Here we go, I'm re-posting everything again. This is your chance to catch up with this story, I think my best so far. Thank you to Witless544, all the way in England, for all her help and for making this so much fun to write.

I'm really sorry about all the wonderful reviews that got lost.

I'm taking advantage of the re-post to change Frost's description and keep him as-is, a gorgeous black man, instead of turning him into a red-head, because when I write him, I just can't picture him as someone else. We'll just ignore the implications of having a black man detective in England in 1888.

Jane Rizzoli picked up her suitcase and walked, along with hundreds of other passengers, down the gangway and onto British soil. It had taken the SS Adriatic seven days to cross the Atlantic from New York to Liverpool. It was late morning, and the air was chilly. A light drizzle was blowing across the harbor, dampening Jane's thick wool coat she was hurrying to button up with one hand.

She was ushered along towards the train station, where she climbed onboard a second class wagon for another 4 hours to London.

Sitting in the crowded compartment, she reviewed the telegram her father had received the week prior. Her brother Thomas Rizzoli had been arrested and was about to receive trial in London on the 26 of July, 1888, for murder. She guessed they had only been informed as a courtesy, because her father was a well-known South Boston Sheriff. The gruff man had sent Jane to sort it out and try to help Thomas, if possible, only because his wife's desperate pleas. The whole family had become numb to the eldest brother's run-ins with the law, and this time, it seemed he might be beyond their reach.

Jane sighed and closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic railroad clatter.

London smelled. It smelled like human refuse, sweat and coal. People everywhere, dense and loud. Jane had always thought of Boston as a big, busy city, but London was proving her wrong. It made any city in the United States look like a small village. A map in hand, Jane made her way to the Orsett Street boarding house she'd be staying at. Jane felt like the cobblestone ground was still swaying under her feet. It started raining.

Half an hour later, wet and cold, Jane set her suitcase in front of the small desk at the boarding house. She was towering a good head above the deputy keeper. After having a good look at the tall brunette, her hair wild and wet, he took her money and wrote her a receipt. He carried her suitcase to the third floor, where she'd share a room with another American lady, the man informed her.

Jane took off her wet clothes and hung them on the back of the chair. She took her boots off and washed up in the small basin next to the commode. Then she laid down on the double bed. She wondered which side she'd be taking. The custom was to defer to the previous tenant.

It was getting dark outside, and Jane didn't know if she could still make it to the police station. She sighed and pushed herself up from the bed. Her coat felt cold and clammy when she put it on. Her hand dipped under her jacket, and she felt the handle of her small handgun by her side. Back home, she'd carry a six-shooter, but it was less easy to conceal.

The police station where Thomas was arrested was a few blocks away. Jane had picked the boarding house for that reason. The building was well lit, and she was grateful for the warm gush of air that greeted her inside. An officer stood behind a tall counter.

"I'm Jane Rizzoli, I'm here to see my brother, Thomas."

"Oh, the American sailor." He looked at her disheveled state. "You're late, but I can go fetch him. Come this way."

He left her in a small, windowless room. There was a bench and a chair, separated by a small table. She sat on the chair facing the door. Minutes later, the door opened and Thomas walked in, shacked around his legs and hands. The officer pushed him down on the bench, and chained him up to the anchor on the floor before leaving the room.

"Jane! Where's dad?" He looked around the room expectantly.

"Dad couldn't make it. He sent me."

"You? What are you going to do? Shoot them all? I need dad to tell them I didn't do it!"

"Didn't you do it?"

"No! I didn't kill the guy! I wasn't even there. They say they found blood on my jacket, but I don't know what they're talking about!"

Jane sighed. It sounded like the same Thomas who always made excuses for his troubles. But maybe this time he was a little more sincere. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe she wanted to believe him, because they were far from home and alone.

"What do you know then?"

"I only knew the guy from the ship we were on for a week. Him and his buddies took me in, but when we docked, I didn't see them again."

"Where were you at the time of the murder?"

Thomas took his head between his shackled hands and mumbled something.

"What?"

"I was in Whitechapel, with a... a girl."

"A prostitute?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, no alibi. And of course nobody saw you."

"I usually avoid making an impression."

The officer opened the door and released Thomas from the padlock. Jane got up and touched his arm.

"Jane, I didn't do it! Please, trust me."

"I'm trying. I'll try my best, Tommy."

"I don't want to die, please!" Thomas followed the officer back to his cell, in the damp darkness of a long hallway. Jane stood in front of the small room, shivering in her coat.

A man in a dark rain coat startled her. He had dark skin, really pretty eyes and full lips. He couldn't have been more than 30. Too young for Jane.

"Are you his sister? You look like him."

"Yeah. I'm Jane."

She offered her hand.

"Detective Frost. Barry Frost. Is that what you do in America?" He shook her hand, surprised by her casual manners.

Jane smiled for the first time in days. "I guess. Maybe not. That's what I do. My father's a sheriff," she offered as an excuse. He nodded in appreciation.

"A fellow law enforcement officer. I knew there was something about you." He winked at Jane, and they chuckled.

A brief silence passed before Barry spoke again.

"The case against him is pretty solid. Doctor Pike determined the blood on his jacket belonged to the victim."

"How can you determine that?" Jane furrowed her brows, pretty sure there wasn't any way to link blood to a person. A lifetime of dinner conversations with her father had taught her a thing or two about crime investigations.

Officer Frost shrugged. "I don't know, he's the doctor. Even though he's been known to make mistakes..."

He hesitated, looked around to make sure nobody was listening. The station was pretty quiet, other than the quiet moans of the drunks stashed in the nearby cells. He leaned over to Jane, looking up at her.

"I know someone who might be able to help you. She's helped us on a few occasions, when Pike couldn't figure it out. She's a noblewoman, Lady Maura Isles. She's... peculiar, but very smart. She's a scientist."

"What does she do?"

"She can examine a dead body and determine the manner of death, even when it's hidden. She can tell a substance from another, and once she even told us where to find the murderer just from the dirt under the victim's shoes."

He spoke like it was sorcery. Jane seemed impressed. She had heard of forensic science on a few occasions.

"How do I find her?"

Barry pulled out his notebook and scribbled an address down. He ripped the page and gave it to Jane.

"That's in the nice part of town," he informed her.

"Is it too late to go?"

"It's about eight. She'd be finishing supper. I hear she stays up late in her lab."

Jane pondered her options for a second. Detective Frost stepped back.

"Anyways, good luck. Maybe I'll see you around." He flashed a radiant smile at her, and walked off towards the back office.

Jane looked down at the piece of paper with Lady Isles' address written on it. She walked outside and checked her pocket for change, before getting in a carriage. She showed the driver the address. He lifted his brow, looked at her and shrugged. He clicked for the horses to start.