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SOMEONE FOUND ME

Eames sat on the front steps of her small house and waited for Goren to arrive. It didn't take long for him to appear. The sun was just rising as Eames opened the car door and got into Goren's red Jeep.

"Am I late?" Goren asked.

Eames handed him a thermos of coffee. "No. Why?"

"Because you were waiting outside in the cold."

"I was only there a minute."

Goren shook his head and handed her a blueberry muffin, "you really have changed—the old Eames never would've waited outside in the cold morning."

She smiled, "you're right, I have changed."

"I hope you haven't changed too much."

"Well, I still hate mornings."

"That's good to hear."

As they drove away, Eames sat in the passenger's seat and watched the world pass by. She envied the people who were still asleep in their warm beds and soft sheets. Lucky people. She looked over to Goren whose eyes were firmly fixed on the road and knew that he was deep in thought.

It wasn't a surprise; he was perpetually deep in thought. It was one of those things that Eames both loved and hated about Goren. His cerebral nature made him interesting, but it also made him distant. No wonder he had trouble sleeping—his mind never stopped. She wondered what exactly went through his head at this early hour. There were times, long ago, when she felt like she could understand fragments of what he was thinking, but now she was left wondering. She pressed her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. The warmth of the car heater and the familiar smell of Goren's aftershave made Eames feel safe.

"Hey?" She said suddenly, "is this your car?"

He smiled a bit, "Yes. I didn't bother stopping by 1PP to get the MCS car. That's really out of my way."

"Okay—but this is yours? What happened to the Mustang?"

"—I totaled it."

"When did this happen?"

His eyes were still fixed on the road. "About two years ago."

"You totaled it?" Eames asked. "Did you get into an accident or something?"

He yawned. "Yeah. It was late one night and I was driving upstate—there was ice on the road and I plowed into a tree."

"Oh my god—"

"I wasn't drinking or anything," he said just to clarify, "and no one else was involved. I was just driving too fast."

Eames' voice got louder. "You could have killed yourself. Were you hurt?"

He shrugged. "I was lucky someone found me."

Eames leaned forward but was inhibited by the seatbelt. "What do you mean someone found you?"

"I was in rural area. Not a lot of people around. The tree I ran into was close to an inn and someone called 911." He tilted his head, "I don't remember that though. I just remember being in the hospital after surgery."

"Surgery?" Eames felt her mouth gapping open. The information almost didn't seem to make sense. In a whisper she asked, "How bad was it?"

"I'm okay, Eames."

"You drove into a tree, totaled your car and needed surgery. It doesn't sound like you were okay."

He glanced at her and sighed, "I had a concussion, some internal bleeding and other stuff."

"Bobby—"

"I'm okay."

"How long where you in the hospital?"

"I don't know—2 weeks."

Eames felt slightly disoriented. She just stared at Goren as he drove.

He felt her gaze and said, "I'm fine, really."

She reached up and brushed back the hair on his temple. "Is that how you got that scar?" The scar started just before his hairline, and as she traced it with the tip of her finger, she found it continued for about an inch under his hair.

"Yeah, that's how I got the scar, but I'm all right."

They continued to drive as the sun came into full view. Between buildings, the morning sun burned like a spotlight through the clear sky. As Eames looked at Goren's profile, the sun came poring through the driver's side of the car and she had to squint to make out the lines of his face. The longer she looked, the less she recognized him. Eames could see that Goren was fine, but the fact that she had no idea he was in an accident bothered her. All she could think of was him sitting alone in the hospital for two weeks.

Faintly, Eames said, "you could've died and I wouldn't have known."

Goren felt his throat tighten as he thought back to the day he was released from the hospital. It was the worst day he had had in a long time. Not even the physical pain of the accident hurt as bad as having no one to pick him up and take him home. He took a cab home.

Eames finally asked, "Why didn't you call me or have someone call me?"

"And say what?" he asked softly, almost remorsefully. "Hey Eames, I know I haven't seen you in a few years but I'm in the hospital and need someone to bring me a get-well balloon."

"Yes, that's exactly what you should have done. I'm your partner."

"No, actually Eames, we weren't partners anymore," he said flatly.

"It doesn't mean I just stopped caring about you," she said. "Bobby, I spent ten years of my life—"

"Then why didn't we keep in touch?" He asked.

She shook her head. "It's not just my fault we haven't seen each other."

He slowed the car to a stop on the street where Erin Copland was killed. Goren turned to Eames and said, "Once a day, the nurses asked me if there was anyone they could call, and I always wanted to tell them to call you."

"Why didn't you?"

"You had a baby. I didn't want to bother you."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I don't know what to tell you, Eames." He squeezed the steering wheel. "Yes, I could've died. Yes, I should've called you. Yes, I would've liked to have had someone notice that I wasn't around—but none of that happened."

Eames took a deep breath. Already the day was off to a bad start. She opened her door and got out; Goren did the same.

Goren pulled out the crime scene photos and walked around holding them in the air then placing them on the pavement. While his focus was very narrow, Eames turned her attention outward. She looked around at all of the buildings and saw people begin to leave for work.

"What's the time of death?" Eames asked.

Goren shifted through some notes. "Between five and seven a.m."

Eames looked at her watch. "So she could have been killed at about this time."

"I'm guessing closer to five," Goren said, "before dawn."

Eames leaned against the Jeep. "What was she doing here? She's far from home, work and school."

"They recovered the murder weapon—just a plank of wood. Probably came from a dumpster," Goren said aloud.

"Not planned. Not a robbery."

"A crime of passion?"

"You know," Eames said, "we're not that far from the Stock Exchange."

"I don't think we should try to tie Nichols and Stevens' suspect to this case just yet."

Eames let out a long sigh, "I'm not tying anyone to our case—got it? I've done this before."

"Fine."

By the time they had finished, it was close to nine a.m. They were ready to head back to MCS where Nichols and Stevens were ready to question their suspect, Mike Wilson.

In the observation room Goren and Eames watched as Nichols and Stevens talked to Wilson. Nichols and Stevens spoke, but the suspect said nothing—not a word. Even the lawyer was silent. But, to the surprise of Goren and Eames, the other detectives didn't seem to mind.

Stevens and Nichols stopped talking and left the interrogation room.

"So," Goren said to Nichols, "he's not talking."

Nichols shrugged, "nope."

"Okay," Goren looked to Eames then back to Nichols, "so what now?"

Nichols looked through the window and smiled. "We wait."

Stevens could see the confusion on Goren's face. "We're waiting for the surveillance video to arrive," she said. "A witness says they saw him enter the Stock Exchange, so we'd like the video to confirm."

"What time did the murder take place?" Eames asked.

"About midnight."

"But the Stock Exchange was closed. What'd he do? Hide in the building just to kill the brokers? Do you have motive?"

"We don't know," Nichols said. "We need to see the video first."

Eames asked, "So you're not worried about interviewing him yet."

"Nope."

Eames was aggravated, "great."

Goren looked through the window to Mike Wilson. He was not smug or confident. He looked terrified.

Goren asked, "you just going to leave him there?"

"For a while," Nichols said. "If you want to talk to him about your case, go ahead."

"We'll wait."

The rest of the afternoon was spent deep in research. Goren and Eames worked on their case silently as they sifted through piles of paper and hundreds of emails, phone records and bank statements.

Eames looked at the time: it was three in the afternoon. Grace was just getting out of school. She looked at her pile of paperwork and felt trapped.

All afternoon Nichols and Stevens interviewed their suspect for a few moments then took him back to the holding cell. They repeated this process several times. Eames could tell Goren was not amused by their technique. They were just stalling while they and four video technicians sifted through hours of intricate video surveillance.

"Goren," Eames said, as she looked through phone records, "our victim has worked with Mike Wilson for a while, but she just started receiving calls from him about three months ago. She never called him, though, he always called her. And the week before her murder he called her about three times a day. In fact, he called her two times just hours before her murder: once around two a.m. and another at four."

"He may have been the last one to talk to her."

Eames smiled, "maybe we should talk to him."

Goren smiled.

Eames stepped into the video observation room. Nichols was alone.

"Where did the rest of them go?" Eames asked about Stevens and the video technicians.

"They needed a break."

"But not you?"

He stopped the video. "I'll take a break when my partner gets back." A smile stretched across his face and as he swiveled his chair to face Eames. "Maybe," he said, "you can join me on my break."

"Maybe," Eames said dryly. "What I really want is to interrogate your suspect."

"Sure. He has not said a word, though. I'm not exaggerating either—not one word."

"Zack, have you ever thought that maybe you talk so much that he can't get a word in edgewise?"

"Funny," he said with a straight face. "Wouldn't it be great if committed both of these murders?"

Eames tilted her head, "I guess."

"You know what I mean—"

"I honestly never know what you're talking about, Zack."

"And that's why you love me."

She patted him forcefully on the cheek. "Something like that. So, is Wilson still in the interrogation room?"

"Yep, him and the lawyer."

Eames walked over to the interrogation rooms and saw Wilson sitting in one room without movement while his lawyer ate a sandwich. Eames then walked into the other room where Goren and Detective Sam Heart hung photos of their victim. Most photographs were of her while she was alive. Erin Copland was beautiful and plain. She was young, and the photographs emphasized the point. Among the large photos of Copland alive, there were noticeably smaller ones of her crime scene and autopsy.

Detective Heart hung the last photo and looked to Eames, "you two really know how to make a point."

Eames shrugged and looked around the room; all four walls had photos. "It's more like an experiment."

Goren smiled, "yep, an experiment."

Across the squad room, the captain asked Nichols how things were going with the video.

"Fine."

"Good," the captain said, "what's going on over there?"

Nichols looked toward the interrogation rooms. Goren, Eames and Heart had pulled the officer standing outside of Wilson's room aside and were talking with him.

"I can't be sure."

They watched as Goren and Eames finished talking and stepped into the observation room. Just as they disappeared behind closed doors, the entire squad room seemed to take note. Everyone suddenly turned their attention to the interrogation rooms. The captain watched as the other detectives slowly—and as inconspicuously as possible—inched their way to toward the interrogation rooms.

The captain walked over to a detective and asked, "what's going on?"

"Goren and Eames are going to interrogate a suspect."

The captain waited for further details, but got nothing. "—and?" she asked, "Why is everyone so concerned?" The attention of the entire room was focused in their direction as if a movie were about to being.

"Well," the detective said, "I've only heard stories, but their interrogation techniques are legendary."

"I'm sure that's one of the reasons they were fired," the captain muttered.

Wilson and his lawyer continued to wait in the interrogation room. They were startled when their room went black. The only light in the room came from the window in the door.

"Great," the lawyer said. He stood and opened the door. "Hey," the lawyer called to the officer standing in the hallway, "What's going on? The lights are out in here."

The officer looked into the room and noted the darkness. He jiggled the light switch. "I don't know," the officer said.

"This is ridiculous," the lawyer said, "my client cannot sit in this dark room."

The officer shrugged, "let me just move him while we have maintenance take a look." He escorted Wilson and the lawyer to the other interrogation room.

Goren and Eames watched from the observation room as Wilson entered the room plastered with photos.

"What the hell is all of this?" The lawyer asked.

The officer shrugged, "I don't know. Do you wanna go back to the other room?"

"Of course not," the lawyer said. "Someone needs to clean this up, though. It's unprofessional."

The officer left and shut the door behind him.

Wilson slowly observed the photos and sat down. His posture was even more slumped than before. His eyes darted from his lawyer to the walls and back again, but his lawyer didn't notice.

Wilson looked to his left and stared at the autopsy photo; it was small, about wallet size, but he noticed it immediately.

In the observation room, Goren and Eames watched Wilson carefully.

"What are you two doing?" The captain asked once inside the observation room.

"Observing as suspect," Eames said.

The captain walked up to the window and saw the photos in the other room. "What's all that?"

Goren looked away and said, "Those are photos of our victim."

"He had extensive contact with Copland just before her death," Eames added.

"Then question him. I don't know what the two of you used to pull around here, but don't play games."

Goren was looking through the window when he said, "He's terrified. Look how his hands are leaving moisture spots on the table. And he keeps looking to his lawyer for support and guidance. He needs a confidant."

Nichols and Stevens entered the room. "May we join the party?" he asked.

The captain looked at the four detectives and said, "This man has been here for almost twenty-four hours. You need to make progress or let him go." She turned to Goren and Eames, "this better result in something."

"Okay, Captain," Eames said. She turned to Goren, "let's clean up."

Goren followed dutifully.

When they entered the interrogation room, Goren looked at Wilson and the lawyer and asked, "who the hell are you?"

The lawyer let out a moan.

"Why are you in our room?" Goren asked. "Who the hell put you here?"

"We were in the other room before the lights went out."

"Lights?"

"Yep."

Goren looked to Eames and maintained an aggressive stance. "Stay here."

Goren left and slammed the door behind him.

Eames stood in the room with an unusually timid posture. She smiled apologetically to the lawyer.

"You and the big guy new here?" the lawyer asked. "I've been in and out of here for about three years and don't recognize either of you."

"Yes," Eames said softly, "we've been here less than a week."

He pointed to the walls, "this your case?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"You know I can't discuss this with you." She said regretfully.

Lawyer walked over to a crime scene photo. "Well, it looks like a dead prostitute, but there must be more to it than that because you guys have the case."

Wilson sat up straight and looked to his lawyer and then to Eames. She took note.

"I'm right—" the lawyer said blankly.

"Sure," Eames said. "It is more than just a dead hooker."

"I don't think she's a hooker," Wilson said softly.

His lawyer waved his hand dismissively. "I've been doing this for a long time kid."

In the observation room Goren, Stevens, Nichols and the captain watched. Goren sifted his weight and said, "Wilson is uncomfortable with our victim being called a prostitute."

Nichols looked to Stevens, "that's the first thing I've heard out of him."

The lawyer walked around the room and seemed entertained. "Maybe this hooker had famous clientele." He smiled and said, "she could name names and everyone wanted her dead."

The lawyer spoke as if he were narrating a movie of the week. He walked the room slowly with his hands behind his back, analyzing each photo as if he were in a museum looking at fine art.

Wilson sat motionless. Eames thought he looked like he was going to be sick. She sat down across from Wilson and folded her hands in front of her. The reserved posture she portrayed with the lawyer became warm and understanding with Wilson. "Would you like any water?" Eames asked Wilson.

The lawyer, with his back to Eames said, "I'm fine."

Eames smiled at Wilson and shook her head.

Wilson smiled just a bit.

Goren noticed how Wilson was taking to Eames. "She's good," Goren said aloud. He grabbed his notebook and left the room.

The captain looked to Nichols and Stevens, "what are they doing?"

"I don't know," Stevens said, "but I think they do."

Goren pushed open interrogation room door. "Hey, Mike, I hear you killed a few stockbrokers."

Wilson's lawyer spun around. "What are you doing?"

Goren smiled, "but don't respond to that." He turned to the lawyer, "do I know you from somewhere?"

"Can my client leave?"

"No."

Eames gave Wilson a sympathetic shrug. Goren sat next to her and leaned halfway across the metal table and stared at Wilson.

"Do you have allergies?" Goren asked Wilson.

He didn't say anything.

"Because your eyes are bloodshot and watery."

The lawyer stepped forward, "detective, please."

Goren stood and grabbed some photos from the wall. The lawyer suspiciously watched his every move, but Wilson kept his eyes on Eames. She felt like he was trying to tell her something.

Goren placed the photo on the table and sat down next to Eames. "She is beautiful," Goren said of the victim. "Her name was Erin Copland. But you know that, right? You worked together."

"Don't say anything," the lawyer interjected. He then looked to Goren, "You can't accuse my client of every murder investigation in this building."

Goren held up a crime scene photo. "She's not so good looking in this picture, now is she."

Wilson looked down and stared at the floor.

"You should see this, Mike," Goren said.

Wilson's breathing quickened.

"Whoever did this was good."

Wilson groaned as if he were in pain.

"Goren," Eames said forcefully, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

They both left the room and walked into the observation room.

Nichols said, "he's upset but not surprised by Copland's murder."

"He didn't do it, but he wants to share something." Eames said.

"He's looking for someone to trust," Goren said.

Eames went back into the room alone. "Sorry," she said to Wilson and the lawyer. She sat down across from Wilson and stacked the photos. "What do you know about Erin?"

"Don't say a word," the lawyer said.

Eames continued in a warm and even tone, "I know you knew she was dead long before you got here last night. We're going to find out the truth and make sure she gets justice, and you can help us get this over with. Her family and friends would like to move on."

Tears fell down Wilson's face.

"What happened?"

He just sat there for a moment and said, "I don't know who did this, but I know she was friends with one of those brokers you think I killed—a guy named Romano."

"Okay," the lawyer said, "I would like a moment with my client."

Eames joined the rest in the observation room.

"Find out what you can about Romano," the captain said. "I guess these cases are connected."

Nichols, Stevens, and the captain left the room. Goren looked to Eames, "that was good."

She smiled, "I haven't done that kind of thing in a long time. It was fun."

"Like riding a bike."