DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. Rizzoli & Isles and its characters are the property of Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro and TNT television network. No infringement intended.
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SERIES: In Deep Series
Inside My Hell
By Demeter
"Hi, Marty."
The man in question jumped slightly, his eyes darting around to fixate on Lindsay who had just entered the room. She was aware of how much depended on her in this situation; still, she had a hard time keeping her temper in check.
When the man had been arrested, he'd had blood on his shirt. She didn't need a lab analysis to determine whose blood it was. They had the right guy – but he was the one who'd been hired for the dirty work. There was someone else above him who had wanted to force her hand. She needed to know who.
"I didn't kill anyone," he claimed. "I don't know... I don't even know where she is now!"
The worst about this was that Lindsay believed him, but she couldn't dwell on that now. Time was running out.
"I want to know who paid you," she said.
She could practically smell his fear. Funny how men like him who didn't think twice about beating up a woman turned into sad whiny creatures when backed into a corner themselves. Lindsay thought of Hoyt fleetingly. And Kiss-Me-Not. This man, however, wasn't a clever psychopath.
"I don't know who he is." Marty put on a surly expression. "You have nothing on me, right? You're just fishing."
She had enough on him to know that he had hurt Cindy, and therefore she'd deal with him appropriately – later. "If she'd dead, it's on you," Lindsay promised. "I'll do whatever I can to make sure you'll get from here to death row."
She found some satisfaction in the fact that he'd turned white.
"Stop wasting my time. I'll give you one more chance to answer my question, and then I'll be out of here. Who in the Boston PD paid you?"
If that was possible, he paled even more, and Lindsay knew she'd hit paydirt. However, she would have never expected his answer, and it deeply unsettled her.
Maura Isles regarded with mixed feelings as Jane – Lindsay, damn it! - kicked down the door to the shed that belonged to someone they had both trusted. It was dark inside, but the slightest hint of sunlight from outside was enough to illuminate the eerie scene. Maura forced herself not to look away though secretly, she was deeply disturbed.
Most people would find it odd that she, the 'Queen of the Dead' had problems looking at the violence done to a living person when it was her job to deal with a lot more gruesome sights of the dead every day. But that's the way it was.
She stepped closer hesitantly, getting a better look of the woman who was suspended by her wrists, her toes barely touching the blank concrete floor. She was clothed, but her feet were. Maura watched as Lindsay gently brushed the hair away from her face, the inspector's fingers coming away damp and red.
The set up reminded Maura of a Medevial torture scene, and she couldn't help thinking of all the pain the unnatural stretch of muscles had to cause in a human body. "We have to cut her down," she said, her words seeming to echo in the confines of the shed.
Lindsay cast her a quick look, her expression a mixture of helplessness and blind rage. The latter would have made Maura stumble backwards hadn't she known whom that fury was directed at. She shared it.
In the corner, Maura found a pair of garden shears while Lindsay kept talking softly to the other woman.
Lindsay kept up the monologue during Maura's first futile attempts to cut the thick rope, and then when she finally managed. Cindy Thomas collapsed into Lindsay's arms with barely a sound, a testimony to her half-aware state. However, she managed to open her eyes, and Maura caught the look she gave Lindsay.
That moment, Maura knew that the friend and colleague she'd come to like and maybe more, Jane Rizzoli, had been nothing but a fantasy. She'd never had a chance to begin with, and the knowledge made her sad along with the relief that they had found Cindy on time.
The End