Maura Doyle

Connor MacAuley was missing.

This was a huge problem, and not one that Maura had anticipated, nor one she had the time for. When Ferguson got out of jail, Connor was supposed to leave town. That was the deal. Ferguson would absolutely be looking for him, and so would the police, and he was the only one besides Steve who could expose Maura's role in the death of the police officer.

Why couldn't the stupid boy have just left town like he'd been told to? He'd been given a car, cash, a new identity. All he had to do was get on the highway and head north to New York, or out west to where he said he had family in Northern California, or just about any goddamn place so long as it was out of the state. But Maura had just got word that the car he'd been given had just shown up abandoned in Ferguson's side of town, and Connor was nowhere to be found.

To make matters worse, the new 'safehouse' Steve had come up with was about as far from ideal as you could get. She was staying with her grandfather; the man who had once told her that it would have been better if she'd died as a baby.

Though she had initially hoped that he would do well in the retirement community she had arranged for him when he had been released from prison, it turned out that old-man Doyle had experienced something of a resurgence of his youth since getting out, terrorizing the nurses and support staff, making enemies of many of the retirees, and even trying to take a hit out on an eighty-year-old who he claimed had tried to cheat him at dominos. He would have been turned out onto the streets if it hadn't been for June, the sister of one of the other residents, and an old flame from Patrick's youth. They rekindled their romance when she saw him again, having come to visit her sister, Bunny. After that, Bunny got little attention, even as June came around more and more often. Maura suspected her grandfather had got himself kicked out of the home on purpose, so he'd have an excuse to move in with June.

The couple lived in an old but neatly-kept house in South Boston, just a block away from where Patrick had grown up, and right in the heart of old Doyle territory; loyalties here went back generations. It would almost have been the most obvious place for Ferguson to start looking for Maura, except that every family member in the city knew how much the old man hated Hope and his granddaughter, and even his son. They would never expect him to be harbouring her. Ferguson would be especially familiar with this animosity, having served as Paddy's right hand man for years and been privy to every harsh word and every grievance.

The reality was actually very different from the rumors, much to the surprise of even Maura. While Patrick wasn't thrilled at having his granddaughter in his space, she could see he was secretly pleased to have his home turned into a bustle of mobster activity. It made him feel important again, and brought back memories from his youth. He started off with his usualy grumbling and cursing; refusing to address her as anything but 'hey lady' or 'that woman,' but after Maura called him out with some carefully chosen words, he switched from open hostility to grudging respect. She had far less patience than the last time they had tangled. She had been a different person then, she reflected grimly; easily shocked and offended, easily hurt. Much had changed since that first meeting, and quite frankly she was disinclined to put up with any of his shit.

Now, as she barked orders and strategized with Steve and Helena in June's neatly-kept kitchen, she was aware of Patrick Sr regarding her with a little half-smile on his face. She reminded him of Paddy when she was like this, she knew. She hated the thought at the same time as she was glad of it. It made her situation seem less impossible, less insurmountable, to think that in some sense she had been born for this life. She would make a fascinating case-study in nature versus nurture, she thought, if she were removed enough from her own situation to find it fascinating rather than vaguely horrifying. It had to say something for biology; how quickly she was now taking to this life.

She pushed the thought away quickly, afraid to dwell on it; afraid of the conclusions she might come to. Right now she couldn't afford to start second-guessing herself. Ferguson was out and probably looking for her right now with murderous intent; even more so given the discovery of her failed frame-up. And her people kept returning with bad news of Paddy's list of contacts who had dirt on Ferguson; they were all thus far refusing to speak with her, and denied any knowledge of Ferguson or Paddy. And now Connor was missing. Why was nothing simple? Why couldn't just one little thing go right?

"Good news!"

She turned to see that Danny had entered the kitchen, flushed from having just run inside from the car.

"We've found Connor!"

"Where?" Maura demanded.

He turned back to the cell phone he was gripping in his left hand, obviously too eager to share these latest developments to get the full report before barreling inside. He held the receiver to his ear and listened intently, his face falling. "Shit."

"What?" Maura asked in a tone that suggested she really did not want to know.

"The cops have him."

Maura's blood turned to ice in panic. Why would the police be looking for Connor? Surely Ferguson didn't turn him over to them? Surely if he knew of Connor's betrayal, he would want to exact his own revenge; he wouldn't law enforcement getting in the way.

Danny was still listening intently to his phone, his forehead wrinkled with a look of disbelief. "They picked him up buying an illegal firearm," he reported finally.

"Oh for fuckssake!" Steve banged the table in exasperation, quickly apologizing when he caught June's look of disapproval. "That goddamn kid," he muttered, shaking his head.

Maura put her head in her hands. Why? Why was she surrounded by imbeciles? How long would it take for Connor to crack and confess everything? And even assuming he didn't, how long would it take for one of Ferguson's men to get to him, either in jail or on the outside?

Helena was already on her feet and heading on the door. "I'm on it!" she called, exiting swiftly. "I'll have him back here by dinner!"

"At least someone their shit together," Patrick muttered.

Maura gave him a withering look, but didn't disagree, taking a weary seat next to him at the kitchen table.

"I'll put the kettle on, dear," June patted Maura's shoulder affectionately as she rose to start preparing a pot of coffee. She was taking the appropriation of her home for the Doyle Family HQ remarkably in stride. Well, she had grown up with Patrick, Maura reasoned.

"You're never gonna get ahead of him if you're always on the back-foot. Reacting, puttin' out fires, letting him set the terms," Patrick told her in the soft tone he usually reserved for June.

"I don't see that I have much choice," Maura sighed. "He's the one with all the advantages; he has the men, the resources, the authority. The most I can do is stay hidden long enough to figure out a way to arrest him for his crimes and get him safely locked away. If I could only get those contacts of Paddy's to listen to me. But they won't talk; they know I can't protect them."

"Nah, you're still thinkin' like a cop," Patrick spat the word out with distaste. "You gotta start thinkin like a Doyle."

"Well I'm not going to have him killed!" Maura retorted in alarm.

Patrick chuckled to himself. "I'd like to see you try! You and your rag-tag group of outlaws holed up with a couple of pensioners in Southie."

"Well then what are you suggesting?" she frowned at him.

"You can't win on these terms. The board's stacked against you. You're outside the law, but you ain't one of us either."

"So what do I do?" Maura asked in resignation, not even bothering to question any more how she'd reached this point, where her previously hostile and estranged grandfather was now offering her safe-haven and advice on the 'family business'.

"You want to beat him?" Patrick asked with a twinkle in his eye. "Change the state of play."

Jane glared at her mob-wall from her desk in the bullpen. She had set about mapping the crime families with such fervor initially, but now the row upon row of faces felt like they were taunting her; a daily reminder of everything she was up against. Ferguson's mugshot smirked from atop the Doyle clan hierarchy. Across from him, emerging from a fork in the family tree, a split in the branch, a big question mark had been replaced by a picture of Maura. Probably Dean did that, Jane fumed to herself. Seeing their pictures facing each other like that just reminded Jane of how badly she was failing. Maura and Ferguson, facing off in a battle for leadership of the Doyle clan. Maura, who was wholly unprepared for such a task, and in the background, Jane who was failing at supporting her.

She wandered to the elevator and jabbed the button for the first floor on autopilot, vaguely thinking about getting coffee and something for a sugar rush from the BPD cafe, but subconsciously craving the familiar comfort of her mother's reassurances, though she'd never admit it. In the last couple of days her world had seemed to turn upside down. She'd almost got engaged and then broken up with her boyfriend instead; lost her best friend and then found her and kissed her and then lost her again; and completely failed at putting away the bastard who was responsible for this mess. Ferguson was free to go after Maura any time he wanted, and now they had an unknown killer who was responsible for the death of a cop and two children, plus god knows what else. And they had no way of finding him.

Little did she know that the man with the answers to so many of her questions was right under her nose, already languishing in the cells of the BPD. And perhaps she would never have known, had it not been for the familiar click of heels that caused Jane to look up as she made her way over to the cafe.

Helena MacAuley.

Frowning, Jane watched the woman step into the elevator, her face a mask of indifference as she tossed her mane of black hair and unhurriedly press the button for the lower floors. She's heading down to the holding cells, Jane realized with a jolt, quickly turning on her heel and bolting for the staircase. She made it downstairs just as Helena stepped of the elevator and strode purposefully towards the desk clerk.

Jane quickly ducked into the booking office before she was spotted. Not that there was much danger of her standing out; the place was a mess. The cells were at capacity and then some, with a roomful of sullenly handcuffed individuals sitting in the booking area waiting to be processed, and beat cops shifting around restlessly, anxious to deposit their charges and head back out to the streets. The BPD was overwhelmed; they had been for months, since Boston's crime rate reached new heights. The booking officers moved about frenetically, looking harassed.

"Can I help you?" the tired-looking desk clerk finally turned to Helena after hanging up his phone, which immediately started ringing again.

She gave him her most winning smile and Jane palms clenched reflexively, irritated at her unbridled confidence.

"I'm here for Connor MacAuley," the clipped English accent rang out.

Jane's jaw dropped. Another MacAuley? This couldn't be a coincidence. They were all tied up with the Doyles, and tied up with Maura. And if one of them was here in police custody, she might finally have a chance to get some answers.

"Hey! Psst!" she called surreptitiously to the desk clerk after he'd waved at Helena to take a seat while he found her client.

He looked over at Jane where she stood peaking around the doorframe, and stared at her like she'd grown two heads.

"Which cell is MacAuley in?" she whispered urgently.

He seemed to think about questioning her behaviour for half a second, before exhaustion took over and he clearly decided it was not worth the effort.

"2B," he replied tiredly.

"Thanks!" Jane beelined for the cells before turning quickly and running back to hide behind the doorframe once more, out of sight of the foyer in which Helena waiting. "Hey, stall her for me will you?" she whispered urgently.

He nodded in resignation as Jane tore back down the hall, on a mission to find this Connor MacAuley and get him into an interview room. Finally, she was going to get some answers.