Maura then gets a call from the office about a body in the Pilgrims locker room. She’s ready to release the body, but Jane wants to go down and take a look. So Jane slaps Maura’s ass, like all best friends do, and away they go. Yes, an ass slap. That’s not Totally Gratuitous, Totally Gay Touching, that’s just Gay Touching, period.
At the Pilgrims (really, the Pilgrims? Do they all wear funny hats and big buckles on their shoes?) locker room, Maura goes to check on the body and Jane chats with the team’s chief of security, a retired homicide detective she used to work with. He offers her first-baseline tickets to go watch the game, but Jane would rather stick around and wait for Maura. Not even plum seats can tear Jane from her lady’s side. Now that’s chivalry.
While she waits, Jane looks on bemused as the players go through their superstitious rituals which range from OCD Velcro tightening to pre-game puking. Gross primates, remember? One of the ballplayers saunters up to Jane all, “Call me, I wouldn’t mind being interrogated by you.” She replies with, “Heard that line, like 4 million times.” Which, of course, is code for “I’m gay, you idiot.”
In the player showers, Maura is troubled by the dead body. I am too, the dude is naked. The security chief keeps insisting it was a simple accident. But the wounds aren’t adding up to a slip-and-fall. Jane senses Maura’s unease and pushes her gently. Her voice gets soft and her register lowers as she asks, “What does your gut say?” Maura retreats to scientific mode and says, “I don’t listen to my intestines.” But she does listen to Jane, and rules it a suspicious death.
The interplay there is just perfect. I mean, I really love it when the Adorable Bickersons come out to play, but I also really love the scenes where you can sense these two women know each other, inside and out. They know how hard to push. They know when to relent. When to go with science, when to rely with instinct. They coax the best out of each other, sometimes just with a look. It’s genuine, and genuinely sexy.
The team owner is, predictably, unhappy about the death being ruled suspicious. He’s also a jerk. He keeps calling Rizzoli “officer” instead of “detective.” Do not disrespect the Ponytail of Righteous Justice or it will smite you a flick of its magnificent black mane. Mega was a drinker and the dead naked guy was his sober coach. And that slip-and-fall was staged and the crime scene cleaned up. Baseball been very, very bad to the poor naked dead guy.
Back at headquarters, Maura says the murder weapon is a “cylindrical, heavy, hard object.” Come on Rizzoli & Isles writers, recycling the death-by-dildo storyline already? But no, it’s a baseball bat. Though the smirk Jane gives Maura as she hands it to her tells me some serious transference might be happening.
Mega’s bat made the fatal blow, but Jane wonders how she’ll prove he took the swing. Maura says she’ll solve it by doing “that gumshoe thing.” And then she talks about how celebrities are rarely held accountable, like Fatty Arbuckle. That’s Dr. Isles, bringing you the latest pop culture references circa 1921. But our good doctor realizes her mistake in calling Jane a “gumshoe.” Because that term actually refers to galoshes, which Jane isn’t wearing. And then she giggles at herself. She’s so adorkable here I just want to pet her shiny, shiny hair and give her a cookie.