Elle, Spence is dead. The words keep replaying in her mind, and, for a moment, she forgets that she's holding the phone, forgets that she's talking to the woman that had been her friend, once.
By the time she remembers, the words are already out, and there's no pretending that the news doesn't stun her.
"How?" she manages finally, and hears Garcia sigh.
"I... I don't want to talk about it over the phone, Elle."
"Of course," she says quietly. "When...?"
"The twentieth," Garcia says, knowing what she's asking. "At the Thompson cemetery... around three."
"Alright," Elle says, taking too long to answer; she's too busy wiping away the tears that have sprung, unbidden, to her eyes.