane in any additional respect, perhaps Maura would have warmed to her. But Helena had none of the seriousness of Jane about her, or the incredulity in the face of the unexpected. On the contrary, it was as if nothing shocked Helena; nothing phased her. She approached every setback with a shrug of the shoulders, a half-amused smirk, a willingness to deal with any development and to laugh at it. And not because she was genuinely amused or because her attitude was lackadaisical, but rather because she just could not take anything seriously. This was what most unnerved Maura about the woman; her whimsy, her constant flirtation, the smile always playing on her lips that seemed to belie the fact that the did not really care. How was Maura to approach a woman like that? She couldn't even begin to understand her.
So as usual, Maura was all business with Helena. The task accomplished, she moved directly on to the next problem.
"Maybe now I can finally get somewhere with this."
Maura produced the file she had stolen from Paddy Doyle's old office the night she had encountered Jane, the night she had finally done away with Sean Peters. She had been carrying this stupid file around with her everywhere, certain that it held evidence that would put Ferguson away, but never being able to find out much about the names listed inside, without getting access to the state and federal databases.
Now with Ferguson out of the picture, however temporarily, and Helena's tech skills granting her untraceable access to various law enforcement databases, she might finally have a chance to get some answers.
She began a search for the first name on the list, and sucked in her breath sharply when a match came back. It was an alias- this person was in witness protection. Not only that, but the gang member that their testimony had put in prison may not have been guilty of the crime; Ferguson had been the chief suspect until this witness' testimony had placed the blame solely on the incarcerated man. As she went through the list, reading case after similar case, a picture began to emerge.
"What is it?" Helena had been watching curiously as Maura typed in names and clicked through files in rapid succession.
Maura quickly explained her theory, which only seemed to gain credibility as she looked up more names. Paddy's list documented Ferguson's rise through the ranks. The names all represented people who had testified against someone else in a crime Ferguson had committed, and then gone into witness protection; or who had taken the fall for Ferguson and were now completing jail time; or in some cases, had been killed in unsolved murders. In each case, Colin Ferguson had risen in power as a result of the sacrifice of the people on the list. They were the reason Ferguson was in the position he was today, instead of behind bars. And that meant that, if Maura could find these people, or even just one of them, they could expose Ferguson and provide the evidence she needed to put him away for good.
"I think I may be able to stop Ferguson," she finished, her face lighting up in a smile of giddy relief as she turned to face Helena.
"Well that's excellent news," the woman responded with that familiar amused smirk. "Where do we start?"
Within the hour, Helena had their Doyle-clan crack-team reassembled, the names from the list distributed, and various men setting out to locate the owners of those names. Things were starting to look up. Everything was going according to plan.
"You look like a chicken caught out in the rain!" Helena laughed at her.
"What?" Maura replied, not seeing the analogy.
"Cheer up!" Helena whispered, cozying up to her and winking conspiratorially. "Your plan is working; at this rate, you'll have Ferguson banged up by breakfast, and you could be back home for tea!"
Maura open her mouth to correct the woman, and then registered the teasing tone, remembered Jane's lectures about not taking everything so literally, realized that Helena was basically never serious. She allowed herself a little smile as Helena sauntered off, indulging in the fantasy for a moment. She could really go home. The possibility was so real she could taste it.
Of course it couldn't last. Of course she had spoken too soon. First thing Monday morning, an notification from her computer alerted Maura to a new development in the Ferguson case. She stood at the console, checking through the feed as she sipped a freshly brewed espresso. And as she read the details, she felt the ground slip out from under her again.
When Dr. Pike had performed the autopsy on the dead police officer, he only compared the bullet that he recovered to the gun Jane had found on Ferguson's premises. They knew which weapon it had come from, they knew who the weapon belonged to, and they knew the crime that weapon had been used to commit. Pike didn't initially run the bullet through the BPD database to see if it flagged a match anywhere else. But unbeknownst to Maura, the week before some miscategorized paperwork from the lab had thrown Pike into a frenzy of fact-checking and retesting, much to the irritation of the other technicians in the lab. Had it not been for his fastidious double-checking, they might never have discovered the match. Weeks before, Pike had finally finished his painstaking autopsy of the two children who had been accidentally killed in a gang shootout. The processing of the bullets had predictably found no match, but when Pike ran the bullet from the officer, they did flag a match. They came from the same gun; the gun that was supposed to put Ferguson away for murder. The gun that belonged to Connor.
The flurry of activity in response to this development was much the same at Doyle HQ as it was at BPD. Jane had come in to work late, having taken a detour via the bank to lock Casey's ring in a safe deposit box, stopping for coffee and she and Maura's favorite spot, smiling at the thought that they might actually be able to go there together soon.
When she arrived at the office, she checked in to see whether a hearing had been set for Ferguson's bail; he hadn't been scheduled til much later in the week. Jane smiled to herself at the idea of the man being forced to sit and stew. She'd spoken briefly to the prosecutor who had been assigned the case, and he thought it was highly unlikely Ferguson would get bail at all, given his flight risk and the fact that he'd killed a cop. All in all, Jane was already having a pretty fantastic day by the time she arrived at her desk.
Right up until she saw Suzie Chang hustling up to her, a folder clutched in her hand. Jane frowned in puzzlement; Suzie hadn't tried to present her with any test results since Maura had been gone; everything went straight to Pike.
"Detective Rizzoli?" Suzie looked nervous. "I think you'd better take a look at this."
It took Jane all of thirty seconds to take in the results and realize their meaning. She tore off down the corridor, out to her car, and was flooring the gas pedal all the way to Agent Dean's office.
"Where was Colin Ferguson five weeks ago," she demanded as she barreled through the door, cheeks flushed, dark curls flying, eyes wild. She looked unhinged.
"What?" Agent Dean looked up, startled from his desk
"Ferguson! Where was he…" She checked the file from Suzie that was still had clutched in her hand. "April 23rd? Was he in Boston?"
"Jane," he started in with a tone of concern, but she cut him off with furious impatience.
"Was he or not? You've been surveilling him for months right? All over the country? So where was he April 23rd?"
Agent Dean seemed to finally be grasping the urgency with which Jane was trying to move him, but he still spoke calmly and reasonably. "Hold on, I'll check."
She bounced on the balls of her feet, worrying her lip as she watched him shuffle through his files, rubbing the scars on her hands in part from nervous habit, but partly to stop her from lunging across the room and snatching the files away. His slowness was excruciating.
"April 23rd-" he said finally. "Ferguson was in New Jersey."
Jane stared at him, not quite ready to believe what she'd heard.
"He was there all week," Agent Dean continued. "We had a couple of guys sitting on him the whole time. They recorded footage pretty much twenty-four seven."
Jane's shoulders slumped and she leaned back against the door frame, the wind completely taken out of her.
"What's going on, Jane?" he asked, that note of concern now more pronounced.
She wordlessly handed him the file with the ballistics report.
"I don't understand, what am I looking at?"
Her voice was much quieter when she finally spoke. "A report flagging a match between the bullets that killed a Boston Police Officer, for which we just arrested Ferguson, and an apparently unrelated killing a month before. On April 23rd, in South Boston."
He stared at her with slow understanding. "Ferguson couldn't have committed those murders."
She shook her head, smiling sadly. "That gun must have been used by someone else. Which means it may not have been Ferguson who pulled the trigger on the cop. We've got ourselves some reasonable doubt."
"Jane, his lawyer will have him out by tonight."
She felt like slumping down onto the floor; just allowing her knees to buckle and her weight to take her down. But she didn't. Because as exhausting as this goddamn roller-coaster ride had been, she had to keep it together. She had to warn Maura.
By the time Jane arrived at Doolin's the Doyle-team had long been aware of the ballistics report and Ferguson's impending release, and had put their own plans into action. The bar was dark when Jane tried the door, still being long before opening. She hammered on it anyways, hollering for someone to let her in.
Finally Danny did, and she shouldered past him before he could plant himself in her way. She ignored his shouts after her as she tore towards the elevator in the back.
In the penthouse suite everything was quiet, and Jane saw with a sinking feeling the emptiness of the place; the same hurried cleaning away of all things Maura that she had recognized in the warehouse. A noise behind her caused her to whip around, fists clenched, fully aware that this place was never friendly to her, and that it would be even less so without Maura here.
"Detective." It was Steve. He had been waiting for her.
"Where is she?"
"She's safe."
"She's not," Jane tried to steady her cracking voice. "Ferguson is going to be back on the streets tonight and he'll be coming for her."
Steve nodded. "I know. We're taking care of it."
"How?" Jane felt her frustration boiling over as she screamed at him, "Where is she?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." Jane looked ready to scream again so he spoke quickly but still calmly, cutting her off. "Really, I don't. But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. It's not safe for you to know. And it's not safe for her. She's better off this way."
"You can't keep her from me!" Jane fumed, but Steve cut her off again.
"It was her decision."
Jane snorted derisively. "You really expect me to believe that?" she said finally, but her voice was smaller now, and full of doubt.
"Of course. It was her decision to go into protective custody with the FBI without telling you. And it was her decision to turn to her father for help rather than returning to Boston PD after Ferguson tracked her down. You find it so difficult to believe that she would have left of her own accord again?"
"She would have told me…" Jane trailed off.
"You're a liability, Jane." His voice contained no judgement. "She can't keep herself safe if she's worrying about you."
She frowned at him, wrestling with her emotions, trying to think clearly and figure out the best course of action but coming up empty.
"I could arrest you," she managed limply, without conviction.
"To what end? I can't tell you what I don't know. Go home, detective."
Danny appeared at the door then, silently menacing, enforcing the lack of any real option behind Steve's gentle suggestion.
Outside the mid-morning air was fresh and bright, a bizarre contrast to the dingy scene inside the bar and completely incongruous with the intensity of feelings bubbling up in her chest. Had Maura really left her again? They were supposed to be a team; they had always faced things together. Maura didn't get to just make decisions about what was best for the both of them. Jane was aware that anger wasn't the appropriate response; she knew why Maura had made the decision to shut her out, and she knew that it must have been an incredibly difficult thing to do, to isolate herself again. And yet Jane held on to the anger and the frustration and the hurt and directed it all at Maura, because she knew if she didn't, she would have to acknowledge the deep, paralyzing ache in her chest, and the almost overwhelming fear.